The Fall - By Claire McGowan

Part Five



Hegarty

‘About me,’ Kylie said, blinking her eyes behind her glasses. She looked round the table at the men seated there, and told her story as if she’d done it many times before. ‘So when I was ten my kid brother was killed by a paedo. Big case in Oz. But they got the wrong guy; he was let out after five years, and in the meantime the real perp killed two other kids. So I do miscarriages of justice. Dodgy trials. Screwed-up evidence. No one should have to go through all that twice, that’s what I think.’ She opened her file, businesslike. ‘You can find all this out online so I’m just telling you now. Least over here not everyone knows. Oh, his name was Matthew, by the way, Officer.’

She looked up at Hegarty’s shocked face and said, laughing, ‘I know, and I got Kylie. You’d think it would have been Brad or Jason or something, right? Now, let’s get on with it. OK to proceed, Mr Hunt? Inspector? Now if I can turn your attention to page three . . .’

Around the table in the police station meeting room, the prosecution barrister, Hegarty’s boss, and assorted people from HR and the press office, all turned to the dossier Dan’s new lawyer had put together.

Hegarty wasn’t having a good week. There’d already been that awful ‘chat’ with the boss. The day after Singapore he’d knocked sheepishly on DI Barton’s door.

‘Ah, Matthew.’ The boss was watering his (dying) rubber plant. ‘Good trip? See you caught the sun.’

‘Yes, sir. Er – can I talk to you?’

‘Of course, of course – you heard about Chris Dean then? Lifted him during a drugs bust, believe it or not. We’ve charged him with this Hammersmith assault for now, have to see if he gets remanded.’

‘And the Kingston Town case? The MO’s so similar, and if we can tie Dean to the scene . . .’

The boss winced. ‘Bit of a pickle, Matthew. We’re under a lot of pressure to get a conviction there – community tensions, you know. And all your witnesses said Dean left the club before the attack, didn’t they?’

‘Yes.’ The ones who’d spoken up had, at least. And there was no record of the taxi Dean might have got home. But. But but but.

‘Last thing we want is the press in. You up to looking into it? On the QT, so to speak?’

Hegarty decided not to say he already had been. ‘Well, sir, thing is – I need to take myself off the case.’

The boss’s eyebrows shot up. Hegarty ploughed on. ‘I need to declare an interest.’

‘On what grounds?’ The poor plant was drowning under a flood of water.

‘Er, personal, sir. Being personally compromised. In the PACE codes – you know.’ He tailed off.

The eyebrows nearly disappeared into the sandy hair. ‘Is there something you need to tell me, Matthew? Has something happened?’

‘Nossir.’ He remembered her lips on his face at the harbour in Singapore, the slight catch from her gloss as she pulled away. ‘Nothing yet.’

Even though he was off the investigation, Hegarty had to testify in Dan’s case, as arresting officer, and so he’d been hauled in by this – this bloody Aussie woman, the lawyer Charlotte had found in Singapore. Tiny, she sat behind the desk like a little kid and went through the evidence over and over. Usually the police wouldn’t give the defence the time of day, but after Hegarty’s ill-timed confession, the powers-that-be had decided to play nice. So here they were, along with the prosecution guy, this Adam Hunt QC. Poker up his arse and fond of himself, you could tell.

Kylie said, ‘So talk me through the procedure, Officer. What led you to Daniel Stockbridge on the morning of May tenth?’

‘I told you,’ Hegarty said impatiently. ‘We found his employee credit card on the desk in the office, and we checked with his workplace and got the address. It was very simple.’ In fact, Haussmann’s had been only too keen to give up all they had on Daniel Stockbridge. That was one of Hegarty’s dad’s famous warning signs: Ask yourself why they want to help so bad, son. But he hadn’t asked, had been so keen to crack his first big case.

‘Other than the card, did anything tie him to the incident?’

‘It was a murder, actually. He’d been seen by many witnesses going out back with the victim.’

‘The alleged victim . . .’

‘. . . with the dead man, and a taxi driver identified him as a pick-up he made at the club shortly after.’

‘How could you be sure it was him?’

‘Two witnesses picked him out of a parade, and he subsequently admitted to assaulting Mr Johnson at the scene. We then decided to proceed with the charge.’

