Dan locked his office. Margaret had gone home a long time before and the whole place was silent. It still felt strange to be his own boss. And more than that, being the boss to other people, the person who decided on wages and holidays and where they should have the Christmas party.
He’d worried about fees before, but that was only because he had a target. Three times his salary, that was the norm, so that there was enough to pay his secretary, his own wages and running costs, and a little bit extra for Pat Molloy. Now, it felt like he was chasing all the money he could, so that his job felt different.
His mind went back to earlier in the day, when his client was acquitted, the magistrates deciding that it wasn’t illegal to prune your bushes naked, provided that you kept your hands on the secateurs and didn’t look like you were enjoying it too much. His client was ecstatic and spoke of looking forward to the warm weather ahead.
Dan had advised him to proceed with caution, but he wasn’t sure his client was listening. He was too busy pumping his hand with delight, promising to get Dan a present, asking whether Dan would prefer wine or whisky. Dan took some heat out of his pleasure by suggesting that he paid the rest of his bill promptly.
His client made the appropriate promises and headed into a pub close by.
That was the problem with cases like his, Dan thought, as he’d watched him go. He’d had his own sweet victory, but he lived on the same street as those people who came to court to give evidence against him. They won’t forget it, nor forgive him. There will be peace for now, but it will be short-lived, no doubt broken by some drunken gloating by Dan’s ecstatic client.
And then Dan would get some more work. There was no point in hiding from it. Dan knew that for his own bills to be paid, he needed other people’s lives to take a turn for the worse.
But that was why he did the job. The drama, the excitement, the small storms. This, the administration, the stress, had never been part of it.
He let out a long sigh and looked up at the sky, fancying the cool pleasure of a glass of wine. Perhaps even the bottle. The evenings were getting longer as winter became spring, but the day was starting to lose its shine. The western fringes were turning deep blue and the eastern edge of the town was starting to burn red, promising some sunshine for the next day.
Dan turned away for the short walk home. He left his car there more and more, preferring his slow unwind as he walked. Another day finished, one more small drama played out in a decaying courtroom, Jayne on the other side of the country researching another. The shops were all closed, only the taxi rank open.
He was looking down as he passed it, his briefcase swinging in his hand.
Someone jumped out in front of him.
Dan gasped, surprised, and stepped back.
The man was short, his physique young and lithe, lost in over-baggy jeans and a black coat, his face obscured by a bandana pulled up and over his face, his hair covered by a black baseball cap. It was the lout uniform, worn by so many of his young clients, but this was no cry for help. This was a threat.
The man produced a knife from his jacket pocket. It was small but glinted in the fading daylight. He jabbed it forward.
Dan felt the blood drain from his face. His mind raced through all the scenarios he’d ever gone through whenever he thought about what he’d do if confronted by a knife attacker. Rush him. Hit him. Stand up to him. Brazen it out.
None of them made any sense when facing the threat of a shining blade being thrust towards him. All he felt was the paralysis of fear, not knowing if he was seconds away from the end of his life.
Dan held up his hands. ‘What’s going on?’ His mouth was dry. ‘You want money? I’ll get my wallet. Calm down.’
‘It’s not about money.’ He raised the knife. Dan could see his threat in the gleam in his eyes. ‘It’s about Nick Connor.’
Dan was confused. He lowered his hands. ‘I don’t understand?’
The man came closer. ‘It’s a message, so listen carefully. Stop what you’re doing. Stick to what Nick has told you. Don’t go hunting.’
Dan tried to summon up all his nerve. This felt like it was on his turf, about his case. ‘And if I don’t?’
The man stepped forward and pressed the blade against Dan’s cheek.
Dan went still. The blade was warm from being in the man’s pocket. It was sharp against his skin.
‘Use your imagination,’ the man said. ‘The same goes for your pretty assistant.’
Before Dan could respond, the man turned and jogged away. Message delivered.
Dan swallowed and closed his eyes. He bent over and sucked in gulps of air. He held out his hand. It was shaking.