Page 54 of By His Side

Accepting his handshake was one of the most difficult things I’d ever had to do, the contact between his skin and mine making my flesh crawl. I kept it as brief as possible and congratulated myself on resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my trousers once it was done. “I am. Darien Quinn, that is.” I returned the smile, wondering at what point someone would nominate me for the latest round of academy awards.

Julian took the empty seat, and I sank back into mine. There was a moment of silence while he studied me, his blue eyes quick and intelligent. Hopefully not that intelligent that he could see straight through me. “So, you’re an author?” he finally asked.

“I am,” I lied.

“What sort of author?”

There were different sorts! Perhaps I should have done a bit more research on the subject before coming here. Most of my focus had been on the recording device currently burning a hole in my shoe and hopefully picking up every word Julian was saying. “Non-fiction.”

Julian laughed like I’d made a deliberate joke. “Of course. I didn’t think you were going to turn me into the dashing hero of a crime thriller.”

Dashing hero.Was this guy for real? I laughed, the sound convincing enough. “No, you’ll need another author for that one.”

“So… you want to talk about the past?”

“I do.” I took a moment to take stock. No apology for arriving late—although I appreciated that likely hadn’t been on him—and he was keen to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted it to go. This was a man who liked to be in control. Which, given what I already knew about him, shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’d molded a younger lover into what he wanted him to be, ostracized him from his friends and family, locked him in a basement, and then when his world had fallen down around Julian’s ears because of his actions, had dragged that same man down with him. And all without a shred of conscience. Or at least it was safe to assume so when at any point during Felix’s sentence, he could have spoken up. He hadn’t, choosing to continue the lie instead.

Julian hitched an ankle over the opposite knee, fingers resting on his thigh in a relaxed pose. “And what, precisely, is it you want to discuss?”

“I thought your case might be something I could include in my book.”

“Your book about miscarriages of justice?”

“That’s right.” Was I sweating? It felt like I was. Was there a way to stop yourself?

Julian regarded me silently for a few moments. “It’s difficult to talk with my throat so dry.” When I stared at him blankly, he jerked his head toward the vending machine at the side of the room. There’d been a constant trickle of people to and from it while I’d been waiting for Julian to show his face. “You did get some tokens?”

I had a feeling that if I answered that question in the negative, this conversation would be over. Thankfully, previous experience of meeting clients had taught me to be prepared, so I had purchased some. I stood. “Sure. What would you like?”

“A Coke.” I started to walk away. “Oh, and some crisps… salt and vinegar. Maybe some chocolate too… a Snickers or a Mars Bar would be nice.” Julian furnished his list of demands with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “Only if it’s not too much trouble. If it is, then…”

“It’s not too much trouble.” I hurried away before he could add more to the list. Perhaps he’d request a car next. Or maybe a house for his mother to live in. I got everything he’d requested, the vending machine unfortunately not stocking any cyanide to add to the Coke. With my remaining tokens, I got a bottle of water for myself before returning to Julian and depositing his pile of treasures in front of him.

“Thank you, friend.”

Friend!Not while I still had breath in my body. If I wanted to sell my soul to the devil, I’d find some other way to do it. Julian opened his Coke and took a sip, but didn’t touch the rest. No doubt he’d take them back to his cell with him once this meeting reached its end, whichI was hoping would be soon—every extra minute I spent with him souring my stomach that bit more.

“How many books have you written?”

The question caught me off guard. “A few.”

“Only…” Julian cast me something of a sly look. It was a look that said he was far cleverer than I was and I’d have to get up early in the morning to catch him out. “I asked a friend to do a bit of research on you and they couldn’t find a single book written under the name Darien Quinn. You’re not telling fibs, are you?”

“I use a pen name.”

“What’s your pen name?”

Every single name in the world suddenly deserted me. “Roger Abraham.” Roger Abraham had been my English teacher at school. I couldn’t help but appreciate the irony that Roger Abraham had been a great believer in coming up with your own unique ideas rather than borrowing from other people. Julian would have someone check up on the name and work out that it was a lie, but by then I’d be long gone. Hopefully, with what I’d come for. Which served as a reminder that a sizeable chunk of the designated hour had already gone, and all we’d achieved so far was small talk and filling Julian’s stomach at the vending machine.

I reached for my notepad on the table. I didn’t need it with the recorder in my shoe, but of course, Julian didn’t know that and it paid to look the part. “Tell me about Lily Reynolds.”

Julian’s body language didn’t alter in the slightest. Anyone observing us might have thought I’d brought up the name of a family friend. “What do you want to know?”

“You were in a relationship with her, right?”

“Not a relationship, no. She was only sixteen.”

There was nothing fake about my frown. “The media said—”

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