She clicked her pen on and off for a while. ‘That was Johnson’s sister, and his girlfriend, yeah, your witnesses? Bet they were upset.’

Hegarty had been in court before. ‘Hearsay. I’m not answering that.’

‘No matter. Anyhoo, Mr Stockbridge confessed to what exactly?’

‘A light punch. He said in his statement that the victim was fine. You can read it yourself.’

‘The alleged victim. Right. And Forensics found only a small trace of blood on the defendant’s shirt, right?’

‘Right, but—’

‘Just answer the question, Officer.’ She winked at him, and he looked away, grinding his teeth. ‘So there was no blood to speak of on the shirt.’

Hegarty glanced at his boss, who nodded slightly. ‘No. But his prints were on the bottle. We felt it was enough to bring a charge.’

‘Yes, the alleged weapon had the defendant’s print on it, and it was identified as a bottle of Red Stripe sold to him – or rather, not sold, as his card was declined. Oh-kay. Foot imprints. Talk me through what happened there.’

He’d been a bit worried about that. The crime scene had been stamped all over with prints, but none could be found that matched Stockbridge’s. ‘There were a number of footprints in the blood – it was a mess, really, no one stopped staff going in to help. They tried CPR, of course. Stockbridge’s could have been obscured, or maybe he just didn’t step in it.’

‘You yourself stepped in the blood, in fact, did you not?’

Hegarty took a deep breath. ‘Unfortunately, as I was first on the scene, I proceeded straight in to ascertain if the victim’s life could be saved. Sadly, it could not, but in the process, my, er, my footwear became contaminated.’ How did lawyers talk like this every day? His tongue felt tangled in knots.

He tried to focus on what Kylie was saying. ‘Not usual, is it, that you’d make the arrest if you’d been at the scene?’

Again he looked at the boss, who wore an expression of deep pain. Whether at his bowels or Hegarty’s incompetence wasn’t clear. ‘Unfortunately, as it was a Friday night, the Force was rather overstretched at this point,’ Hegarty ploughed on. ‘It was felt that – to avoid the risk of the defendant fleeing . . .’ He’d just gone, was what he meant. Tearing off, bad as Maverick Mike himself. Friday night in Camden wasn’t the best time to get murdered. He tried not to think about what he’d seen when he crashed into the office, the blood leaking from the guy’s neck, the sprays and splashes up and down the walls.

‘Didn’t the perpetrator stand on the victim’s hand, crushing it? You released that to the media.’

That was another sticky point. ‘Someone did. No way to know who.’

‘R-i-i-ght.’ She flipped over the paper. ‘Tell me how you approached the defendant’s workplace. You didn’t get a court order to release.’

‘Well, they were quite open. There was a complaint on file about racist bullying in the team, from a young female intern.’

‘And this intern, she got a payout of a hundred thousand pounds in compensation, right?’

Peevishly, Adam Hunt QC said, ‘Miss McCausland, how is this relevant?’

‘She did, you know. Oh-kay. Find any evidence about Mr Stockbridge’s blackouts?’

‘HR said he’d had memory lapses at work.’

‘Were you aware that the defendant has been diagnosed with stress-related epilepsy?’

‘I wasn’t at the time, but now, yes.’

‘R-i-i-ght.’

‘I was also aware he’d taken a large quantity of cocaine.’ Hegarty saw the boss wince, and shut his mouth before he could say more.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Kylie smiled. ‘Charlotte gave the game away on that, didn’t she.’ She read from the transcript. ‘ “I don’t even do drugs.” And speaking of Miss Miller, you stepped down from the case recently. Why?’

Around the room, the men stiffened. Hegarty swallowed. ‘I felt I was too involved.’

‘R-i-i-ght. You met with Miss Miller several times? Coffee, dinner, and on holiday?’

He gaped at her. ‘Er, is that relevant?’

Adam Hunt sighed. ‘It will probably come up, Officer.’

‘I . . . thought the case was closed. She was upset.’ His Irish skin was flushing like a Belisha beacon, as his mum would say.

‘I’ll make sure it comes up,’ Kylie said cheerfully, making notes. ‘May as well know what you’ll say.’

‘Right.’ He stared at the table.

