He could almost feel the air electrified by Jager’s presence, a centred energy about her that quietly filled the room. Parlabane had seldom sensed such a controlled strength of will emanating from a person, a constant reminder not to be misled by her clothes or her circumstances.
Ironically he was here ostensibly to assist with her defence, that being the reason given by Stroud in order to facilitate his accompaniment during this sustained period of access to her client. They sat in a drab but over-lit room, on ugly plastic furniture pocked by an acne of cigarette burns. Jager was in prison-issue sweatshirt and slacks, her hair pulled back carelessly into an untidy ponytail. She bore scant resemblance to the woman he had spoken to outside the hospital in Inverness, but he couldn’t let that distract him from a vigilant awareness that he was dealing with a formidable intellect and a thoroughly dangerous individual.
He waited a few moments to be sure she had finished speaking, and to digest what he had learned. It was a lot to take in, and he remained as wary as he was unsure of where he fitted into it.
‘So,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘First things first. The initial story you wrote, about Agnes and Evan and your little adventure on the way home from the pub. I’m assuming that’s how the police got all of that information. Was it also you who told them about the sex tape?’
‘Yes.’
She fixed him with a piercing look.
‘I thought so. In that case I would like to thank you for keeping that part out of the paper.’
‘The editor probably won’t when he finds out, but I like to think I’ve still got some integrity. A crime was perpetrated against you and I didn’t want to be party to worsening the damage. I only granted you a stay of execution, though. It will all come out in court.’
She angled her head, as though evaluating something. She didn’t seem too disturbed. Maybe she had already made her peace with it. What difference does it make how many strangers see a thing like that?
He was wrong, though: that wasn’t why she seemed sanguine.
‘This won’t be going to court. You’re going to see to that.’
‘I am? Why?’
‘Because I didn’t kill my husband. There’s a scoop for you.’