Next to Die by Neil White Page B

because as far as Joe was concerned, the system had failed him and his family. More importantly, it had failed Ellie.
    ‘Ronnie seems to think you ought to remember him,’ Monica said.
    ‘I’ve had a lot of clients. He’ll get over the hurt.’
    ‘It’s not just that though.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Well, I know where you live, and you do live in a swanky apartment.’
    ‘Why is that important?’
    ‘Because Ronnie knew that you did. He said you would go back there tonight.’
    Joe paused and then gave a small shake of the head. ‘A lucky guess,’ he said, although he started to wonder if there was something he wasn’t quite seeing.
    They slipped into the building by a side door. The firm specialised in commercial work and family law, but kept a crime practice out of habit. The clients who paid the private fees used the double oak doors that sat between white pillars at the front, the reception tiled in black and white. It had been built for grander times, not for the daily grind of a city centre law firm, except that the main entrance wasn’t for his clients. The criminal department had always been the poor relation, made to work out of a side entrance, so that thieves and sex offenders didn’t share the main waiting room with businessmen and sobbing divorcees.
    ‘Have I missed anything?’ Joe said to Marion, the receptionist, a woman in a smart business suit with a sharp tongue, who let clients know what was acceptable banter and what wasn’t. No one got past Marion if she didn’t want them in the building.
    ‘It’s been quiet,’ she said. As he headed for the stairs, she added, ‘Happy birthday, Mr Parker.’ When he turned round, she was smiling, even blushing a little. ‘I always remember, you know that.’
    Joe returned the smile and then went quickly up the stairs that curved to the first floor and to a corridor filled by doorways, each office small, remnants from the day when the buildings were designed to be grand houses. Honeywells occupied two buildings next to each other, four storeys tall, knocked through into one complex of corridors and small rooms.
    ‘So what do I do now?’ Monica said.
    ‘You must be hungry; you missed your lunch. Take a break.’
    Monica looked deflated by that, as if she wanted to stay with him, but Joe turned away. He needed some time to himself.
    As Monica left, he settled into his chair. The green leather cushion felt familiar and comfortable, and for a moment he closed his eyes. He should persuade Monica to do something else. No one came into crime anymore. Not anyone with any sense, anyway. There was still some money to be made, by learning all there was to know about road traffic laws and hoping you got clients rich enough to pay your bills, but for most young lawyers, it was all graft and no reward. He should treasure Monica’s enthusiasm and then send it elsewhere, for her sake.
    He opened his eyes when Gina came into the room.
    Gina’s office was two floors above, in the old roof space, squeezed below the sloping timbers with all the law clerks. She was there to keep an eye on them, to report back on who was really interested in impressing, or who was just seeing out a training contract. Sometimes the noisy and the brash get noticed the most, but it was the ones who did the billable hours that the firm would keep on.
    ‘How was Ronnie Bagley?’ Gina said, leaning against the door jamb.
    Joe tapped his fingers on the desk for a few seconds and then said, ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘You think you might have an innocent one?’
    ‘I always believe that they might be.’
    ‘That’s one of your failings. You’re always looking for the client who will redeem you, because you saved him, proof that the system isn’t just about people getting away with it.’
    ‘And you’ve still too much of the ex-copper in you.’ He sighed. ‘None of that matters when they look at the figures, does it? We will decide what is best for Ronnie, and we get paid along