Simeon Ali had been murdered, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop the wheels of justice from turning. Not unless it was Alexia Elias who had murdered him, or someone acting on her instructions. That situation was not without precedent. In a 2006 case, the Court of Appeal granted an application to strike out a defence on the basis that the defendant had murdered the claimant.

But the notion that Alexia Elias was somehow involved with Simeon’s murder was surely preposterous.

The door to Okoro’s study opened and a bright-eyed teenage girl appeared. Her hair was braided in tight cornrows and she wore a grey Nike vintage crew shirt and black leggings. Faith Okoro had her father’s penetrating stare but otherwise she had inherited her mother’s sharp looks which meant, much to Okoro’s chagrin, that her ambition of being a part-time model to fund her medical degree was very achievable.

‘Mama says are you going to be working all day because she’s forgotten what you look like?’ said Faith, trying to hide her grin.

Okoro heard Winifred’s voice drift across from the living room. ‘Tell him I will just get myself a new man!’

‘Mama says—’ Faith began.

‘Yes, I heard what Mama said.’ Okoro held up his hand. ‘Another man. Tell her good luck finding one.’ Faith raised an eyebrow. ‘OK, fine. Tell her I’ll be another hour, two at most.’

Faith shook her head. ‘Your funeral. Is it the trial, Daddy?’

‘Just a few problems, that’s all. It’s a big case – news was all over it on Friday.’

‘Nothing that you and Charlie can’t put right, surely.’

Okoro looked at her thoughtfully – like him, Faith always had an agenda, even if it was nothing more complicated than mischief, and the sparkle in her eye was clear enough to him. ‘No doubt.’

‘Hm.’ Faith smiled. ‘Perhaps when it’s all over Charlie can come and have dinner with us for once.’

‘Faith—’ Okoro said warningly.

‘He can sit next to me and . . .’

‘That’s enough,’ Okoro jested and he made to lecture her but was interrupted by his phone ringing. He checked the caller display and groaned inwardly. ‘I’ve got to take this.’

She blew him a kiss and withdrew from the room.

Okoro put the phone to his ear. ‘Hagworth,’ he sighed.

‘Okoro?’ Hagworth’s voice crackled over the line – Okoro had an image of him sitting in a tartan chair listening to the wireless while trying to work out how to make a phone call. ‘Okoro, is that you?’

‘Yes. What do you want?’

‘I wonder whether we could talk without prejudice, old chap?’

Old chap? Who the hell does he think he is? ‘Whatever.’

‘Your people are in a spot of bother, don’t you think? I take it Mr Ali isn’t turning up?’

Okoro sneered. Here he comes – as predictable as ever. ‘There’s still time,’ Okoro growled, stalling.