‘I suggest you obtain incontrovertible proof before you start shredding testicles,’ said Sol dryly.

I barely heard him. Gabe …

Gabriel Moreland was not just the prosecutor in Tobey’s trial, he was also my ex whose ego had taken a severe pummelling when I’d dumped him. He’d never forgiven me for it. When I discovered he was to be my opponent in Tobey’s trial, I knew I’d have a fight on my hands. I’d found out since that he’d specifically asked for the case when he learned I was defending Tobey. He’d made Tobey’s forthcoming trial personal. Gabe couldn’t handle losing at anything. So I knew he’d try to use the court case to rub my face in the dirt.

It turned out that my arrest had arisen from not informing the court that my mum had been present at Dan’s dinner party on the night he died. Though all the witnesses had confirmed that Dan was still very much alive when Mum left his apartment that evening, it didn’t alter the fact that I should, at the very least, have informed the prosecution about her involvement. The Bar Council took the view that just because my surname was Hadley it did not negate the fact that I should’ve been the one to inform them that Sephy Ealing, one of those present on the night of Dan’s death, was my mother. Apparently, the information had been ‘brought to their attention’ and I’d been informed that further enquiries might well result in me being formally charged. My conduct was being investigated. Even if I were to be exonerated, any and every prosecutor worth half a damn would bring up my arrest as a reason why I should not be allowed to work as a court advocate. As a defender, any one of my future clients found guilty could appeal against their sentence on the grounds that they had had a lawyer likely to prejudice the court based on past conduct – and I’d be screwed. Any future clients found innocent could have their sentences appealed against by the prosecution on the same basis and I’d be screwed.

Let’s face it, I was screwed.

‘So what happens now?’ As if I didn’t know.

‘Let’s discuss it in my office,’ said Sol, his brown eyes sombre in the dim light of the cab.

I couldn’t wait that long.

‘Sol, thank you for standing by me, but we both know what this means,’ I said quietly. I glanced at the cab door. The lit red light on the panel of buttons and switches beneath the window indicated that the driver could hear every word we said. I switched it off, but knew that didn’t guarantee that we’d have absolute privacy.