‘OK, mate,’ Kylie said, all smiles. ‘That’ll do for now. See ya in court.’

Outside the door Charlotte was waiting, pretending to read the Law Gazette. She looked tired and anxious, and when she saw him she flushed red. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ He held his coat awkwardly in his hands.

‘You OK?’

‘Yep.’ He realised after a while he should say it back. ‘Er, you?’

She bit her lip, but then Kylie opened the door, her long cardigan draped round her small compact body. ‘Come on in, Charlie. Time for your grillin’.’

This Kylie was just so irritating! Everything about her – that she wore flip-flops with a designer suit, that her baby-soft hair fell over her face all the time and she blew it away. That she scrunched up her eyes as if she needed glasses, and she chewed her pen all the time – even chewed his pen when she borrowed it off him. That she seemed to know everything – every time she mentioned Charlotte she gave him this big smile, as if to say, I’m onto you, mate! See you in court, she’d said. That would be the next thing. He would also be seeing Charlotte in court. And Stockbridge, of course. Her fiancé, still.


Charlotte

Charlotte was a bit flummoxed by Kylie, if she was honest. When they’d met in Singapore she’d seemed so nice. A short girl with hair falling over her face, making scribbled notes on napkins in Starbucks. But now this barrage of questions, it wasn’t what she expected. She’d expected fireworks between Kylie and Keisha if anything, when she finally persuaded her reluctant flatmate to talk to the lawyer. But Keisha had come out of her interview in a good mood, for her. ‘She’s not bad, that Kylie. Not full of shit and long words like most lawyers.’ And when Charlotte had phoned her after, Kylie was still laughing.

‘She’s a riot, your mate. Mouth like a sailor on shore leave.’

A bit put out, Charlotte asked, ‘She say if she’d testify?’

‘We-ell, no. She still won’t let me put her on my list. But we’ll see. Never say die, eh, Charlie?’

‘They could arrest her, couldn’t they? If she won’t do it?’

Kylie sounded surprised. ‘I don’t think they’ll do that. No need to worry.’

But that wasn’t quite what Charlotte had meant. It didn’t exactly worry her. She wasn’t sure what she’d meant, in fact.

Today when she’d gone into the station for her interview, supervised by the CPS and police, Hegarty was coming out, and Charlotte had gone shaky and red. She was sure Kylie noticed. She’d smiled at Charlotte and said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m just grilling you.’

She felt like a burger, flipped and dropped. The girl who came out of the questions wasn’t someone she recognised. Someone who’d take drugs, and shout at detectives, and doggedly stand by a man everyone else thought was a murderer. Who’d engineer a meeting with the arresting officer just because that man wouldn’t let her visit him in prison.

The prosecution had a whole row of lawyers, all suits and designer glasses. All Dan had was Kylie, five foot nothing and ink all over her hands. Surely it was meant to be the other way round? The evil defendant with all the money, and the plucky prosecution bringing them down?

‘And Officer Hegarty, what’s the story there?’ Kylie had said, tapping her pen on her blotter.

It was like she could read minds, Charlotte thought. ‘Nothing! He’s been nice to me. I’ve been struggling.’ She looked down at her bare hand, avoiding the eyes of the suited men in the room. ‘It was meant to be my wedding day, you know, just after.’

‘Yeah. And you said he met you in Singapore for an exotic holiday?’

Charlotte’s mouth fell open. ‘I . . . no! I was there to meet you, actually, and he was just passing through. I didn’t think it was wrong to meet up for a drink. Was it?’

‘The arresting officer on your fiancé’s case? Bit strange, maybe. Anything happen?’

‘Of course not.’ Blushing, she looked away from the men. But she was remembering waiting for him on the pier, all dressed up and perfumed, and how her heart had hammered every time she saw a tall man walking towards her. And then that time when he’d chased her down the street in the rain and held her while she cried, shivering in his thin wet shirt. When he’d let go his eyes had locked into hers and he’d said, ‘You need seeing home?’

That was it, she knew. That could have been the moment when she moved on with her life. When she did what everyone was telling her to do, even Dan himself, and forgot her fiancé, gave it up as a bad job. But she’d held on this far. She’d pulled away from DC Hegarty, the air chill after the heat of his body. No, she’d shaken her head. No. And she’d trudged home alone through the puddles collecting on Prince of Wales Road.

