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her head, anguish replaced by disbelief. ‘Why would he have flowers?’
    ‘Mrs Mason, do you know whether your husband was seeing someone else, or planning to see someone else?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ she said, anger taking over. ‘Why would he? No, not Henry.’
    Charlotte leaned forwards. ‘Mrs Mason, we are going to have to look through everything. We need to find out more about Henry’s lifestyle. We need computers, phones, anything.’
    Claire seemed as if she was about to object, but she nodded eventually and slumped back on the sofa.
    The family liaison officer would arrive shortly, because the hard job of telling their sons would come next. Then they would go about the task of disassembling Henry’s life, to find that secret he was hiding from his wife, the secret that eventually cost him his life.

Eleven
    Joe drummed his fingers on the green leather inlay on his desk. Legal texts dominated one wall, a collection of law reports he never looked at but were there to impress his clients.
    His office was laid out like an Edwardian drawing room, with richly coloured wallpaper and a wooden fireplace. There was a more sympathetic meeting room on the ground floor, with a low table and comfortable chairs, a box of toys in one corner for those times when the whole family came along, but he didn’t want this client to feel comfortable. He wanted to unsettle him. The room was silent, apart from the regular tick of the clock. It helped him focus.
    His phone flashed red. He paused for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing. But he had waited so long for this.
    He answered, listened to the message and said, ‘Show him up.’ Then he called Gina. ‘Could you come to my room in five minutes. I’ve got a client I want you to meet.’
    Joe took a deep breath as he listened to the clomp of Mark Proctor’s footsteps along the landing. His door opened slowly.
    Joe stood up and said, ‘Come in, Mark. I can call you Mark?’ There was a slight tremble to his voice. He sounded like he was trying too hard.
    As he came into the room, Proctor looked around cautiously, as though he was expecting someone else to be there. His tongue flicked onto his lip and he wiped the palms of his hands onto the front of his black jumper. He smelled of cigarettes.
    He considered Joe for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Yeah, fine, whatever.’
    Joe gestured to the seat in front of him. ‘Sit down.’
    Proctor followed his direction and looked around again. ‘So why do we have to do this now?’
    ‘Because you might remember more now than in a month’s time, when you have to go back. It means we have our witnesses ready if you’re charged.’
    ‘There won’t be any witnesses,’ Proctor said matter-of-factly, turning back to Joe.
    ‘I’d rather be ready than not,’ Joe said, feeling a sense of panic. ‘My caseworker will take your instructions, but I thought I ought to introduce myself properly. I wasn’t myself last night.’
    Proctor reached into his pocket for a packet of cigarettes, staring at Joe all the time.
    It was a test, Joe knew, to see whether he objected, to determine who was in charge. Some clients saw the relationship with their lawyer as being about power, about who had it and how far the lawyer would go for them. There were too many lawyers in prison cells who’d got the balance wrong. Joe wanted to concede some power to Proctor. He pointed to an ashtray on a shelf near the fire.
    Proctor smiled, the first one, although it was more of a sneer. ‘I thought you were going to puke last night.’
    Joe returned the smile, surprising himself that it came so easily. ‘So did I. It must have been something I ate.’
    ‘You lawyers like to eat too rich.’
    ‘So tell me about the break-in at the compound,’ Joe said, not wanting idle conversation.
    ‘How do they know it was me?’
    ‘You were caught near the car, after it had been set alight.’
    ‘It doesn’t make it me.’
    ‘There will be