‘So how did I do?’ I asked Dan softly.
He grinned at me. ‘That was a masterclass.’
‘It should be good for a couple of days’ headlines at least.’
‘Yes, Minister,’ Dan agreed with a smile. ‘Or should I say, yes, Prime Minister?’
We exchanged a smile. It hadn’t happened yet and I didn’t believe in counting my chickens, but we both knew the job was all but mine. I didn’t know how Dan did it and I didn’t particularly care, but he always managed to winkle out all the dirty little secrets that everyone in the public eye tried to keep hidden. And everyone had them. Many an incompetent, failing MP had stayed in power because of the secrets they knew. Those personal, potentially explosive details that others in power tried so desperately to keep buried.
Including me.
There was one secret in particular … And, if it ever saw the light of day, I didn’t doubt for a second that I’d be banged up and doing time until my hair had turned grey. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect myself. Absolutely nothing.
And both Dan and I knew that.
fifty-seven. Callie
* * *
As I waited for the kettle to boil, I looked out of the kitchenette window, watching the world scurry by while the afternoon took its time. I hadn’t grown out of my habit of people watching. It was like a hobby, making guesses about the lives of those coming into and leaving our offices, seeing what I could tell about them from their clothes, the way they carried themselves, the way they moved in relation to other people. Where I had the chance to check my suppositions, I didn’t do too badly. In fact, nine times out of ten my observations were spot on.
Watching Tobey on Guest of the Week the previous evening was a case in point. From the time Tobey was introduced by Ken Coughlan, I could tell by the way he was sitting and the smile on his lips that came nowhere near his eyes that he could smell blood in the water. I wasn’t even going to watch the programme until I heard who the guest would be. Seeing Tobey on the TV was as close as I’d got to him since university. And even then it wasn’t as if we’d exactly hung out together. Too much lay unresolved between us. But, I have to admit, I was glad I wasn’t Ken Coughlan as I watched Guest of the Week. It’d been brutal. The news headlines this morning had been full of analyses of the programme. By the end of the week, I fully expected to hear that Ken had resigned – if he had any sense.
Once the kettle had boiled, I made my way back to my office with a black coffee for me and a herbal nasty for Stacy, the Nought temporary secretary who’d been working for me for over a year. With Sol’s blessing, I’d offered Stacy a permanent position – and more than once – but each time she’d turned me down.
‘I make far more money working freelance,’ she told me. ‘And if you piss me off, I’m out the door with no notice and no goodbye. Why would I want that to change?’
Which was fair enough!
I passed Stacy her herbal mess. ‘Any calls or letters I should know about?’
She shook her head. ‘The important correspondence is on your desk or attached to the notifications on your electronic notepad. The rest is just the usual nonsense from a couple of Nought Forever pinheads threatening you with all sorts for prosecuting one of their members last year.’
‘Oh, boohoo!’ I exclaimed, unimpressed. ‘God, that lot need to be dropped down a deep mineshaft.’
‘Amen to that,’ Stacy agreed. ‘They’re worse than the Liberation Militia, and God knows the L.M. were bad enough.’
‘Yeah, but Nought Forever have denounced violence,’ I quoted, deadpan.
‘My arse!’ Stacy said at once. ‘They’ve just put a suit and tie on it, is all.’
I nodded and headed into my office behind Stacy’s desk. Funny, I didn’t remember closing the door. I very rarely did that during the day; only when making confidential phone calls or conducting sensitive interviews, neither of which I’d done. It was only as I sat down at my desk that I noticed him sitting on my sofa, which he’d pushed back against the wall.
Jon Duba – who had the uncanny knack of turning up unexpectedly, alarm systems and secretaries be damned. I shook my head as he winked at me. This was exactly the way we’d met two years ago, with him turning up at my office unannounced and uninvited.
There he’d sat, a middle-aged Nought guy with close-cut, salt-and-pepper hair, wearing round glasses, black trousers, a dark brown polo shirt and a black leather jacket. I’d stared in shock. Behind those glasses, lime-green eyes watched me, unconcerned. Then he’d smiled.
‘Who are you and how the hell did you get into my office?’