‘OK.’ Kylie suddenly moved on. ‘Let’s talk about your first statement . . .’

Afterwards Charlotte slumped on the bus, replaying it. At the end of her interview she’d stood up, late for her waitressing job. The men in suits had left the room and Kylie was shoving papers randomly into a Tesco’s carrier bag. ‘I never thought of him in that way.’ She’d felt the need to explain to Kylie. ‘DC Hegarty, I mean. I didn’t.’

‘Oh?’ Kylie was cracking a pen lid in her mouth. ‘Maybe you should start. I’m pretty sure he does.’

And she remembered seeing him before she went in, and how she’d watched him walk out until Kylie had to touch her arm to get her attention. ‘He’s just a friend,’ she’d said again.

‘R-i-i-ght.’

Charlotte had other problems. When the news came about Chris Dean’s arrest, she’d girded her loins and called Dan’s parents again, the first time in months, since she’d given up on them ever helping.

The phone rang for a long time, and when Dan’s father answered it was in the wavering voice of an old man. ‘He . . . llooo?’

‘Mr Stockbridge? It’s Charlotte. Er . . . Dan’s Charlotte?’

‘Is something the matter?’

Of course it was, his son was in prison. ‘Well, the thing is, I’ve found some more evidence in Dan’s case.’

He was silent. ‘I don’t think we can help.’

‘Listen, please! It’s not what you think.’

‘What are you saying, dear? We can’t cope with much more of this.’

‘I’m saying he didn’t do it.’ She enunciated clearly; no way would he ‘pardon’ her on this occasion. ‘I think it was a MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE.’

Like a lab rat, she could almost hear Justice Stockbridge’s ears prick up at the words. ‘Do you honestly believe that?’ he said after a while.

‘I have proof,’ she said, stretching the truth just a little. ‘We think someone else did it. It wasn’t Dan.’ There was a long scuffling in the background, whispers, the phone dropped. ‘Ex-CUSE me?’ she said loudly, with a small stab of satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ said Edward Stockbridge. ‘I’d like to know a bit more about this, dear.’

‘I’ve got a lawyer, a good one. Will you please let her explain it? Just talk to her?’

She could only imagine what the Stockbridges would make of Antipodean Kylie in her flip-flops, but it seemed to have worked. Now they were on their way, and she had to meet their train and escort them to a hotel. It had always annoyed her how Dan, the only child of old parents, treated them like they might keel over if they had to so much as hail a taxi. London wasn’t the jungle, for God’s sake. Even her own flapping mother could probably use the tube, if she’d written down the colours of the lines first. Still, at least they were on board now and willing to help with the legal fees. Something about that niggled at Charlotte. Why would they suddenly believe what Kylie said, while Charlotte herself had been fighting for months with no one to help? She was so sick of it, all the different angles, the million different impressions from that one night, those ten minutes inside the club and then outside, the man pushing past . . . Well. It would all be over soon.

At the same time Kylie was also meeting Dan at the prison. Charlotte had expected a fight over this, but there was none. ‘So he saw you? He was OK?’

Kylie was surprised by the question. ‘Yeah, think so. He’s not in great shape, but OK once I got him going. Had a good natter, we did.’

This was the same Dan who’d refused to see his own fiancée for months. ‘Did he look all right? Different?’

‘I never saw him before, Charlie.’

‘Did he show an interest, like, does he actually want to win?’

‘Course he does!’ On the phone, Charlotte had heard her shuffling papers. ‘We’re gonna, too. No worries.’

So she’d have to wait, it seemed, till she faced him across a courtroom like any other member of the public. Charlotte felt very, very tired. With his parents as intermediaries, Dan had signed the papers, and the flat was going on the market in the next few weeks. Then it would just be a matter of time before everything changed for ever. The last link to the old life gone. She’d fought for him so long, through all she’d lost – friends, job, home, life – and he would still talk to this loud-voiced Australian over her. A thought crept in like tumbleweed: if she’d sold her ring, was she even engaged any more? Or was she single?

But before picking up the dreaded in-laws, or nearly-in-laws, or whatever they were, she had one even worse thing to do. Charlotte left the police station and took the Northern Line back to Tottenham Court Road. From there it was a short walk down the back streets of Soho, and to her old office building.

