“Well?”

“It’s a murder case. How am I supposed to represent this man when I have literally nothing to work with?”

“You’ll just have to request an adjournment.”

“It’s already been three weeks. The defendant’s been in prison for the best part of a month. Speaking of which, I can’t see any record of a bail application either.”

What could she possibly say to him? Here, don’t worry about pressing for a bail hearing or a trial date. Spend a few more weeks locked up, maybe just because your lawyers have been asleep at the wheel. Oh, and by the way, one of them is a raging alcoholic who shouldn’t even be practicing, but he’s been around forever, so the boys’ club is happy to cover for him regardless of the price his clients might pay.

Delores looked down at her work, slid her headset back into place.

“He’s probably pleading guilty. That would explain the empty file.”

It didn’t. It really didn’t. But if he was pleading guilty, that would certainly simplify things. Aifric looked down at the file doubtfully. The creeping feeling in her gut told her it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Chapter Two

Aifric

Aifric spent the first precious hour trying to track down Robert Collins’s lawyer. According to court records, he was represented by Keyes and Co., a small criminal-defense firm with a very bad reputation. They were bottom-feeders, the kind of lawyers who preyed on people who had just enough money to pay a retainer, but not enough to make a fuss when Johnathon Keyes failed utterly to deliver on any of his extravagant promises. Most reputable trial attorneys refused to work with Keyes, and Aifric couldn’t help but wonder why Brian Gilmartin had taken this case.

When she called Johnathon Keyes’s office, his secretary would tell her only that Mr. Keyes was already in court, and that she couldn’t disclose any other details. At ten o’clock, Aifric went to the cells and tried very hard to convince the prison guards on duty that she should be allowed to consult with her client prior to the hearing, despite the fact that no appointment had been made and no interview rooms were available.

“Listen, I’ve to appear in court for this man in less than an hour, and I’ve never even seen him, let alone spoken to him.”

The prison guard—he was in his forties, fit looking, wore a wedding ring—just tapped his pen on the booking sheets in front of him.

“If you’re not on the schedule, you’re not going in. It’s that simple. We break the rules for you, where does it end?”

A second guard leaned over the first man’s shoulder.

“This is the lad who killed his girlfriend, right? It was in the papers. She was a gorgeous-looking bird. I wouldn’t come looking for any favors here.”

A flicker of irritation crossed over the older guard’s face. He gave his younger colleague a look and waited for him to step back. “I’d help you if I could. But no exceptions.”