‘No,’ I continued to whisper. ‘I’m his lawyer.’ Her eyes flicked over me and her mouth curved into a smile. I could tell she didn’t believe me, and it was a testament to his temperament that she led me to his cubicle, although her eyes told me she hoped I was an assassin. I was just pleased to be moving out of the main concourse. The fact is that a number of my clients hang out in the Accident and Emergency, usually after drunken brawls, knife fights, or spousal abuse. I didn’t want to talk to any of them. Marshall was enough to contend with. The nurse stopped outside a blue-curtained cubicle. She pulled the drapes back.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome.’ She threw a disdainful look at the battered man on the trolley.

‘About time you showed up,’ he snarled. His ribs were bandaged but his teeth all seemed to be in place. He caught me staring at them. ‘They were porcelain veneers; I superglued them back–it’s a temporary measure.’ He glanced at me, then down at the pink cotton blanket that covered him. ‘I suppose you’ve guessed by now my background was not one where oral hygiene was of primary importance.’

I stared at Kevin Milne aka Dr Graham Marshall and tried to ignore the cold running through me. ‘I met Kelly Adams,’ I said.

He nodded his head, sucked in his cheeks and smiled slowly. ‘Is she the one who’s been blackmailing me?’ He laughed out loud. ‘I didn’t think she had the guts.’

I put my helmet down heavily on his stomach and he winced. It was my turn to smile. I started to clap. I didn’t care what the nurses or doctors thought, although I suspect none of them heard. If they were wise, they were giving this cubicle a wide berth.

‘Bravo,’ I nodded my head and clapped louder. ‘Bravo, first-class performance.’

Every muscle in his face tightened. I watched his micro-movements, searching for the telltale signs of a liar: there were none.

‘You listen to me, and you listen to me well, because I have bought you, Ms McLennan. Just because I made a mistake when I was a child, a small innocent child, a mistake I regret every day of my life and try to make amends for—’

I interrupted him. ‘Let’s be clear on this. When you killed Matthew Cook, it was not a mistake, it was premeditated murder.’ I stared into the canvas of his face again. He breathed deeply, trying to control his temper, and he winced in pain as his chest moved up and down. I was tempted to remove my helmet but I resisted the urge.

‘If Renee and I had carried out “the act”—’

I interrupted him again. ‘It wasn’t an “act”. A two-year-old boy died a brutal, painful death at your hands.’