Tuesday, November 2, 2004

Chapter Four

Aifric

Aifric made it to the office before eight the following morning. She had case law to read and plans to make. She was deep into a stack of bail-application precedents when Delores arrived at her desk, a bundle of files under one arm.

“There were two messages for you yesterday, after you left.”

“Oh?”

“One from Johnathon Keyes. He called last night—wants to see you today.”

“That’s fine,” Aifric said.

“The other was Colin Leonard’s secretary. He’d like to see you, too. Soon, if possible. I took the liberty of looking at your schedule. I suggested three p.m. tomorrow. I hope that works for you?” The words suggested openness and flexibility, but the tone made it clear that it was a command performance.

“Of course,” Aifric said. Colin Leonard was a very well-regarded senior counsel. He had thirty years’ experience and the respect of his colleagues, and he was widely tipped to be the next High Court judge. “Did Colin’s secretary say what it’s about?”

“I assumed you’d know,” Delores said. She placed the files she was carrying on Aifric’s desk.

“What are these?”

“Papers came in for you this morning,” Delores said. “New cases. One from Johnathon Keyes. Two from Rebecca Lloyd.”

“I . . . okay.”

“I didn’t know you’d worked with Rebecca previously.”

“I haven’t.”

“You met her socially then?”

Aifric shook her head and picked up the first file. Rebecca Lloyd was a lawyer. She worked for the second biggest practice in Dublin and had a thriving client list. Getting instructions from Rebecca was a coup.

“Congratulations,” Delores said evenly.

“Thank you.”

The older woman hesitated, then turned away.

“Delores?” Aifric said. “What am I missing here?”

Delores considered her for a long moment. “Rebecca Lloyd was Rebecca Leonard before she married. She’s Colin Leonard’s daughter.”

“Okay.”

“Colin Leonard and Johnathon Keyes are . . . good friends.” Delores’s eyes rested on the files. “That murder case . . . You’ve obviously done something right. Just . . . you should be careful.”

“Okay,” Aifric said faintly. “Thank you.”

Aifric waited for the other woman to return to her desk, then took her time going through the file. It was good work: from Keyes a good quality criminal-defense case. The two cases from Rebecca Lloyd were both commercial—one a shareholder dispute, the other a passing-off action. Both needed pleadings drafted, opinions written. If they all went to trial, the brief fees would be substantial. Aifric closed the files and pressed her lips together. The work in front of her would take weeks. It was worth . . . She scribbled some numbers quickly on the back of a stray piece of paper. God. At least twenty-five thousand euros, not even including brief fees. It was more than she’d earned in the entire year since she qualified.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What did this mean?

Aifric stood up with her phone and went in search of an empty meeting room so she could make her phone call in privacy. She dialed the number.