‘Hello, Miss Hadley. I’m Jon Duba, rhymes with tuba. Employ me as your covert investigator and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’
‘How about I phone for security and have your arse arrested? Then you can tell the police how you got in here.’
Jon shrugged. ‘Feel free. By the way, I’m an ex-copper. You’ll find that useful when I work for you.’
I stood up slowly and started edging towards the door. This was obviously a nutty-nut, and the sooner I took myself out of arm’s reach, the better.
‘I took early retirement due to injury on the job. After that, I did a few courses. One was in computer science, and now there’s not a computer on the planet that I can’t hack into. You’ll find that useful also,’ said Jon.
‘And why should I take you on?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘Because you need me. You just don’t know how much yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what – I’ll work for you for free for the rest of the month. If you then decide that you can do without me, I’m gone with no hard feelings.’ He dusted off his hands as he spoke to emphasize his words. ‘However, if you decide to keep me, you pay me for my first month’s work. Deal?’
‘No.’ Was this man for real? ‘I don’t know you from a hole in the ground.’
‘How about I prove to you right here and now how good I am?’
‘How d’you propose to do that?’
‘Ask me three things about you, your work, your life that you think I won’t know,’ said Jon. ‘If I answer all three correctly, you give me a job.’
OK, I admit it. I was intrigued. I stopped edging towards the door and eyed Jon speculatively. He smiled, knowing he had me.
‘All right. I’ll play. What was my dad’s middle name?’
‘Ryan.’
I stared. How the hell …? My dad’s middle name was a matter of public record: after all he’d had to give his full name when he appeared in court. But the fact that this man before me had done enough research to know that …
‘OK, OK. Second question.’
‘This is fun,’ said Jon, settling back in his chair.
‘What’s the love of my life?’
‘The law.’
‘Too easy.’
‘You asked it,’ Jon pointed out.
‘Right. Third question.’ I racked my brains for some obscure question to which only I knew the answer. Then this nutjob would be out of my office, hopefully without ructions. ‘What’s the biggest regret of my life?’
Jon studied me, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to read my mind.
Ha! Got him. ‘Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.’ I made my way back to my desk.
‘Do you mean your biggest regret or your greatest regret?’ asked Jon.
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Your biggest regret would be defending Iain Seagrove and him being found not guilty when he was charged with murdering his wife. He was as guilty as sin. Two years later, he murdered his girlfriend and you’ve always felt … responsible. Your greatest regret, however, is telling Tobey Durbridge that you hoped his child with Misty Jackman would die.’
My mouth fell open and stayed that way. No one knew that. No one. Only me and Tobey, and I sure as hell hadn’t told anyone. I was too ashamed. Who had Tobey told that this man should get to hear about it? I stared at Jon. Who was he?
/> ‘Do I have the job then?’ he asked.
‘I should have you thrown out on your ear.’
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But do I have the job?’
That was my introduction to Jon Duba, my covert investigator, my friend and the greatest pain in my ass. To this day, he hasn’t told me how he knew so much about me.
‘You enjoy sneaking into my office, don’t you?’ I said, eyebrows raised. ‘What d’you do? Wait for Stacy to pop to the ladies and then make your move?’
‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’
‘Then, by all means, keep it to yourself.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘So are you here for a specific reason or just to be a general nuisance?’
‘Charming!’ said Jon, unfazed. ‘I come bearing news.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Solomon has put your name forward to become a circuit judge in the current round of selections and it looks like it might just happen.’
I stared, astounded – which was my default mode when talking to Jon. And, what’s more, he loved it! ‘How on earth do you know that?’
Jon tapped the side of his nose. ‘I have my sources.’
Which is what he always said when I asked him how he knew stuff.
Solomon was my head of chambers as well as my friend, but he’d never said anything about putting my name forward for such a prestigious position.
My eyes narrowed. ‘Hang on. Don’t I have to be a district judge before I can be considered for the role of circuit judge? I’m just a barrister.’
‘They brought in a fast-track scheme for exceptional barristers with a number of years’ court experience.’
‘I know that, Jon, but only one barrister has ever been fast-tracked that way, to my knowledge.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, you’re more than qualified. And you win far more cases than you lose. There’s another reason – but you won’t like it.’
