My work had always been important to me. As a young woman starting out, I put in exceptionally long hours, leaving a part of my soul behind in every project I worked on. In my thirties I became what I considered to be good at my job, and finally, in my forties, a pro. One day soon, I believed I would take over from Oliver Mulligan. At least I would do, if I didn't get caught using my research for personal gain.

Now I knew some of the truth about Danny I had to find out more. While I waited impatiently for his lawyer to get in touch, I spent my time going back through all the work I'd done on the domestic abuse case from the previous years. I filed through hundreds of cases to see if I could potentially find Danny's sister and read through transcripts of interviews hoping to spot something familiar. If I found her, I could uncover more about her case, maybe even talk to her.

I didn't have much to go on as all my findings were organised by location and I didn't know where she might be from. All I knew was that her boyfriend was a policeman and he was killed. I couldn't assume she had the same surname as Danny, but I started there anyway. My search for 'Walker' drew a blank.

Four days into my personal investigation, I was interrupted by our receptionist, poking her head around the door.

"Ariel, there's a Peter Blackwood here to see you."

Flustered, I snapped the folder I had wide open on my desk shut. "Thanks, will you give it five minutes and then send him in?"

She nodded and left, allowing me a few minutes to close files I shouldn't have open and hide the incriminating paperwork. When my desk and computer were clear, I googled him. Peter Blackwood was a criminal lawyer! So perhaps Danny had given him my name after all. Not that it was unheard of for criminal lawyers to see me in my work capacity, but it was a big coincidence. I'd been so caught up in my investigations I hadn't planned for this scenario.

There was a knock on the door and Peter Blackwood emerged. I got up to meet him. He towered over me in height and was dressed in a sharp, dark suit, piercing blue eyes shone out at me. He smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. I certainly hoped he was Danny's lawyer as he had an air of confidence and charm about him that could convince any jury.

He shook my hand firmly and said my name in a beautiful Welsh accent.

Wow, when did lawyers get so hot? He must have been mid to late forties but his hair was still dark brown with no hint of grey yet. His nose was too big for his face but it didn't matter.

"What can I do for you? I see you're already sorted for coffee."

His eyes flickered to the coffee cup he had placed on my table. "Yes, all sorted. And I'm here about my client, Daniel Walker. I think you might have been expecting me."

"Yes," I agreed. "Well, not entirely. I hoped you'd come."

"You don't mind me dropping in on you at work?" he asked, eyeing the office I usually shared with a colleague. Today it looked like I was the CEO.

"I don't mind," I assured him. "In fact, it's to do with my job - the reason I told Danny to suggest you see me."

"He said you were a journalist," Peter agreed.

"An investigative journalist. And I've done a lot of work on domestic abuse. I thought some of my research might be useful."

Peter nodded slowly, but with a slight raise of an eyebrow that suggested he wasn't agreeing with me. "Maybe, but he's probably pleading guilty so not much we can do. If he does, it won't go to trial."

"But it might look favourable on him if we could show the judge all the statistics around it—what would have happened to his sister if he'd done nothing."

"And you know something a judge who works on these kinds of cases doesn't?" he asked, but it wasn't a question.

"What would be the point of my job if I didn't?" I asked, reflexively puffing my chest out. The buttons on my white shirt threatened to pop.

Peter raised an eyebrow once more but didn't actually say the word 'exactly'. "I came here because my client asked me to, but I don't see what you're hoping to achieve. He says he did it, he said why. He's been evading arrest for over two years. I'm sure the judge will show some lenience given he did it defending his sister, but that's all there is to it."

"So what's the point of you?" I shot at him, a little too harshly.

He gave me a wry smile, his too-big nose crinkling, but he didn't say anything.

"You know domestic abuse is quite prevalent in the police force," I continued. "They are also more likely to get away with it as their colleagues protect them."

"You can throw facts at me, but you're missing the most important one," Peter said.

"Which is?" I leant back in my chair, flicking my hair over one shoulder.

"Which is sisters don't generally tell their brothers they're being abused. They don't tend to tell anyone, but least of all their brothers."

"Well in this case, she did," I argued.

"Did she?" Peter challenged me.

I wasn't sure what he was getting at. Had he out-smarted me or was he playing games?

"Tell me your theory then," I said with a sigh, folding my arms.

"Over dinner?" he asked, looking at his watch.

"Sure," I agreed. Yummy lawyers and good food would go together nicely.

The good food was not to be - in the pub, I ordered a salad. Not my usual choice but Peter looked like he took care of himself, so a salad would have to do. I ordered a glass of wine to make up for it. There weren't many other customers so we could talk undisturbed.

"So, what's your point?" I finally conceded.

"Tell me under what circumstances my client's sister would confide in her brother," he said, opening his shirt collar as he did so.

"If he caught the boyfriend doing it," I suggested, raising my eyes from his Adam's apple.

"Don't your statistics tell you that abusers are good at not getting caught? And victims are good at hiding it?" Peter asked.

