The answer made Levy sigh.

Trident. Another bloody problem.

‘OK,’ Levy finally said. ‘I’ll be there in an hour or so. I just need to drop Richard off at school first. Text me the address.’

A crucifixion yesterday, a gangland massacre today, she thought as she disconnected the call. Hell of a week so far.

Levy glanced down at Richard’s lunchbox. Looking back at her were a group of superheroes from the movies. The Avengers. A fantasy world. Where good always triumphed over evil.

She pulled on her jacket, picked up the lunchbox and walked to the foot of the staircase.

‘Hurry up, Richard,’ she called out. ‘It’s time to go.’

SEVENTEEN

Michael was due to meet Jenny Draper at 9 a.m. He had chosen the Starbucks coffeeshop on High Holborn. At the top of Chancery Lane. Draper’s chambers was close by, inside Gray’s Inn. Barely a stone’s throw. It was one of the reasons Michael had chosen the location. When one barrister leads another in a case there is always a clear hierarchy. That can be off-putting on a first meeting; a one-sided match. Michael figured that home ground might tip the balance back towards her.

He had arrived fifteen minutes early; he liked to settle in before a meeting, to watch people arrive. He took a sip of his large black coffee – or Venti Roast, as he had had to call it when ordering – and glanced at his watch. 8.58 a.m.

The coffee shop was narrow but deep, stretching to the far end of the building. Dotted along its length were tables of differing sizes, as well as lone chairs and sofas. At the very back was a large square table that was big enough for four. Michael’s choice.

Once settled he had kept an eye on the panoramic window that looked out from the shop. It ran the length of a pedestrian walkway that led to Gray’s Inn.

8.59 a.m.

Michael’s attention was caught by movement in the walkway. It was a busy route, but when he looked up this time one person stood out. A tall woman with long blonde hair pinned neatly against her scalp, late twenties maybe, early thirties at most, walking purposefully in the direction of the entrance.

Jenny Draper.

9.00 a.m. exactly.

Punctual to the minute. According to Michael’s watch, anyway.

Draper walked through the door and strode towards Michael. Reid had been right. She was an attractive woman. Slim with pale skin and aquiline features, she wore a tailored grey suit that fit perfectly. It was very different to Michael’s choice. For him, no court meant no suit. The jeans and casual T-shirt made him look more like a client than a colleague.

‘Michael.’

Her accent was pure public school. It belonged to someone born to privilege and in no doubt of their place in the world. Her tone was just as confident. Draper was not asking; she was using Michael’s name as a greeting.

She offered her right hand.