Uh-oh! ‘I’m listening.’
‘All the current circuit judges are Crosses,’ said Jon. ‘If you’re appointed, the fact that you’re half Nought won’t hurt.’
‘I see.’
Already I was bristling. When was this BS going to stop? Years ago, I’d watched others on my course with lower grades get offered pupillage way before I found a law chambers prepared to take me on. That was part of the reason why I was so grateful to Sol for giving me a chance. And I’d worked my arse off, determined to make sure that he never regretted it. On one of my first independent cases as a green barrister, a Nought court official, Martin Morris, refused to let me enter a courtroom through the officials’ entrance until he’d fully checked my credentials. Other Cross barristers, however, were allowed to swan past me, completely unchecked. It’d been intensely humiliating. To this day, Mr Morris and I kept it strictly professional; no pleasantries were ever exchanged.
‘I have issues with being a political appointee. If they’re looking for a diversity poster girl, they can fuck off and look elsewhere,’ I said, rearing up on my high horse. ‘I’ve had it with people looking down on me because one of my parents was a Nought.’
‘Cool your jets. I said it’s another reason, not the only reason,’ Jon pointed out. ‘You’re not the problem; you’re the solution. Besides, you’re one of the best barristers in the country and you know it, so don’t get sniffy.’
‘Hmmm.’ I was only slightly mollified.
Jon pursed his lips, raising his chin as if issuing a challenge. ‘I should congratulate you on your forthcoming promotion, but I’m not going to.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘If you become a circuit judge, you won’t need my services any more. You’ll be presiding over cases, not investigating the facts of them.’ Jon sighed. ‘It’s taken me two years to train you up and get you used to my way of working. Now that’s all out the window. This displeases me.’
‘Whoa! Can we roll back a bit? Are you sure about this?’
Jon drew himself up, his shoulders back. ‘My sources and resources are impeccable. I don’t open my mouth unless I’m sure. You ought to know that by now,’ he said haughtily. ‘As long as you don’t drop a heavy object on the Chief Law Chancellor’s foot, it’s a done deal.’
‘Why hasn’t Sol told me this himself?’ I asked.
‘You’d have to take that up with your boss, not me.’ Jon shrugged. ‘But, if you want my advice, wait for him to bring up the subject and then act surprised and grateful. He won’t like it if he knows we’re ahead of him on this.’
Which was sage advice. Solomon already thought Jon was dodgy AF.
Circuit judge … It was what I’d hoped for, but I didn’t think it’d happen for at least another eight to nine years at the earliest. To become a circuit judge at my age would be the stuff of dreams.
‘Meanwhile, back down to earth, your current case has a major problem,’ said Jon.
‘How so?’
‘Beatrice Fairley, the innocent client whom you’re so vigorously defending? The woman accused of killing her sister? She’s as guilty as sin. What’s more, I can prove it.’
Son of a bitch!
‘How? Beatrice has an alibi. She was captured on CCTV filling her car with petrol.’
‘And she paid at the pump, didn’t she?’
‘So? Are you saying the footage was doctored?’ I frowned.
‘Of course not. The woman driving Beatrice’s car and wearing Beatrice’s clothes wasn’t Beatrice. It was Lily, her seventeen-year-old daughter, who passed her test three months before the murder. The CCTV footage shows a blonde woman wearing a cap and Beatrice’s distinctive T-shirt and ripped jeans. Beatrice’s daughter kept her head down the entire time she was at the petrol station so the camera couldn’t get a close-up of her face, but she forgot to mask her hands.’
‘What about them?’
‘Even though Beatrice is a widow, she still wears her wedding ring. Her daughter Lily’s fingers were all bare. Plus Beatrice is left-handed and Lily is right-handed. You can clearly see her using her right hand to fill the car’s tank and to pay at the pump.’
‘Hardly conclusive evidence,’ I pointed out.
‘But enough for the prosecution to establish some doubt,’ said Jon. ‘And, as the prosecutor is your ex, you know he’s going to do everything he can to win, especially as it’s against you.’
Which was true. There was no love lost between Gabriel and me. He still couldn’t believe I’d kicked him to the kerb for being an ass hat to my brother.
