Claudia wanted to say more, but with Andee and Helen Hall, the town’s leading criminal lawyer, about to arrive, now wasn’t the time to get into how Marcy had been retreating into herself again since the meeting with Archie. She hadn’t even commented on the letter from him that had turned up yesterday with a fully credible apology and equally genuine-sounding appreciation of the way Marcy had chosen not to skewer him during the visit. However, Claudia could tell that it had affected her.

She’d try to broach the subject again once Andee and Helen had gone. For now, as her mother set a tray of tea on the table, she went to let the visitors in.

The introductions were soon made and Claudia found herself warming to Helen Hall, who was very like the photo on her law firm’s website with her mop of curly red hair, freckles, and sharp green eyes.

Andee said, “As you know, Helen’s come along to talk us through why things aren’t happening in quite the way we’d hoped, regarding the information Archie gave us last week about Marcus.”

Helen smiled a thank-you to Marcy as she passed her a cup of black tea. “The problem we have,” she began, “is that Archie’s allegations aren’t carrying any weight. This wasn’t wholly unexpected, of course, given who and where he is—and the fact that there is no proof of a connection between him and Huxley-Browne really isn’t helping. To be blunt about it, his claim, at the moment, is being viewed by some as a ploy to try and shift some blame in order to reduce his sentence when the time comes.”

Claudia’s mouth turned dry. “But surely someone’s asking why he would randomly pick on Marcus to accuse?” she protested.

“Questions that deserve answers,” Helen acknowledged, “but I’m afraid none are yet forthcoming. Your champion in the Met, Detective Inspector Carl Phillips, has tried to open an investigation in response to the claim, but so far he’s getting nowhere. There’s no interest in allocating funds to a case that is seen to belong to another force, and here in Kesterly they don’t have the manpower to set up an inquiry that would largely have to take place in London.” She took a sip of tea, leaving a pale pink mark on the cup’s rim. “There’s also no evidence of your husband ever being abusive toward you,” she continued gently, “and without it I’m afraid a judge simply won’t—can’t—issue a restraining order.”

Claudia’s face was pinched and angry as she looked at her mother.

Marcy lowered her eyes, at a loss for anything positive to say.

“Things could change,” Helen stated encouragingly, “and they often do, so I want you to know that we’re not giving up.”