From the moment she stepped into the lift it all felt wrong. In the reflected metal she could see her face, flushed from the hot tube. She didn’t look like she belonged here at all, not any more. In fact, Kelly the receptionist didn’t recognise her at first. She gave her a sneering up-and-down look that was usually reserved for couriers. ‘Can I help you?’

‘It’s me. Charlotte.’ She made herself smile, and actually it was sort of funny how surprised Kelly was to see glossy Charlotte Miller with the ghosts of bean stains on her shirt.

‘Oh! Are you back, then?’

‘Just to see Simon. And no, I don’t have an appointment, before you ask.’

Kelly’s mouth was a lipglossed ‘o’. ‘Right . . . would you like to take a seat?’

‘Not really.’ Charlotte was kind of enjoying this, in a way.

Sure enough, Simon was out there in seconds after Kelly’s muttered call. He too looked surprised and even a bit scared. ‘Hello, darling! What a surprise!’

‘Just in the area. Do you have a moment?’

‘Well, it’s a bit last-minute, love.’

‘It’s urgent.’ She started walking and after a worried look at Kelly, Simon followed.

‘Meeting room?’ She nodded towards it. Ah, the same office smell of toner and slightly rotted fruit. Odd how you forgot it, the air you had breathed. She kept her eyes fixed forward – last thing she needed now was Chloe or Fliss to come over all gushy and insincere.

Simon shut the door into the airless meeting room, sealing them off. He had on his grey cardigan and skinny tie, and he was carrying the coffee mug he’d had in his hand at Reception. ‘Listen, Charlotte, you can’t really just turn up like this.’

She sat down. ‘I need you to help me. Please, would you sit down?’

He sat grudgingly. ‘You want to sort your contract, is that it? Well, I didn’t want it to come to this, but I do have certain rights, if you go down that route—’

She cut him off. ‘I said I needed you to help me. I need PR help.’

‘What?’

She sat back, trying to remember the speech she’d been rehearsing on the tube. ‘As you know, my fiancé is going on trial soon, for murder.’ Simon looked pale. ‘I believe he didn’t do it. Since I left here I’ve found out quite a lot, actually, that makes me think I’m right.’

‘What, you think he’s innocent?’

‘That’s right. I think they got it wrong – it does happen. So I need you to PR him. Get me some interviews, exposés, whatever. I know you can do it.’

Simon now looked furious. ‘Look, I’ve tried to be understanding, but even if that’s true, I’m not a bloody charity. PR for a murderer, for Christ’s sake.’

Blood was thundering in her ears. ‘But you know people, you could help.’

‘But why the hell would I? I like you and all, love, but come on.’

This was it. She licked her dry mouth. ‘Because – I was thinking, you sort of owe me.’

‘What?’

‘Because, because . . . you used to like me a lot, at first. Remember?’

‘I don’t know what you—’ He was half-laughing at her cheek.

She cut him off. ‘That bar. Q. My first week? You forget? I haven’t.’ Her voice wavered and it was all flashing round and round her mind, waking up and smelling straight away that she wasn’t in her own bed. The fear – Oh God, what happened to me? The terrible fear.

Simon sneered, ‘You think I should help you because, what, you were drunk one time, and . . .’ He tailed off.

Charlotte gulped. ‘I think you should help me because it’s the right thing to do.’

‘But I can’t guarantee anything, it’s PR, for Christ’s sake, not advertising. And the case is sub judice, or don’t you understand that?’

She had to laugh at that, a gasping dry laugh. ‘I did work here for six years, Simon. I know how it goes. You can get me some interviews, can’t you?’

He picked at the lettering on his Oxford mug, sulky. ‘I suppose I could talk to some people.’

She sagged with relief. ‘OK.’ She forced herself not to thank him. He didn’t deserve it. ‘And I think you ought to pay me some redundancy money, you know. If you want me to quietly disappear.’

‘Whatever.’ He slumped in his chair, pissed off. ‘You know you can’t prove . . . Oh, what the hell. Fine.’

‘Bye then.’ She exited the office in a flash, to avoid seeing anyone she would once have counted a friend. They weren’t her friends any more. Maybe they never were.

