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Giles very casually who’d invited John Childs to the dinner. Not casually enough, it seemed. His barrister sensors had detected instantly the thought behind the question and he had teased her unmercifully about her alleged egotism in imagining she might have been headhunted. Next day he had renewed the attack when he rang to say that Childs had been the guest of the uxorious Mr Justice Toplady, whose cat-loving wife was always on the lookout for elderly bachelors to partner her unmarried sister.
    ‘Though that might be described as the triumph of hope over experience,’ he concluded.
    ‘That sounds rather sexist even for a dedicated male chauvinist like yourself,’ said Alva.
    ‘Why so? I refer not to the sister’s unattractiveness, although it is great, but Childs’ predilections.’
    ‘You mean he’s gay?’
    ‘Very likely, though in his case he seems to get his kicks out of moulding and mentoring personable young men, then sitting back to watch them prosper in their adult careers. Geoff Toplady was one such, I believe, and he’s certainly prospered. Word is that he’ll be lording it in the Court of Appeal by Christmas. Oh yes. Hitch your wagon to John Childs and the sky’s the limit.’
    ‘Meaning what? That he’s buying their silence?’
    ‘Good Lord, what a mind you have! Still, if you spend your time dabbling in dirt, I suppose some of it must stick. No, on the whole Childs’ young men seem to be very positively heterosexual types, and the fact that most of them seem perfectly happy to continue the relationship in adult life suggests that he never tried to initiate them into the joys of buggery as boys. A form of sublimation, I expect you’d call it.’
    ‘Giles, if you don’t try any analysis, I won’t try any cases,’ said Alva acidly, stung more than she cared to show by the dabbling-in-dirt crack. ‘Would Simon Homewood have been one of his mentored boys?’
    ‘I believe he was. Of course, it could be Childs is going blind and mistook you for a testosteronic young man in need of a helping hand. Whatever, you simply hit lucky, Alva. No subtle conspiracy to take a closer look at you. Even the seating plan at these do’s is purely a random thing so you don’t get all the nobs clumping together.’
    Alva didn’t believe the last – nothing lawyers did was ever random – but she more or less accepted that fate alone had been responsible for her advancement. Which, she assured herself, she didn’t mind. The world was full of excellent young psychiatrists; far better to be one of the lucky ones!
    Still it would have been nice to be headhunted! Or perhaps she meant it would have made her feel more confident that she was the right person in the right job.
    She met Chief Officer Proctor as she went through the gate. He greeted her with his usual breezy friendliness, but as always she felt those sharp eyes were probing in search of the weakness that would justify his belief that this wasn’t a suitable job for a woman.
    She put all these negative thoughts out of her mind as she sat and waited for Hadda to be brought into the interview room.
    His face was expressionless as he sat down, placing his hands on the table before him with perhaps a little over emphasis.
    Then he let his gaze fall slowly to the exercise book she’d laid before her and said, ‘Well?’
    And she said, with a brightness that set her own teeth on edge, ‘It’s very interesting.’
    And this led to the brief exchange that ended with them trying to outstare each other.
    This was not how she’d planned to control the session.
    She said abruptly, ‘Tell me about Woodcutter Enterprises.’
    Her intention was to distract him by focusing not on his paedophilia, which was her principal concern, but on the fraudulent business activities that had got him the other half of his long sentence.
    He looked at her with an expression that suggested he saw through her efforts at dissimulation as easily as she saw through his, but he