Page 65 of The Twins
“You want the entire list?” She huffed.
“Go for it.”
“Pimping, drug dealing, intent to rob, theft, carrying a weapon and—”
“That’ll do, I’ll pull up his file on the way. Thanks, you have a nice day, Mary.”
“You, too, well, once you’ve sorted Mr. Conner out.”
I hung up and nibbled on my bottom lip. This wasn’t a great turn of events, but there was nothing I could do about it. It was work. I had to go.
I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and slipped on my trainers. I left the ‘ownership’ necklace on. I liked its style and what it represented.
After brushing my hair up into a high ponytail, I grabbed a hoody from my case. The prison was always cold, or at least it always gave me the chills.
The house was quiet as I made my way down the stairs. In the kitchen I came across Phil. He sat by the wall of screens, studying a crossword puzzle.
“Where you off to?” he asked without glancing up.
“I have to go into work.”
“You have to stay here, Finn’s orders.”
“Finn doesn’t own me.”
Phil raised his head and gave me a look that screamed: really? His eyes settled on the padlock.
I touched it. Suddenly conscious that he likely knew what it meant. “I have to go to work, I’m on call.” I spotted a notepad and pen. “I won’t be long and I’ll write down where I’m going and who I’m seeing.” I scribbled away. “I’ll get an Uber there and an Uber straight back, and this is my secretary’s number, Mary. And I’ve got my phone, shouldn’t be more than an hour, two at the most.”
“The twins won’t be happy with either of us.” He set down his pen. “You’re supposed to stay here.”
“I know, I know, I’ll take responsibility, but this is my job, it pays the bills.”
“I hear you there.” He shrugged and picked up his pen again. “Just be really fucking careful, okay. I don’t want your fellas coming at me with nunchucks if anything happens to you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
I stepped outside into the gorgeous afternoon. The sun was high, and to my right a group of sparrows were cheeping noisily.
My Uber was efficient, and soon I was winding through the traffic toward the prison. I pinged off a message to Amy,letting her know I was okay and asking how her weekend was going.
Bullingdon was as imposing as any other prison with high dark walls, lots of barbed wire, and a fortified metal gate at the entrance. The Union Jack flag flickered in a slight breeze.
I made myself known and was soon shown through to the detention rooms that were used specifically for inmates and their lawyers. I was glad of my hoody and accepted a coffee from an officer.
“I wouldn’t advise you be alone with him,” the officer said.
“He’s my client.”
“He’s also a violent woman-hater.”
“Fair enough.”
I’d read Conner’s file while I was in the cab. I remembered his case. A colleague had represented him but hadn’t stood much chance in getting him off his two rape charges and aggravated assault. He was serving a sentence of fifteen years minimum.
I went into the cool, shadowed room with the officer close behind me. He then stood by the door, arms folded, expression neutral.
Samuel Conner was handcuffed to a steel table that in turn was cemented into the floor. He let his gaze slip down my body when he saw me, and a slimy lopsided grin tugged at his mouth.
