Sporadic shouts followed him over the steady thrum of chatter.

“Mr. Ferringham, why are you here?”

“Mr. Ferringham, is it true that you are writing a book about the Standedge Five?”

“Mr. Ferringham, what is your opinion of the way the police investigation into the disappearances has been handled?”

“Mr. Ferringham, do you think Roger Claypath should resign?”

He didn’t look back, or engage at all. He actually copied Claypath, and as he got to the main door and went inside the building he felt a sense of relief.

The hall was quiet and bright, just as it had been before. Guards stood at the entrance, no doubt to keep reporters out. Robin didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see an armed man.

He went through security and spotted a familiar terra-cotta-colored suit standing by the reception desk. Loamfield looked as squirrelly as ever, although this time he had a huge smile painted on his face. He was wearing a bafflingly ugly blue tie with little yellow stars on it. He was chatting cheerily to the officer behind the desk.

Robin made his way over, and before he could announce his arrival, Loamfield clapped eyes on him. “Robin Ferringham, the man of the hour.” Loamfield seized his hand and pulled him up to the desk. “Must say, you look dreadful. But that’s what happens sometimes. You’ve got to get hurt to make something of yourself.”

“Hello, Mr. Loamfield,” Robin said, feeling the familiar pang of disgust toward the man. “Where is Matthew?”

“Guards gone to get him. Been about half an hour. Paperwork, you know.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Robin said.

Loamfield beamed, but didn’t answer the question. “How did you do it? Just between us? How did you find that crack in the tunnel?”

Robin repaid him by not answering that either.

Loamfield seemed satisfied. “I know, I know. It’ll ruin the magic of it. Truth be told, I don’t really give a stuff how you did what you did. I just know I’m ready to reap the rewards. If you catch my drift.”

“I’m afraid I don’t think I do.”

Loamfield leaned in, and whispered in a harsh gush that seemed louder than his normal speaking voice. “Me, Terrance Loamfield, defense lawyer extraordinaire, is front and center for the acquitting of Matthew McConnell, in a crime that was pretty much an open-and-shut case. I won’t ever have to worry about work again.

“Par exemple—double, triple, hell, quadruple murder, perp caught bang to rights. Witnesses out the wazoo. What’s that guy gonna want—a lawyer who can do the impossible. Enter me. I’ll be the guy they all want, and it doesn’t even matter if I get them off, because there will always be more and more silly pricks doing stupid things and needing a guy like me.”

Robin raised his eyebrows. “Do you care about your clients at all?”