‘I kicked myself out,’ said Priest. ‘Sorry about making your friends look like idiots.’

Mims scoffed but there was a hint of genuine amusement in her tone. ‘They’re not my friends. Benny and his fuckwit buddies come here because it’s cheap. To be honest, seeing someone take them down a peg or two was worth the mile-long sprint afterwards.’

‘You knew I’d taken Simeon’s phone?’

‘I knew you’d been in his locker and that you must have stolen the key. I followed you outside and you were waving this phone around and it clearly wasn’t yours – you’d have some smartphone shit, not Simeon’s old crap.’

‘How did you know we’d stolen the key? We didn’t, by the way.’

‘Whatever. I thought you’d stolen it because I thought there was no way Simeon would have ever given it away. He kept stuff in that locker that wasn’t anything to do with going to the gym.’

‘Like what?’

Mims shrugged. ‘I dunno. I kind of . . . we kind of . . .’ She drifted into a sort of trance, her eyes stared behind Priest, unfocused. He guessed the realisation that Simeon was dead was starting to hit home.

‘You and Simeon were – what? Friends? Lovers?’

‘Fuck buddies,’ Mims insisted. Then her tone softened and Priest saw a little more of the blue hair facade fade away. ‘Lovers, then. Whatever. We had feelings for each other but that was a while ago. I hadn’t seen him in a few months.’

‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way,’ said Priest. ‘How long were you seeing each other?’

‘A year. Maybe longer.’

Priest nodded as the first crystal-like tear formed at the edge of Mims’s eye. Georgie shifted her weight. They had to get on, but Mims had to be given time. Priest bit his lip.

‘Where’s the phone, now, Mims?’ Georgie asked, softly, sensing the same dilemma.

‘It’s at my house,’ Mims replied without looking back at her. ‘How did he die? Simeon, I mean.’

Priest took a deep breath. ‘He was murdered, Mims.’ This time she looked up, startled. ‘He was asphyxiated and dumped in the boot of a car.’

Mims had her hand to her mouth, her eyes were now welling with tears. ‘Jesus, no!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘When?’

‘He was killed on Thursday, his body was discovered on Friday, by us. We’re trying to find out why and who is responsible.’

Mims shook her head with what seemed like disbelief. ‘The police . . . ?’

‘Are doing their best. As are we.’

There was a moment’s silence as Mims fought back the tears – she seemed determined not to cry, or show any weakness. In return, Priest did not offer the indignity of comfort but kept on the other side of the desk as she slowly stood and turned to face them.

‘You can come back to mine,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to lock up here first.’