Once Simon was on board, it was easier to sway Sarah and her editor into printing a story.

‘This had better be true,’ her step-sister kept saying, all the way in the taxi to the photo-shoot. ‘I’m going to be really pissed off if he’s convicted after all. My reputation’ll be shot.’

‘It won’t be.’ Charlotte didn’t say that she too, and not to mention Dan, would be more than a little pissed off if he went to prison.

Sarah tapped at the driver through the glass partition. ‘Here, thanks.’ She turned back to Charlotte. ‘Now, you’ve approved the copy I sent over? I had to be very careful not to say anything about the case details.’

‘I suppose.’ The article was very sentimental, all about Charlotte’s pain waiting for her lost love, but Sarah worked for a paper that valued sentiment far above legal process. ‘Do you need to have all that stuff about the police being crap? I don’t know if it’s fair.’

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Didn’t you work in PR? It needed to have an angle. The police being crap is what our readers want to hear.’

‘But I think they did their best – I mean, the evidence did look bad. Couldn’t you just stick to that stuff about how bad the banks are, driving people to stress?’

Sarah just sighed. ‘God, you’re naïve. We’re getting out here.’

Charlotte spent the next hour standing on the grimy pavement opposite the walls of Pentonville Prison, in front of a fried chicken shop. Sarah had said to dress in her poshest clothes, so the readers could see she was safe, middle-class. It was a dry, windy sort of London day, blowing grit and pollen into her eyes until they watered.

‘That’s good.’ Sarah pounced on the photographer. ‘Did you get that? Looked like tears.’

‘I got it.’ The photographer was a patient, cynical East End geezer used to hanging round nightclubs waiting for Hollyoaks actresses to fall out. He gave Charlotte such a sardonic look behind Sarah’s back that she started giggling, and had trouble afterwards rearranging her face into a suitably sad expression. She had to make herself think of Dan behind those walls, alone and ill, to look heartbroken enough for Sarah.

‘For God’s sake, you’re meant to look sad! Your wedding got cancelled!’

‘I know.’ Charlotte giggled again. ‘Sorry.’

Much, much later, it was finally done.

‘That’s the one,’ Gary said, showing her a shot on the digital camera. She was standing by an overflowing bin in a gust of wind that swirled her hair and Burberry mac. Her eyes looked wet and sorrowful, as she gazed over at the prison. In her hand – a fake engagement ring on it – was a picture of her and Dan on holiday in Turkey, tanned and smiling, colourful drinks in front of them.

‘Gorgeous,’ said Gary, matter-of-factly. He was packing his gear with tattooed arms. ‘You should use that one.’

‘I’ll decide, said Sarah snootily. ‘It is good, though.’

‘Picture Editor’ll decide,’ Gary said, but Sarah wasn’t listening. ‘I might get an award for this, if he’s acquitted.’ She glared at Charlotte as if she would be personally responsible for the trial outcome. ‘Anyway, got to run, bye.’ She bustled off to hail a cab, already on her phone.

‘Hope he appreciates all this.’ Gary was lugging his gear to his car. ‘Not every girl’d do that for her fella.’

That was a good point, Charlotte thought, trudging off to the tube. She leaned on a lamppost to swap her high heels for trainers. Did Dan appreciate how much she’d fought, and lost, and given up for him? She’d even gone to Simon, for God’s sake. Not that Dan knew what had happened with Simon. Because he’d never noticed, had he? Not noticed she’d stayed out all night and couldn’t meet his eyes for weeks.

What kind of person would confess to a crime they hadn’t done, turn away all their friends and family? She thought about this for a while, standing on the dusty pavement. She cast a look behind her to the prison, then turned, and walked off. Tomorrow she had yet another difficult thing to do. She was losing track of them all.

Charlotte had only the vaguest idea where her brother worked. They’d not been close since she was nine and Jamie twelve, and he went off to boarding school. It was the year after their father left and just before their mother married Phil. She was remembering that as she stood on the marble steps of his office building, all twenty floors of glass and steel. She’d thought about calling in advance, but didn’t know what to say. Jamie had sent an email just after Dan’s arrest, asking would they get the deposits back on their hotel rooms for the wedding. After that she hadn’t really wanted to see him or his nervy wife Amy, who’d given up her own law career to achieve perfection in home and family instead. She didn’t even want to see Tilly, her four-year-old niece. So in the end she’d decided on a surprise attack; it had worked with Simon.

