He kept an eye out for the journalist. He had left her in the flat out of exasperation and, although she had warned him she would still be waiting for him when he got home, he suspected she would be heading straight for court as soon as he had left.

No sign of her amongst this lot, though. He hadn’t given her a key but told her to make sure the door was on the latch when she left so it locked behind her. Good job I don’t keep rabbits.

After turfing out the contents of his pockets onto a plastic tray and risking a touch-up by the burly security guard, Priest found Tomas Jansen alone in the High Court cafe, brooding over a cup of black coffee. He ordered a cup of Earl Grey and pulled up a chair opposite Jansen.

‘Where are the others, Tomas?’

‘In court with Vincent.’

‘Any sign of Hagworth?’

Jansen shook his head. His eyes were red and his skin blotchy – he seemed only a shadow of the fearless journalist Priest had met eighteen months ago. ‘Not yet. What will happen, Charlie? Is this it? Do we win?’

‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple.’

‘Alexia Elias is dead. She was bringing the claim. I don’t understand.’

‘The cause of action falls to the conduct of her executors,’ Priest explained. ‘The judge will grant us an adjournment – she has to now. The executors will apply for an order that they are indemnified by Alexia’s estate and they’ll decide whether they want to carry on.’

‘And if they do?’

‘Then we’ll cross that bridge. But not now, Tomas. A lot’s happened over the last few days. Too much to process right now.’

Jansen nodded slowly and drained the last mouthful of coffee before replacing the cup. Priest noticed an unmistakable shake in his hand, and something else too. A flash of anger when Priest had told him that the trial wasn’t over automatically. He’d tried to conceal it, but it was there: in his eyes. The thought that, right now, Tomas Jansen had the most to gain from Alexia’s death was preying on his mind.

‘A policeman came round to see us yesterday,’ he said, staring out behind Priest.

‘DCI Rowlinson?’

‘Yes. I think that was his name. He asked a lot of questions about where we were when Simeon Ali was killed.’

‘It’s routine,’ said Priest, picking up his tea. ‘Elimination is the first part of any investigation.’

‘You used to be a policeman.’

Priest passed off his accusatorial tone as a symptom of the stress he was under. ‘That’s right.’

‘What happened? Why did you stop being a policeman?’