"Mostly," I agreed. "OK, so it got so bad she told him."

"Why her brother? Why not a friend? Her mum? Her sister? That would be more normal, wouldn't it?"

"Sure, more normal, but it's not completely out of the question she would tell her brother," I argued.

"OK, give me the logic behind telling a male over a female," he kept probing me.

"Males are more likely to react with violence," I said.

"Exactly, and what do your investigations tell you about how women who are abused feel about violence?"

I blew the air out of my cheeks. I was bored of this game. "Why don't you just tell me what you're thinking?"

He smiled at me, perhaps feeling he had won. "He didn't kill the boyfriend, she did."

I went to protest but he continued.

"Imagine you were abused so badly that one day you snapped. Pushed your boyfriend off a balcony. Then what? Then you might tell a brother over a sister. And if you're Daniel Walker and your sister has just admitted to murdering someone and needs your help, how do you help her?"

"There are too many flaws in your argument," I said with a dismissive wave of my fork.

"Which are?"

"Which are... why would she let her brother take the blame for something she did? If she admitted it, she'd definitely get off lightly given what her boyfriend was doing to her. She could call it self-defence. Instead she'd let her brother go down for it. That makes no sense."

"Where's the proof her boyfriend was abusing her?" Peter asked.

"A jury would believe her. They wouldn't believe a woman would kill a man in cold blood. They're much more likely to let her off than Danny. You're wrong."

"I'm wrong? So, you think your... friend? Is a murderer?"

"My friend," I agreed. "And no, of course I don't. But... your theory just seems too implausible."

"It would get my client, your friend, off," he said suggestively.

"Yes, but at what cost? His sister is likely an innocent victim."

Peter shook his head and turned to his food. I pondered over what he'd been saying. I didn't know Danny well enough to know what was more likely - that he cared for his sister that much that he'd go to prison for her or that he was able to throw someone off a balcony. That thought gave rise to another question.

"This balcony?" I said slowly. "Whose? Where?"

"A hotel balcony. In Spain."

"So why was Danny in a hotel room with his sister's boyfriend?" I wanted to know.

"Exactly," Peter said. "Much more likely he wasn't in the hotel room."

"I agree," I admitted. "But still, what kind of person must his sister be if she's fine with letting this happen? She would come forward now, surely?"

"If she knew he was in prison, maybe," Peter said.

"Then we have to tell her," I said urgently, my food forgotten.

"Be my guest."

"You mean you don't know how to contact her?" I asked. "Surely you can track her down, even if Danny won't tell you where she is."

"We're trying. Maybe I need an investigator like you on the case." He gave me what I could only assume was a sarcastic wink.

I rolled my eyes.

"Look, if he's your friend, why don't you talk to him? Try to get the truth out of him," Peter suggested.

I sighed heavily. Getting the truth out of Danny would be like getting blood out of a stone. But I should at least try, so I nodded my agreement. Peter gave a satisfied smile and I tried not to react.

"What are your plans for the rest of the evening?" he asked when our plates were clear.

I shrugged. "No plans."

"Fancy moving on from here? Get another drink somewhere? I'm far from home so I'm just staying around here tonight."

My eyes flicked to his left hand almost as a reflex. No ring. "Sure. I know a good place."

Many cocktails later we emerged from the bar far more tipsy than when we had entered it. When we weren't arguing about Danny it turned out he was good fun to chat to. He was originally from a small town in Wales but he lived on the south coast and was into sailing. He told me about some of the sailing trips he'd been on and promised to take me out on the water some time. I could see myself on a sailing boat. White shorts, tanned legs, expensive sunglasses.

We had talked animatedly about our unlikely future for most of the evening. Now we were heading towards his hotel. I didn't really consider what a bad idea it was. I wanted to keep chatting.

We stumbled into his room giggling, his hand on my waist. We collapsed on the bed, laughing at I don't know what. I dropped my head back on the crisp white bedding. Should I sleep with Peter or not? It seemed a little bit too late now that I was drunk in his hotel room. He crawled over to me and I pushed myself up on my elbows. His face came dangerously close to mine, his massive nose threatening to take my eye out. I wondered if there was any correlation between that and the size of his dick. I felt the familiar buzz of excitement telling me that sex was imminent.

"Don't tell me you're shy," I teased when Peter backed off slightly.

He smiled. "No. I just got the impression you're actually more than just my client's friend. Makes this suddenly seem like a bad idea."

That caught me off guard. "No. We're just friends."

Peter tilted his head slightly to one side and looked at me carefully but I just smiled. He didn't need more of an invitation than that. I yelped as he launched himself at me.

***

I visited the prison again that weekend to see if I could extract any further information about what really happened. The building, and the room full of convicts, no less intimidating the second time around. To add to my discomfort, a full beard had taken root on Danny's once smooth face. Almost like a stranger to me; no longer the Skarsgard look-alike I'd come to know.

"Hey, I spoke to your lawyer," I greeted him, trying to supress the anxiety rising in my chest.

