‘Fox? She’s a journalist, not much I can do about that. We live in an age of open justice and all that bullshit.’

‘Couldn’t you agree an embargo with her?’

‘No, someone from Corporate Communications tried, but there’s not much we can do, short of getting an injunction.’

He had to agree. The authorised professional practice for police media relations didn’t apply since Fox’s information had come as a result of her direct involvement with the event that precipitated the investigation, not because she was a journalist. Rowlinson’s hands were tied. It was only a matter of time before Simeon’s death, and the murder investigation, would be public knowledge.

‘Anything else I can help you with, Tiff?’

Rowlinson sucked in some air. He seemed to be contemplating something, then: ‘No, you’re done for now. Try and stay out of trouble, won’t you?’

Priest got up, stretched. ‘Later, alligator.’

‘And Priest?’ Rowlinson called him back as he made to leave. ‘Not that I want to sound corny, but – don’t leave town.’

*

Priest turned right outside Holborn Police Station with the intention of making his way back to the office in order to contact Tomas Jansen, who was probably climbing the walls. Priest had telephoned him on the way to the station to relay the news. Jansen had been cold, and it had irritated Priest that his first thought was where this left the trial. He didn’t express any sympathy for Simeon.

‘What do we do now, Charlie?’

‘I don’t know yet. I’ll contact you after I’ve spoken with the police.’

‘The trial?’

‘Can wait. For now.’

Priest heard footsteps running up behind him and his name being called; he turned around warily.

‘Mr Priest?’

‘Miss Fox.’ The reporter was coming towards him, a cigarette in her hand. Her hair looked ruffled, most likely the result of being constantly played with, and a dark line of dislodged mascara under one eye suggested she had been crying at some stage.

‘It’s Elinor,’ she told him.

‘They let you go then, Elinor,’ said Priest, trying a smile. The effort wasn’t reciprocated.

‘On the condition that I stay in London and don’t contact anyone else involved in the Elias case.’

‘Whereupon you promptly walked out of the station and accosted the defendant’s solicitor.’

Fox slipped her arm into his, used the other to take another long drag of the cigarette. They walked down to the end of the road; he let her dictate the pace. She was clearly anxious, the shake in her hand hadn’t got any better, but some of the overconfident reporter mannerisms he had seen when they had first met on Bristol Road had returned.