‘Once you let Beatrice Fairley know that you have proof she wasn’t driving her car that night, she’d be a fool not to change her plea.’
I shook my head. ‘Jon, why d’you insist on doing that? My client pleaded not guilty. By telling me that you can prove she’s a liar, you’ve effectively scuppered my case.’ And not for the first time either.
Jon shrugged, unconcerned. He knew full well that, as a barrister appointed by the state, I was not allowed to knowingly deceive the court. I either had to advise my client to change her plea or find a new lawyer, or I’d have to tread very carefully to ensure I didn’t put someone else on the hook in my efforts to get my client off it.
‘If you insist on defending the guilty, this is what you get.’ Jon was unrepentant.
‘Jon, I’ve told you before, I can’t pick and choose like that. Under the law, everyone is entitled to a fair trial.’
‘Oh, spare me, please!’ he dismissed. ‘Your client bumped off her sister Rosalind so she could hop into bed with her sister’s husband, Carl.’
‘She what?’ I said, stunned.
‘Beatrice and her sister’s husband have been having an affair for over a year now. He wouldn’t or couldn’t leave his wife so your client decided to make up his mind for him. He’s been crying big crocodile tears about losing his wife, but she was barely cold before he was back in bed with Beatrice.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘Something smelled wrong about this case so I followed him for a few days. I
thought he might’ve hired someone to kill his wife, but, when I found out about his affair and his alibi was solid, I turned my attention to the victim’s sister. You’ve got to stop defending these lowlifes, Callie. It’s beneath you.’
‘The guilty are just as entitled to a legal defence as the innocent,’ I argued. Again. It wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.
‘Guilty or innocent, my job is to find out the whole truth,’ said Jon. ‘Not bend it, shape it or present you with the edited highlights.’
‘All right.’ I sighed. ‘Show me everything you’ve got.’
‘You can thank me later.’ Jon smiled, breaking out his tablet to show me the footage he’d duplicated.
‘Thank you? Pfft!’ I derided. ‘Jon, you’ve just made my case and my life that much more complicated.’
He winked again. ‘You’re welcome!’
fifty-eight. Tobey
* * *
Dan wasn’t alone when I entered his penthouse. Jarvis was behind the bar, pouring himself a ginger ale. A Nought woman wearing the tightest, shortest red dress I’ve ever seen lounged on the sofa, long legs crossed and flicking through a fashion magazine. I’ll say one thing for Dan, he had taste. The woman wore her red hair braided and decorated with painted beads. Blood-red varnish adorned her toes and fingernails. She was stunning – and what’s more she knew it.
‘Honey, why don’t you go and wait for me in the bedroom?’ said Dan.
The woman smiled at him, dropped the magazine and immediately did as she was told, but not before giving me an appraising look. I turned to Dan, annoyed.
‘Godsake, Dan. This was supposed to be a meeting between the two of us. I don’t want your side chick listening in.’
‘Who? Abby?’ he chortled. ‘I trust her before I’d trust you.’
I raised an eyebrow but bit back my retort. If that’s how he felt, I wasn’t inclined to argue. If he didn’t know by now that women couldn’t be trusted, he’d learn sooner or later. I toyed with the idea of taking Abby away from Dan, just to disprove his words about who could and couldn’t be trusted. I didn’t doubt for a second that Abby would be happy to swap Dan for me. I recognized the look she gave me – I’d seen it enough times. Power was the greatest aphrodisiac on the planet. But then what? I was within arm’s length of getting everything I’d ever dreamed of. Not only was I predicted to keep my parliamentary seat, but the smart money was on my party, the Democratic Alliance, winning the upcoming election and I was on track to be voted the next Prime Minister by the electorate. It was such a headrush. A constant buzz. Tobias Durbridge, Prime Minister. God, I loved the way the words sounded in my head. Saying them out loud would be even better. Even ten short years ago, a Nought Prime Minister would’ve been unthinkable, yet here I was with my eyes on the prize that was within my grasp. And it was all thanks to the man in front of me. Dan was useful. Now wasn’t the time to antagonize him. I walked over to his oversized windows. Dan moved to stand beside me.
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