The lobby was empty, a cavern of shiny marble, and behind a desk an equally shiny receptionist. She didn’t have an appointment. She hadn’t considered that it might be hard to see her own brother without one. Eventually, after several phone calls upstairs and arguing that she really was his sister – even showing her driving licence – she was given a plastic visitor tag and allowed into the space-age lifts, all touch-screen buttons and computerised voices.

As another shiny girl showed her to Jamie’s office, Charlotte saw him through the glass walls. His hair was thinning on top and his face was going jowly. She watched him talk on the phone, tearing off lumps from a Prêt à Manger sandwich and stuffing them in his mouth. When they were very little, when they went on long car journeys to their grandparents’, he’d let her fall asleep on his shoulder. Later, when Phil appeared, they’d been briefly united against the bluff man and his bossy daughter. But that was a long time ago.

He saw her, and she went into the glass cubicle. ‘Nice office.’ She felt dizzied by the soaring views of the city.

Jamie wiped avocado off his hands. ‘I thought I might be seeing you. Sarah called.’

‘Yes. I heard you two were talking.’ She sat down, self-conscious in her jeans and vest top. You needed some kind of armour on, to walk into places like this.

‘So, you’re thinking of suing the bank.’

She felt embarrassed. ‘It’s just that money’s been so tight. And what they did, it wasn’t right. They stitched him up, Jamie. Right from the start, he hadn’t a chance.’

He twiddled a pen. ‘This is how I earn my crust, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. His HR record is a matter of public record now, so we can show he was stressed, and I’m sure there are experts to say his outburst was caused by work. Your trial lawyer will be looking at that angle, I suppose.’

She bit her lip. Did Jamie also think Dan was guilty? Like everyone, except her. She didn’t, did she? ‘I don’t know.’

Her brother was making notes. ‘I think there’s a good chance they’ll want to settle. From what I hear, Haussmann’s is under a lot of fire right now. And there’s a precedent for stress-related payouts.’

‘But what if he’s . . .’ She couldn’t say it.

‘Even if the claimant’s convicted of a crime, they sometimes pay out.’

It sounded too good to be true. ‘You think we should do it?’

He tapped his pen. ‘Is he on board?’

‘He will be.’ If she said it, maybe it would be true.

‘I heard he was going to plead Guilty.’

‘He’s not. He’s working with Kylie right now.’

‘Oh yes, Kylie.’

Charlotte’s hackles rose. ‘She’s very good. Dad recommended her.’

‘I heard about your little holiday out East. Enjoy it?’

Was he jealous? ‘I wished I’d gone sooner, to be honest. They’re happy. You should go sometime. He’d love to see the new baby.’

Jamie’s face changed. ‘Amy’s been very upset by all this, you know.’

‘All what?’

‘Knowing she had a killer round for Sunday roast, that sort of thing.’

‘Really? I was a bit upset myself when my wedding got cancelled. Hope you got the hotel deposit back, though.’ She started to stand up. ‘You know, you haven’t even said his name once. You remember Dan, don’t you? He was the one who drove your daughter to hospital when she fell off her bloody trampoline. I guess you don’t remember any of that.’

‘Wait.’ He spread his hands on the table. ‘It’s been hard for all of us. People know me in the City, they know he was engaged to you. And Mum can hardly hold her head up in the village. But I’m sure it’s been hardest on you.’

‘On Dan, actually. Seeing as he’s the one in prison.’

Jamie made a sort of face, as if to say Dan deserved what he got.

‘Look.’ She felt very tired. ‘I don’t need more hassle. I don’t really care if you think he did it or not. I don’t think he did, and I need to help him as much as I can. So, you can help, or I’ll just go away, and I’m sure I’ll see you at Christmas or whenever.’

Jamie looked sad. Maybe he also remembered the days before Phil, and divorce, and boarding school. ‘I want to help, if I can. But you do need to get Dan on board. And I’d need a complete deposition on what happened to him there. Will he see me?’

Charlotte said, ‘Probably. Anyone but me seems to be fine.’