She sat down at her desk and turned on her laptop. She had work to do – file notes to type up, mainly. The week leading up to the Elias trial had been manic and she had hardly had a night’s sleep, let alone an opportunity to put her records in order.

She tried to work. She pulled up several unfinished documents, moved some files around on her desktop, flipped through her scribbled notes, but she couldn’t concentrate. At the back of the cupboard, to her right, the Martin Papers called to her.

Damn it, shut up!

There would be no harm in just taking a peek, surely? Taking the papers down and sifting through them, like she used to. Rearranging the order, indexing them. Maybe she’d missed something? There had to be more to his life than just the dreary, parochial existence she had found. Something that made him more three-dimensional, but what was she looking for? A worthier nemeses? Was that it? What does that make me?

She had told herself this morning that she would burn the damn papers tonight, but she’d forgotten to buy matches.

She got off her chair, opened the cupboard and removed the first file. She spread the papers out on her bed, gently running her fingers over the pages, knowing intimately what each one contained.

Nothing. It contains empty space.

‘Georgie?’

She looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard Li come in.

‘Sorry – what?’

‘Stir-fry’s kind of ready. Hope you like vegetables that are well done.’

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

By six o’clock that evening, Priest had examined the contents of his wardrobe several times but found nothing more appealing than the dark jeans, white shirt and suit jacket he already had on. I’ll stick with that.

He was experiencing an unfamiliar sensation. One that he supposed might be associated with his nerves. Put me in front of a circuit judge and tell me I have five minutes to prepare a case I’ve never seen before and present it, and I’d be fine. So why are my hands trembling slightly about the prospect of an evening with a woman I’ve already slept with?

It was a question he thought he might know the answer to but it scared him to admit it.

He inspected the lionfish tank. Orwell and Hemingway were hiding behind Sarah’s plastic castle. ‘Probably best you two stay there,’ he mumbled. ‘Doubt this is going to be easy to watch.’ Colonel Stinky, who he had let Tilly name, had taken a keen interest in Priest’s preparations and was drifting around at the front of the tank. Either that or he was hungry.