And so Reid, freshly divorced and in need of a place to stay, had moved in. At the time Michael had been splitting himself between London and Belfast, keeping his career alive in the capital while doing his best to identify and sell off or close down the complicated business interests of his murdered brother, Liam Casey. It had been a hard few months – stressful and emotional – so Michael had been grateful for the house-sitter; one less worry off his mind.

The arrangement continued after Michael returned to London full-time, proposed to Sarah and moved into the engagement present of a Chelsea home they had been given by Sarah’s father. That gift had allowed Reid to remain in Michael’s Islington house and he had been here ever since, enjoying the benefits of the low rent charged by a friend who no longer needed the money.

Reid walked into the room, a large tray in his hands that held an open bottle of red wine, two large glasses, two plates that were empty and a full-sized chopping board that was not. Reid had carefully arranged a host of foods onto the wooden board. Expensive, acorn-fed Iberico ham. A selection of blue and hard cheeses. Various raw vegetables – peppers, cucumber, celery and tomatoes – sliced for easy consumption. A mix of roasted and sun-blushed vegetables to complement. And artisan bread, to round off the meal.

Michael was impressed by the spread, but then he would have expected nothing less from Reid, mourning or not.

‘Help yourself.’

Reid indicated to the board as he spoke. Not waiting for his own invitation, he was already placing forkfuls of cured Spanish ham onto his plate.

‘So how are you?’

It was Michael’s first chance to ask the inevitable question. Reid had guided him to the living room upon arrival before disappearing into the kitchen.

‘You won’t believe what they did to him, Mike.’

Reid spoke without looking up from the board. Continued to pile food onto his plate.

When he finally sat back and looked Michael in the eye, tears were filling his own.

‘It’s no way to go. No way at all.’

‘How did he die?’ Michael would not have asked if Reid had not given him the cue.

‘He was crucified, Mike. He was beaten, cut to pieces and fucking crucified.’

Michael did not know what to say. Reid’s emotions were raging, barely concealed beneath the surface.

‘That’s . . . that’s just . . . just unbelievable.’ Michael could think of no other words.

‘You’re telling me. I’ve never heard anything like it.’

‘Look, no offence but are you sure? I mean, there was nothing in the press about it. And Sarah has no details like that and she’s spoken with the lead investigator. Where did it come from?’

‘It was from the lead investigator,’ Reid replied. ‘A detective called Levy. She told Russell. Well, confirmed it, anyway. After one of her team told him. He probably shouldn’t have told me if it’s not being released to the public, but it’s what happened. Phillip was crucified, Mike. He was bled out by cuts all over, and his testicles were removed and left in his mouth.’