Michael had heard the same thing. That his new junior had been involved in some messy relationships with more than a few QCs, or ‘silks’ as they were often called by other members of the Bar, a reference to their robes being made of silk instead of the coarser material worn by a junior barrister.

‘You mean that’s the only reason she’d be interested?’ Michael asked, feigning both outrage and ignorance. ‘Well now you’re hurting my feelings.’

‘Stop pissing about.’ Reid had a point to make. For once he wanted it taken seriously. ‘Just be careful of her. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Derek, I’m not about to risk my relationship with Sarah. Especially for someone who’s only interested in the letters I’ve got after my name.’

Michael pushed his plate away and placed his napkin on the table.

‘Now forget about all of that. We’ve got more important things to occupy us: that dessert trolley over there’s got your name on it.’

‘I don’t need telling twice,’ Reid replied, getting to his feet with his eyes fixed on the dessert selection that sat thirty feet away. ‘On either point.’

ELEVEN

Russell Longman sat and stared at the wall. His eyes did not focus on any of the laminated signs and paper posters that covered the room with medical information. Barely an inch of the room’s white paint was visible.

For Russell Longman, the wall could have been blank. His mind was somewhere else entirely. Lost in an unbearable mix of grief, shame and dread. The grief was natural. The shame less so, brought on by the fact that months had passed since he had last visited his father. That it had been weeks since they had spoken. And dread at the thought of what was to come next: identifying his father’s mutilated corpse.

I can’t do this. The quiet voice in Longman’s head seemed to come from somewhere else. Somewhere distant. At first he could hardly hear it, but its volume grew with each repetition.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Slowly he began to realise what he was hearing. And he began to listen. To agree. He couldn’t do this. It was asking too much.

I CAN’T DO THIS!

Russell Longman was not an impressive man. He had enough self-awareness to know that about himself, and to know that he was simply not capable of what he was about to be asked to do. It was devastating enough that he had lost his father. But to have to witness what had been done to him? To see with his own eyes what his father had suffered?

It’s too much. It’s too much.

Longman rose to his feet, his thoughts now stumbling from his mouth.

‘It’s too much,’ he repeated. ‘It’s too much.’

He could feel his heart race wildly as he scanned the room, looking for the belongings he had dropped absentmindedly when first shown to his seat. With his mind spinning, it took Longman longer than it should have to spot his discarded jacket. A fact which only increased his growing anxiety.