He thought about probing further, but something told him Fox was genuine when she said she didn’t know where Simeon was. And why would she? ‘Look, we can’t talk to you,’ he said. ‘You might as well give up on that. I’m too long in the tooth to be talking to the press.’

‘Oh, come on.’

Priest noticed the change in her voice – it had softened – and he couldn’t resist looking at her. She was biting her lip, half smiling, staring at him intently. For a moment, Priest thought he recognised her but the notion disappeared as quickly as it had come.

‘I can help,’ she assured him, taking another half-step forward. She reached to her side, then looked down. ‘Damn. I left my bag in the car. Can I just get a quote from you? Something really simple?’

Priest glanced across at Georgie. She was standing at the side of the pavement, arms crossed and looking distinctly unimpressed.

‘As I’ve said. I can’t help you.’

‘Honestly, it won’t take a minute. Let me just grab my iPad.’

Fox was heading back to her car but with her head turned, her smile unfaltering. Georgie stepped forward.

‘Maybe we should just go.’

He nodded. ‘She’s very enthusiastic.’

They turned to cross the road, but, before they reached the kerb, Priest looked back. Fox was standing behind her car with the boot open and Priest might have turned away again had he not caught sight of her face.

He stopped and felt Georgie collide with his back.

‘What?’

Fox looked up, ashen. In the moment it had taken Priest to fully turn around, her entire complexion had transformed. The colour in her face had drained away, the smile extinguished. Their eyes met and she mouthed something inaudible.

‘What is it?’ Priest asked her. Georgie’s eyes darted between them, confused.

‘There’s . . .’

Fox slammed the boot shut. Staggered back on to the pavement, her hand now covered her mouth.

Priest exhaled in frustration. He strode back towards her, met her eyes again but saw nothing but bewilderment, and something else. Something malignant.

He followed her outstretched hand, pointing to the back window.

He peered in.

A cold sensation flooded through him – a feeling akin to being suddenly drenched in icy water.

‘What is it?’ Georgie whispered, alarmed.

Priest straightened up. ‘It’s not a what,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s a who. Simeon Ali.’

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

In a pebble-dashed semi-detached house at the end of a nondescript suburban street, the owner was sitting in a room surrounded by computer screens.