Tomas shifted his weight while Gail leant across him anxiously. Priest had thought when he first met The Real Byte team that, despite the obvious discomfort Tomas felt in his own skin, he might have been having an affair with Gail Woodbead. She was a good foot taller than him and had the air of a retired headmistress but there was an obvious tension between them, the kind that lovers might share. So perhaps it was unsurprising that, in this critical moment, Tomas now exchanged a worried look with her. Karl Jones, The Real Byte technical director, was slumped back in his seat and might not even have been a noticeable occupant of the bench were he not taking up most of it. His frame was oversized, cumbersome, bulging in places that weren’t supposed to bulge. The fat pulled at his jowls, giving him a frog-like appearance. He also insisted on lugging an enormous holdall bag with him everywhere, which now sat at his feet, although goodness knows what was in it.

Priest nodded and breathed in hard, a thousand possibilities surging through his head.

‘Did you speak to him last night?’

‘No,’ said Tomas, anxiety creeping into his voice. ‘I thought he was meeting you before court.’

‘We agreed he would be here at nine thirty and we would meet in the foyer. You’ve not seen him?’

‘I haven’t. This is disturbing news, Mr Priest. Our case—’

Priest put his hand on Tomas’s arm to steady him. ‘Slow down, Tomas,’ he urged. ‘They’re watching you.’

He nodded subtly. Over the executive editor’s shoulder, he saw Alexia Elias nudge Hagworth and gesture in their direction. Fortunately, it took Hagworth the equivalent of three moon cycles to manipulate the sagging muscles in his neck and make his head turn, by which time Tomas had understood the point and had lowered his voice.

‘When did you last speak to Simeon?’ Tomas asked.

‘A few days ago. Everything was fine, and everything will be fine, I’m sure. We have his statement and he won’t be giving evidence until this afternoon, possibly not even until tomorrow. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.’

Priest heard the words tumble out of his mouth but even he was unconvinced by them. This was the principal risk that he and Okoro had considered. Throughout, Simeon Ali had demonstrated a deep-rooted desire to ensure that the court, and the world, was presented with the truth, but he had proved to be an aloof character, insisting that almost all communications were carried out by email or Skype. They had met a few times, at a train station outside of the city in the summer, and even then, the meetings had been like a clandestine encounter straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel.

‘He seemed so sure of himself,’ offered Gail, leaning further across Tomas. ‘I can’t believe he’s lost his nerve at this moment.’