Paul looked from the police officer to the embassy representative – the embassy representative who was meant to be helping him out. Not making things worse. ‘Am I under arrest?’
Dobbs’s expression was pained. He looked away briefly, then glanced back at Paul before looking down at his notes, as if there might be something in there that had given him a clue to this disaster. Because that was what this was, Paul realised now. Something had happened. Something had changed.
Someone was not sticking to the plan.
‘Do you think you should be under arrest, monsieur? From what you’ve led us to believe, you were in an accident along with your friends – who are now missing. Non?’
‘Yes!’ Paul slammed a hand on the table. ‘That’s what happened. So why does it matter if I got on with my fucking sister-in-law or not? Has Cat said I didn’t? Because if you must know, no, I didn’t like her very much. But I also didn’t really give much of a shit about her. I zoned her out, mostly. Cat dealt with her.’ He paused, blew out a breath. ‘You should ask Cat how she got on with her sister. You’ll find that much more enlightening, I’m sure.’
Dobbs laid a hand over Paul’s. ‘I know this is distressing, Paul. You’ve had a terrible time—’
Paul pulled his hand away, ignoring him. He faced Pigalle. ‘What’s my darling wife been saying then? Go on.’ He crossed his arms, closing himself up.
Pigalle leaned into Dobbs, whispered something in his ear. Paul heard Dobbs say, ‘I suppose so . . .’ but he sounded uncertain.
‘Maybe I should have a lawyer. Are you able to act in that capacity, Mr Dobbs?’
Dobbs shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid not. I can make some calls . . .’
Paul waved a hand at him, dismissively. He knew when he was being stitched up. But whatever Cat had said, she didn’t have any actual evidence. Two could play that game.
‘Right, well—’
Pigalle raised a hand. ‘One moment, please.’ He slid a piece of paper across the table. ‘Can you tell us what’s going on here, please, monsieur? That is you in these photographs, am I correct?’
Paul flipped over the paper. It took him a moment to focus. To register what it was that he was looking at. He pushed the paper away in disgust. ‘How the . . . ?’ Burning bile made its way into the base of his throat and he thought he might vomit. Of all the things he’d been expecting, this one was way down on the list.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your wife passed this on to us, monsieur. She had it saved in her Cloud drive. We let her access it here.’
He had a sudden flash to the day that he’d tried to delete the photos from his phone. He had no idea why he even took them. He’d thought it was funny at the time. He’d thought he might even show Tristan. But in the cold light of day, they hadn’t looked funny at all. And then Samantha had made the complaint, and he’d immediately gone to delete them. But in his panic, he’d tapped the wrong thing and they’d saved themselves to his and Cat’s joint Cloud account. The one where they saved wedding photos and holiday photos and stupid things that were meant for each other to see. He’d deleted it straight away. It was just his stupid luck that Cat had been online at the time. She must’ve seen them pop up and taken screenshots immediately. And she’d kept quiet. This whole fucking time. That . . . bitch.
‘I don’t see what my photos of me and a friend messing about in a lift have got to do with my sister-in-law.’ His arms were still crossed. He was not going to yield.
‘I think you are an intelligent man, Monsieur Baxendale. You can connect these dots, oui?’
Dobbs cleared his throat, but said nothing more.
‘Your wife has told us about the allegations back at home, Paul.’ Pigalle raised a hand to silence Paul, who had his mouth open, ready to object. ‘We know that the case was dropped due to lack of evidence.’ He pulled the printed photographs back towards himself. ‘But they did not have this evidence.’
Paul glared at him. ‘I still don’t see what that has to do with—’
‘It paints a picture. Not a pretty one.’ Pigalle stood up. ‘Please come with us now, Monsieur Baxendale.’
Dobbs stood too, gesturing to Paul. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Better that we get to the truth sooner rather than later.’
Paul stood up and followed them out of the room. He kept his mouth shut, because he had a very bad feeling about all this. And he was pretty sure that anything he said now would only make it worse.