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Grant Herbert drove into the small town of Te Awamutu and searched for a parking space on the busy main street. He executed a perfect parallel park and closed the hood of the vehicle. “New Zealand is changing,” he observed with a knowing smile. “I used to leave the top down and come back to everything where I left it. Nowadays, some little jerk will hot-wire the engine and take the whole thing. If they don’t succeed in that, they’ll slash the seats just because they can.” He shook his head and left the vehicle.
He caught the door handle and held it open for her. The perfect gentleman. She hadn’t become ingrained enough in feminism to dislike his attentiveness. It formed the opposite to Tarant’s oblivion. He would have left her to struggle from the low vehicle, looking back only to wonder why she didn’t follow.
Lexi took the offered hand and bounced onto the curb. Grant released her fingers, and she glanced around the street. She hadn’t yet seen the black motorcycle, but prickles along her spine told her the unnamed rider lurked nearby.
“Let’s grab a coffee and talk,” Grant suggested. His outstretched arm indicated a side street. Lexi followed him, still mindful of her surroundings and potential vulnerability. Her smart trousers contained no pockets deep enough to conceal her night stick. But the small emergency bag slung across her body contained a spiteful brand of pepper spray. Her phone and credit card occupied the remaining space within the pocket.
In a quiet cafe away from the main drag, Grant ordered two mugs of coffee. He waved away Lexi’s attempt to pay for her own. “It’s on me,” he remarked. He nodded to the raven haired barista as he swiped a glossy credit card before the machine. Turning, he herded Lexi towards a table beside the window. A spindle with the number ten hanging from a decorative frog’s outstretched hand clattered onto the table. Grant pulled out Lexi’s chair and ensured she’d settled before taking his own seat opposite her.
“Let’s strategise,” he said. His smart navy tie bulged against the table as he leaned forward. The wind in their faces had prevented conversation on the drive down. It gave Lexi time to gather her thoughts. She sensed Grant hadn’t wanted to talk either. The adjournment of his other case seemed an unwelcome obstacle. He’d frowned and tapped the steering wheel during the drive as though pondering a conundrum.
Lexi smiled as the barista delivered their drinks. She waited for the girl to return to her coffee machine before answering. “This is a fact finding mission for me,” she said. An eager sip of the coffee resulted in a burned tongue. “This case began with a request to find a lost friend. It’s cycled back to a murdered priest and an incarcerated man. I don’t know how any of it fits together. Just that it does.”
Grant gave a definitive nod. “Perhaps I should begin,” he offered.
If Lexi thought her own journey haphazard, then the lawyer’s proved even more confusing. She stared at him when he finished, her eyes narrowed. “Trent Barnard hired you before the end of his parole?” She cocked her head. “I don’t understand. He expected an early release, didn’t he? Do inmates require legal assistance in a parole hearing?”
Grant’s eyebrows waggled as though enjoying her meander through his history. “Not from a barrister charging five hundred dollars an hour.”
Lexi sat back in her chair. “So, why then? I assumed you defended him from the second slew of charges. Did he expect them to come to light and hedge his bets?”
“No.” Grant sipped his cooling drink and wrinkled his nose. He glanced back to the counter as though considering asking for a fresh coffee. But a glance at his watch sent him back to the original. “The second case seemed to throw him somehow. During our first meetings, he appeared confident and edgy. But after the police charged him with two more deaths, he lost something fundamental in his psyche. He maintained his innocence throughout the trial.”
“I read about it in old newspapers,” Lexi confessed. “It sounded like a slam dunk. Why did you take such a risky case?”
“Because it damaged my reputation?” Grant gave a sad, slow nod. “It certainly cost me more than it did him. The other partners disagreed with my decision from the outset. If I could go back in time, I’d recuse myself from that very first meeting. When I lost and Barnard received another double life sentence, our work suffered. The senior partner called my bluff. He wanted to sell his share and retire. Neither I nor the other partner could afford to buy him out.”
“Oh.” Lexi’s lips rounded in sympathy. “That’s why you sold to Kelly’s crew.”
“Kelly Lomas?” Rapid blinking masked his thoughts. “You know her?”
Lexi nodded. She didn’t say how or why. But she wondered if Lachlan Mortimer had inadvertently bank-rolled the takeover of War, Long, and Herbert. She shivered as a sense of dirtiness clawed along her spine. “Why did you persist?” she pressed.
Grant hauled himself from his thoughtful reverie. “Because I believed Trent Barnard was innocent.” He sighed. “And I still do.” He fiddled with his mug, passing the handle from his left to his right hand until it spun in a slow arc. Milky foam slopped inside it.
“What about his first conviction?” Lexi asked. A couple entered the cafe and sat at an adjacent table. It caused her to lower her voice. “He pleaded guilty.”
“He didn’t kill his wife,” Grant whispered. His next sentence shocked her. “I believe he’s innocent of all three murders. It’s why I put everything on the line last time.” Beige latte surged over the side of the mug and pooled on the table. “And why I will again.”
