“Is that true, Mr. Murphy?” Hartigan asked.

Aidan Murphy was either genuinely surprised or he was an excellent actor. “I don’t like to contradict my learned colleague, Judge, but to my knowledge, the book of evidence was served well over a week ago.”

Aifric felt her face flush. Aidan Murphy was looking at her with a sort of dispassionate interest. She’d seen him in court many times. He was never flustered or embarrassed. He was always prepared.

Hartigan was looking at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her response.

“I . . . uh, I have no instructions. Due to Mr. Gilmartin’s sudden illness, I did not have the opportunity to discuss the case with him. The adjournment . . .”

“And your lawyer?” Hartigan interrupted. His eyes swept the courtroom. “Where is your lawyer?”

Aifric wanted the floor to swallow her up. “I’m afraid Mr. Keyes is in difficulties, Judge.” By which she meant, and Hartigan would understand, that Keyes was in another courtroom on another case. She hoped that was true. If it wasn’t, she had just misled the court, which was a serious offense for a trial attorney.

Hartigan closed the papers in front of him and handed them down to his registrar. “Not good enough, Ms. Ryan. I’m putting this application back to the end of the day. I want to see you and Mr. Keyes here or in my chambers by then. I want to know whether or not the book of evidence has been served, and I want an explanation as to Mr. Keyes’s absence. Anything less than that will result in an order of contempt or a complaint to the Bar Council. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Judge.” The urge to hang her head, to look away, was overwhelming. She raised her chin. “Thank you.”

She got a nod of acknowledgment, then Hartigan moved on.

Chapter Three

Aifric

The first thing Aifric did upon leaving court was call Mountjoy Prison and make an appointment to visit Robert Collins the following day. Then, abandoning the rest of the work she had originally planned for the afternoon, she walked over to the offices of Mr. Johnathon Keyes and presented herself at reception.

“He’s not here.” The receptionist had bleach-blond hair and a solid inch of makeup on her face. Maybe it was armor against all the bullshit she had to deal with. Aifric leaned forward across the desk.

“Look, I know that none of this is your problem, and none of it is of your making, but I have a client who has been on remand for three, soon to be four weeks, and your boss hasn’t been near him. I’ve a file here with nothing on it and a prosecution claiming to the judge that the book of evidence has been served. And Judge Hartigan is mad as hell, demanding an explanation, today, from me and from Keyes, in person. If your boss doesn’t show up . . . Look, this really isn’t something he can just bluff his way through.”