"You slept with my lawyer too," he stated, his expression blank behind his extra hair and glassy stare.

My stomach contracted, but when I spoke I attempted indifference. "Wow, you and your lawyer are pretty close, huh?" In fact I was burning with anger. Peter told him? What kind of relationship did they have?

"Not really. It was a guess. He seemed like your type." 

Fuck. "Danny—"

"It doesn't matter," he cut me off.

"It does matter. It was a stupid, shitty thing to do." I dropped my head, my cheeks heating my face.

"Ariel, it really doesn't matter," he repeated. "Sleep with whoever you want. I mean, like I said, he does seem like your type, but what would I know, right?"

I bit the inside of my lip, trying to gauge if Danny was angry or not. Either way, it wasn't a good start to getting him to open up to me.

"Perhaps let's not talk about my sex-life," I suggested.

"What do you propose we talk about? Your sex-life is as good a topic as any."

"You want me to tell you about it?" I tried through clenched teeth.

"Sure," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, since I last had sex with you..."

"Since a few weeks ago," he added.

"Yes," I agreed, "since then, I've had sex once and that was with Peter."

"And how was that?"

"Drunken. Fun, I guess." I pulled at a thread on my grey jumper - deliberate or not - matching his grey prison get-up.

"Come on, I want details. I haven't slept with anyone in here. Spice up my day."

I still wasn't sure if there was anger or intrigue. I shook my head.

"I'm not being a dick," he said. "Whatever we had it is definitely over now. But if you will insist on visiting me, you could at least make it interesting."

I nodded, feeling a wave of sadness. Of course it was over. It had been nothing in the first place. Why should he care who I was sleeping with now? But for some reason, I wished he did.

"I'd rather talk about you and how to get you out of here," I said with what I hoped was a cheerful smile.

He let out a short laugh. "Didn't Peter tell you in between grunts? I'm pleading guilty. I'm not getting out of here."

"Does your sister know?" I asked.

"I don't think so."

"Don't you think she'd want to know that her brother is about to confess to killing her boyfriend?" I wondered if it haunted him. I guessed it must do, but I had to keep quizzing him. This was no time to hold back.

"I don't want her to get involved. We haven't spoken for a couple of years now. It's better that way. She lives abroad."

I shifted in my chair. We were getting somewhere. "Why haven't you spoken?"

"Maybe because I killed her boyfriend," he suggested, closing his eyes briefly.

"Yet she gave you a butt-load of money from his death?" I wrinkled my nose in confusion.

"You don't think it's complicated? I thought you knew about this stuff. She still loved him. She's fucking angry. But she knew I was trying to help her."

"I'm sorry, I know," I said, sensing the tension rising in him from across the small table. "I'm just trying to understand."

"There is nothing more to understand," he argued, the frustration still evident.

"OK, well what about why you were with in a hotel room with your sister's boyfriend in the first place."

Danny laughed. "You think we were having some kind of an affair?" There was real amusement in his face.

I narrowed my eyes. "No. That didn't even cross my mind. It just doesn't make sense. Where was your sister?"

"I'd gone over to her room because I was staying in the adjoining room and I could hear them arguing. We were all in Spain for a family wedding; a lot of us staying in the same hotel. Their door was unlocked so I walked straight in to find him beating the shit out of her. I pulled him off her and dragged him out onto the balcony. I think she ran off; I don't know. It got heated and I threw him off."

I held my breath, stunned by the bluntness of his speech. It certainly sounded feasible, if extremely chilling. I couldn't imagine the terror that must have ripped through him as the body went over the edge and hit the ground. 

"But..." I began, still struggling to fully comprehend.

"But nothing," Danny cut me off. I don't know what you're hoping to reveal but it's pretty simple. I killed a man, and my family hates me. For whatever reason they've decided now is the time to go to the police. Or perhaps there really was another witness who's come forward. It doesn't matter."

"OK," I conceded, my throat constricting. "Can I ask you something though? And don't take this the wrong way."

"What?" He folded his arms across his chest, leaning away from me.

"You don't strike me as being remorseful. You just seem angry. Do you not feel bad that someone is dead because of you?"

"Get out," Danny whispered dangerously, his eyes flicking to the door.

It sent a shiver through my entire body. "No," I said firmly. "You're not sorry and I want to know why!"

"Maybe I'm a cold-blooded killer," he said, still in that horrible whisper. "In which case, you really should get out of here. You don't want to be my next victim if I'm ever released."

I swallowed. My breaths were shallow but I refused to let him frighten me. I sat opposite him in silence, staring him out. I couldn't know for sure that this man wasn't a murderer, beyond what my instinct was telling me. What if I was wrong though and he was telling the truth? One day, twenty years from now, I could be home alone when Danny, on his release, would break in and stab me to death in my sleep. I trembled but held his icy gaze.

Visiting time ended without another word being spoken and I was forced to leave. I shuffled out with everyone else, only breaking eye contact when I left the room.