Right on schedule, a set of tyres screamed as an Audi TT took the car park entrance a little too fast. It reversed into the space opposite Carol, like a pair of gunslingers facing off. Bronwen Scott’s legs appeared first, gleaming in the light, black patent spike heels leading the way. Carol’s eyes were drawn upwards to a pencil skirt topped with a tailored jacket over a camisole. Over it all, a loose, flowing camel coat. Her hair was dyed a hundred shades of dark blonde, shoulder length and glossy, and her immaculately made-up face showed no trace of the same years that had carved lines into Carol’s. Although much of her practice was state-funded legal aid, the fancy clothes and the expensive car came from representing people who had not come by their wealth honestly, and every cop in the city knew it. The pursuit of justice was pushing Carol into the arms of strange bedfellows.

Scott stopped a couple of feet from Carol. ‘Who’d have thought it?’

‘That might possibly work in our favour,’ Carol said.

‘So what’s all this cloak and dagger in aid of?’ Scott swept her hair from her face in a practised gesture. Carol wondered what it must be like to devote so much attention to your appearance. She wasn’t stupid; she’d seen the way men looked at her and she was aware that she was attractive. But it had never been how she defined herself, so when her looks began to lose the gloss of youth, she took it in her stride. But women like Bronwen Scott seemed to see ageing as a challenge, a war to be fought every day, taking advantage of every possible weapon, be it surgical or pharmaceutical. Carol had never seen the point of battles you couldn’t win.

‘There’s a prisoner in the cells in Skenfrith Street who needs a good lawyer.’

‘What’s the charge?’

‘Murder, times two.’

‘Who’s the arresting officer?’

‘DCI Alex Fielding.’

‘And what’s your interest?’

Carol tilted her head back and studied the fluorescent tubes. ‘Easily misconstrued.’ She sighed and met Scott’s curious stare. ‘My interest is in seeing justice done. The man under arrest didn’t do it. So there’s a killer out there on the street who’s going to kill again while Fielding’s busy playing games with an innocent man.’

‘I still don’t see why you’re bothered. I spend half my life clearing up the mess made by stupid cops who can’t get past the first idea in their heads. What’s special about this case? Apart from the fact that the accused man apparently can’t pick up a phone himself?’ Scott was beginning to sound irritated. That wasn’t the goal. Time to get to the point.

‘Tony Hill.’

Scott frowned. ‘What about him? He’s been keeping a very low profile since Jacko Vance.’