At the entrance to the men’s robing room was a hundred-year-old wooden staircase. It led only upwards, to the Old Bailey Bar Mess. A huge, high-ceilinged dining hall where only advocates were permitted.

Michael took the stairs two at a time. It was 9.15 a.m. Already the Bar Mess was busy. Scores of barristers, seated on row after row of tables. All preparing themselves for the day with every kind of breakfast.

Trials. Politics. Gossip. All were being discussed as Michael made his way across the room. He stopped at the coffee dispenser and filled a mug.

‘Michael.’ He looked around at the sound of his name. Jenny Draper had spotted him. ‘Over here. I’ve saved you a seat.’

He headed towards her. Like him, she had already changed into her court outfit.

It suits her, Michael thought. Like she was born to wear it.

He took the empty seat, placed his coffee cup on the table and dropped his battered wig next to it.

‘Have you tried the cells yet?’

‘I did,’ Draper replied. ‘I went down at 9 a.m. No vans had arrived and they had no ETA. The custody officer said she’d tannoy when the vans turn up.’

‘Right.’

Michael was not surprised by either Draper’s efficiency or the lateness of the prison vans.

‘Did you hear about Adam Blunt?’ Draper almost whispered the question. As if Blunt’s death was gossip. ‘Did you know him?’

‘Didn’t everyone?’ Michael replied, surprised to hear the name so quickly. As always it made him uncomfortable, but he would not let himself show it.

Draper seemed to take the hint from the tone of Michael’s reply. When she spoke again her voice was louder and more professional.

‘He instructed chambers before he retired. I did a couple of trials for him years ago.’

‘But did you ever meet him, Jenny?’

‘No. Never face to face.’

‘Then you’ve got sensible clerks. Adam Blunt would have been all over you like a rash.’

‘No he wouldn’t!’ Draper’s feigned outrage at the suggestion, but the act was betrayed by laughter. She tapped Michael’s wrist. A playful telling off. ‘So did you know him then?’

‘Since I was younger than you,’ Michael replied. ‘I knew him before he became a lawyer.’

‘My God, Michael.’ Draper’s face fell. Her reaction genuine. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise he was a friend of yours. What must you think of me, gossiping about him?’

‘Knowing him didn’t make us friends,’ Michael said. ‘To be honest I couldn’t stand him. Nasty old bastard, he was. And bitter.’

‘Well, OK, Mr Devlin. Tell us what you really think!’

Michael forced a smile at the sarcasm, but he didn’t reply. Instead he drained the second half of his coffee cup.

The less said about that man the better, he thought.

‘So did you hear anything about what actually happened to him?’ Draper’s whisper was back. ‘The news reports hinted that he died badly.’

‘Why would I have heard anything?’ Michael asked.