‘He was a Turkish immigrant who came here to speak the truth,’ Gail Woodbead offered. ‘He was introverted, timid and kind-natured. He has no family here that we know of. I have no idea what he left behind in Turkey. He was a good man and we trust that you will find his killer and bring him to justice.’ She seemed irritated at Rowlinson’s presence, which also aroused his suspicion.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Were you and he in a relationship, Mrs Woodbead?’

She snorted loudly. ‘Is there something more constructive you can ask?’

Rowlinson raised his hand defensively. ‘I meant no offence. But I’m starting from a disadvantage here. I don’t know any of you. So the questions might get a little personal, but we’re all on the same team here, right?’

‘We’re all on the same team, DCI Rowlinson.’ Jansen nodded convincingly.

Rowlinson noticed that the larger man – Karl Jones – couldn’t sink any further into the sofa if he tried.

‘Where were you all, please, between midday and four last Thursday?’ Rowlinson asked, watching for a reaction. The pathologist had put Ali’s death at having taken place between one and three on Thursday afternoon; Rowlinson had given it an hour either side to be sure. ‘Let’s start with you.’ He nodded towards Karl Jones who looked like Rowlinson had stood up and slapped him.

‘I was . . .’ Karl stared at the floor, presumably he was suffering from a sudden case of amnesia.

‘We were all together,’ said Gail sharply. ‘In conference with our lawyers. The trial started on Friday. We were there from twelve for the rest of the afternoon.’

‘Your lawyers are Priest & Co.’

‘That’s right. We were with Charlie Priest, Vincent Okoro and Georgie Someday the whole time. I hope that removes us from suspicion, Inspector?’

‘You were never a suspect, Mrs Woodbead. These are just routine inquiries, but thank you all the same.’

Rowlinson swept a vein of blond hair from his eyes and scribbled down a note about their alibi.

‘Can you think of anyone who would want to kill Simeon Ali?’ he asked, again to no one in particular.

‘Do you mean apart from Alexia Elias?’ said Jansen. Rowlinson didn’t like the way he narrowed his eyes and screwed up his face.

‘Alexia Elias wanted to win her trial against you. Is that a motive to murder someone in cold blood?’

‘You tell me, Inspector. She has an awful lot to lose.’

Rowlinson sucked on the end of pen thoughtfully. He was about to ask another question when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and answered.

‘Priest – what do you want?’

‘You mentioned that Alexia Elias hasn’t been seen for a few days.’ Priest’s voice at the other end of the line was uncharacteristically quiet. Rowlinson sat up.

‘What of it?’

‘I’ve found her.’

*