LOST SOULS. Neil White

of custody. As they went through the waiting area, Sam saw a woman, sitting at the back, a tissue clenched in her fist, her chin puckered, her eyes red. Luke looked away, but Sam saw her watching them, her eyes getting wide, her mouth opening.

      Sam looked away and left the station, with Luke at his shoulder.

      I was back in Blackley when Sam Nixon came out with Luke King. The best reporting involves patience, although I could tell that the news was already beginning to spread. There was a reporter from the local paper there too, along with a cameraman and a young woman with a microphone.

      I saw Sam mutter ‘shit’ to himself as he came out of the door. He glanced back at the station, but the only way was forward.

      I moved forward as the cameraman went towards Sam, who tried to push past, Luke tucked in behind him. The court stragglers spilled onto the pavement and watched the excitement. I thought I heard somebody cheer.

      Suddenly Terry McKay appeared in front of Sam. He swayed towards Luke King, his finger in the air, waving in jerky movements.

      ‘You’re a fucking wanker,’ he sneered, his teeth bared, brown and jagged, spittle landing on Sam’s suit.

      Sam tried to move forward, tried to push Terry out of the way, but Terry just pushed back.

      ‘They catching up with you?’ he continued, shouting now.

      Terry turned towards the camera, to make sure he was being filmed, and Sam took the opportunity to slip past him, Luke keeping up with him. The cameraman stepped in front of McKay, leaving him alone on the pavement, confused and angry.

      As Sam walked off, he tried to step up the pace, but the cameraman was quicker, blocking his path. Sam realised that he had lost the option of silence, so I watched him as he licked his lips and swallowed. A microphone and my voice recorder were pushed in front of him. He cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed.

      ‘As you might know, the police have been speaking to my client in relation to a murder that took place last night. My client would just like to say that he is mystified as to why the police wanted to speak to him.’

      His voice sounded strong, assured.

      ‘He knows nothing about the unfortunate woman who was found dead last night, but hopes that Blackley Police find whoever committed this awful act. He hopes sincerely that the police are now able to devote their time to finding the killer, and that they stop trying to achieve quick publicity by pursuing an innocent young man just because he happens to have a well-known father.’ Sam smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s all.’

      And with that, he walked away, Luke close behind.

      I watched them go, noticing how Luke kept his eyes down, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. I thought about Sam and the few conversations I’d had with him. Did I know him well enough to get the inside track?

      I checked my watch. I still had some time before I had to collect Bobby. And I wouldn’t know until I asked.

      I had some research to do first, though.

       Chapter Fifteen

      Sam didn’t pause in reception. The seats were full of people ignoring the no-smoking sign, but he couldn’t face seeing any clients. Let the caseworkers speak to them. They spent their days working the files, visiting crime scenes, seeing witnesses, harassing the prosecution. And when the prosecution ignored the letters, they harassed them some more.

      Sam wouldn’t ask the Crown Court runners to speak to anyone in the office. They weren’t employed for the daily grind. Harry recruited them for the flash of their legs, nothing more, to brighten the lives of prisoners and take notes in court. The word soon got around the pubs and estates in Blackley that if you wanted to see a pretty girl when you were stuck in a prison cell, you went to Harry Parsons & Co.

      When Sam got back to his office, he sank back into his chair and shut his eyes for a moment. It was the old moral question, the one he tried to avoid. How could he defend a killer? The answer was easy: the judicial process would decide how to treat him. It was a cop-out, an excuse, but it was the only thing that helped Sam sleep. When he ever did.

      But what happened when his client said he would do it again? That wasn’t in the script. Sam had the power to stop it. The Law Society rules allowed him to breach client confidentiality if someone’s life was at stake. He rubbed his hands over his face. He knew he couldn’t do it. Luke King wasn’t an ordinary client. And that sickened him.

      Sam still had his eyes closed when he heard his door click open. When he opened them, he saw Harry standing there.

      Sam wasn’t surprised. Although Harry never came to his office—he called Sam to his—Sam guessed that Luke’s case might make a few things different around here.

      ‘Something wrong?’ asked Sam.

      Harry shook his head. ‘I was just passing when I saw you.’ He tried to look casual, but Harry Parsons didn’t do casual. ‘How did it go with Luke?’

      Sam saw Alison looking into the room.

      ‘He’s still got his liberty, if that’s how we measure these things,’ Sam said.

      Harry didn’t answer, so Sam played him at his own game. A few seconds passed before Harry spoke.

      ‘Tell me what happened.’

      Sam sat forward and rubbed his eyes, and then he told Harry all about Egan getting frisky, seeing a big name, a headline.

      ‘So is he out now?’ Harry asked.

      Sam nodded. ‘He’s got to go back, but he knows that Egan will be watching him.’

      Harry stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes down, thinking, and then he nodded. ‘Thank you for looking after him,’ he said, and then turned to walk away.

      As Harry was about to leave the room, Sam shouted after him. ‘If he is taken in again, I don’t want to act for him.’

      Harry turned back round, and Sam noticed that his cheeks were flushed. ‘Why ever not?’

      Sam tried to think of a way to answer that sounded reasonable, but there wasn’t one.

      ‘I just don’t, that’s all.’

      Harry was about to respond when there was a light tap on the door. It was Karen, Sam’s secretary. She looked nervous.

      ‘Excuse me, Mr Parsons,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘Sam, there’s someone to see you. He’s in reception.’

      ‘Has he made an appointment?’

      She shook her head. ‘He says it’s urgent. He’s been hanging around the office all day.’

      Harry turned to walk out. ‘Stick with it, Sam,’ he said quietly, ‘for all our sakes.’

      And then he left the room. As he went, Sam saw that Alison was still outside his office, but as Harry passed her, she turned and walked away.

      For all our sakes. What the hell did he mean by that? Sam didn’t know, but he was sure he had seen something in Harry’s eyes he hadn’t seen before. Fear.

       Chapter Sixteen

      The old man had been seated in a room by the time Sam got there. It was one of the older interview rooms, with woodchip and ancient desks, not for the best clients.

      Sam was hit by the smell as soon as he walked in. It was as if the old man had slept in his clothes for days, a musty mix of sweat and damp. From the back, Sam saw straggly grey hair over a dirty old grey overcoat, tide-marks along the collar. As he went around