5

'So what do you expect me to do when I get there?' Chris Bronson asked, his irritation obvious. He'd been summoned to his superior's office at the Maidstone police station as soon as he arrived that morning. 'And why do you want me to go? Surely you should be briefing one of the DIs for something like this?'

Detective Chief Inspector Reginald 'Dickie' Byrd sighed. 'Look, there are other factors to consider here, not just the rank of the officer we send. We've been tasked with this simply because the dead couple's family lives in Kent, and I've chosen you because you can do something none of the DIs here can: you speak French.'

'I speak Italian,' Bronson pointed out, 'and my French is good, but it's not fluent. And didn't you say the Moroccans were going to provide an interpreter?'

'They are, but you know as well as I do that sometimes things get lost in translation. I want a man out there who can understand what they're really saying, not just what some translator tells you they're saying. All you have to do is check that what they're claiming is accurate, then come back here and write it up.'

'Why do you think their report won't be accurate?'

Byrd closed his eyes. 'I don't. My own view is that this is just another bloody British driver forgetting which side of the road he was supposed to be on and losing it in a big way. But I need you to confirm this or see if there's any contributing factor – maybe there was a fault with the hire car, the brakes or the steering, say? Or perhaps another vehicle was involved, and the Moroccan authorities are glossing this over?

'The family – it's just the daughter and her husband – live in Canterbury. They were told about the accident first thing this morning and I understand from the local force that they'll be going out to Casablanca themselves to arrange the repatriation of the bodies. But I'd like you to get out there before them and run some checks. If they haven't left here by the time you get back, I'd also like you to go and see them, just to answer any questions they might have. I know it's a shitty job, but—'

'Yeah, I know, someone's got to do it.' Bronson looked at his watch and stood up, running his hand through his unruly dark hair. 'Right, I'll go and pack a weekend case, and I'll need to make a few phone calls.'

In fact, Bronson would only have to make one call. His plan to take his ex-wife Angela out for a meal the next evening – an event that had already been postponed twice because of the pressure of his work – would have to be put on hold yet again.

Byrd slid the file across the desk. 'The ticket is for Casablanca, because all the Rabat flights were full, andyou're flying economy.' He paused for a few seconds. 'You could always try smiling at the girl on the check-in desk, Chris. She might decide to upgrade you.'