Free The Guilty One by Lisa Ballantyne Page B

funeral? I have left my details with your colleague, should you wish to get in . . . ”
    “Very well. Good-bye.”
    Daniel hung up. He rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb then took a deep breath.
    D aniel had to change at Whitechapel and take the London Overground to Parklands House. When he emerged at Anerley, the street smelled of exhaust fumes and evaporated rain. Daniel could feel the sweat forming at his hairline and between his shoulder blades. The sky was low, pressing on him. It was Friday morning, just a day since the first hearing at Highbury Corner, and he was going to meet Sebastian and his parents. Sebastian’s father had returned from Hong Kong and this was the first time Daniel would meet him.
    He felt strangely apprehensive about meeting the boy again, and meeting his family. Daniel had not slept well. His morning run had been slow because he had been tired before he began. Two nights in a row he had woken up dreaming of Brampton, her house with the dirty floors and the chickens in the coop outside.
    Her funeral would be held in a few days, but he did not yet feel her loss.
    When he arrived at the secure unit, the Crolls were waiting. Daniel had asked to meet with them first before he spoke to Sebastian. They sat at a table in a bright room with high, small windows.
    “Good to meet you, Daniel,” said Sebastian’s father, striding across the room to squeeze his hand. He was an inch or so taller than Daniel and so he stretched his spine and pushed his shoulders back as he accepted the older man’s hand. His hand was dry and warm and yet the strength of it caused Daniel to inhale slightly.
    Kenneth King Croll was a powerful man. He was heavy: stomach and jowls, reddened brown skin and thick, dark hair. He stood with his hands on his hips, allowing his pelvis to tilt, as if to assert he was a better man than Daniel. The spider veins on his cheeks had been formed by the best wines and whiskey. He possessed a seismic arrogance and wealth. All the energy in the room was drawn to him, like a whirlpool. Charlotte sat near him, eyes always finding him whenever he spoke or lifted his hands. Daniel took the lid from his fountain pen and slid his business card across the table. Kenneth studied it with a slight curl in his full lips.
    Charlotte brought watery coffee from the machine. She was still immaculate; her long nails a different color every time Daniel saw her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed each cup on the table.
    “I just hate him being in here,” she said. “This place is quite vile. One of the kids committed suicide in here last week, did you hear? Hanged himself. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Did you know about that, Daniel?”
    Daniel nodded. His own client, Tyrel, had tried to kill himself soon after the sentence. The boy had recently been moved to adult prison and Daniel worried that he would try again. Even secure units didn’t provide the kind of care that Daniel felt juveniles needed.
    Charlotte’s trembling fingers touched her lips as she thought about it.
    “He’ll survive,” said Kenneth. “Daniel, go on, what’s the score now?”
    “I just don’t want him to be here,” Charlotte whispered as Daniel flicked through his notes. Kenneth tutted at her.
    Before the Crolls, Daniel’s muscles contracted with tension. He sensed that beneath the colored lacquer, silk, and fine Italian wool there was something terrible about this family.
    “I just wanted to go over a few things with you before we see Sebastian. I wanted to talk to . . . warn you, I suppose, that there might be substantial media attention. We need to be careful of that, work out a strategy and try to stick to it so that we can keep that intrusion to a minimum. It will, of course, be automatic that his identity is not disclosed . . . We’re still waiting on the indictment bundle from the CPS and when we get that, probably in the next day or so, we can properly instruct counsel. There will be a chance