He was mulling over some theories. One, Simeon had bottled it because either he was lying all along and his conscience had got the better of him or, more likely, his paranoia had stripped him of the necessary confidence required to show his face in public. Two, he had been paid off by the defence. Three, something more sinister had happened.

He dwelt upon the third possibility. Simeon had drawn some attention to himself by coming forwards, but the Free People’s Army was a relatively small and poorly resourced operation, especially now its illicit funding had been stopped. It was based in Turkey with modest aspirations of jihad compared to its more ambitious cousins working for Daesh. In other words, the reality of the threat was significantly less than Simeon’s perception of it.

There was no doubt that Alexia Elias and her husband had a lot to lose from this trial personally. They were well resourced but, if The Real Byte’s story was true, would they cross the line to avoid discovery? It was not totally inconceivable that Simeon’s disappearance was precipitated by their actions. But then why leave it this late in the day to pay Simeon off?

He knocked again. They waited. A little clock in the back of Priest’s mind ticked a further minute on. There might not be a trial left to save if they didn’t get to the bottom of this quickly. He slipped the key into the lock and released the latch.

A wall of hot air hit them. If Simeon had quit the property, he had left the heating on full blast before he left. They ventured in. Priest fiddled with the thermostat on the wall.

The flat was uninspiring. A dimly lit hallway from which sprouted a small kitchen to the left that stank of rotting food and sour milk and a sitting room to the right comprising a leather sofa that had seen better days, a flat screen TV and a few bookshelves. Further back, the flat ended abruptly with a bedroom and bathroom opposite, complete with seventies avocado-coloured suite. Priest made a mental note to encourage his sister to modernise the older rental properties.

‘Simeon,’ Priest called, although it was obvious he would receive no reply.

Georgie had made her way to the bedroom.

‘There’s a few clothes here,’ she reported. ‘And a suitcase – looks fairly new.’

‘Who absconds without taking a new suitcase with them?’

‘Indeed.’

Priest pushed the bathroom door open but again there were no useful clues. A toothbrush holder welded to the sink and a month’s supply of unused toilet paper. A towel left on the floor, but everywhere was dry. The bathroom didn’t seem to have been used recently.