Chapter 1

Stella slid the off-white horsehair barristers' wig from her head and threw it onto the large table that occupied the centre of the oak-panelled robing room of York Crown Court, puffing out her cheeks as she did so. It had been a tough week, one she wasn't sorry to see the back of. Only a handful of fellow advocates remained at court, most heading off as soon as they could, intent on making the most of their Friday evening. And, much as she loved her job as a criminal barrister, today she'd be glad to shed her robes and head back home to Micklewick Bay on the North Yorkshire Coast.

‘What's up, Hutton?' asked a plummy voice from the other side of the table, pulling her out of her thoughts. It wasn't unusual for members of the bar to address one another by their surname. ‘Thought you'd be happy it's Friday at last.'

She glanced over to where the voice came from and released a noisy sigh. ‘Hi, Ferdy, didn't see you sitting there.' She dredged up a smile. ‘I can't tell you how happy I am it's Friday, but it's been a right pain of a day, that's all. Actually, make that it's been a right pain of a week.' Her North Yorkshire accent stood in stark contrast to the well-spoken tones of her fellow barrister, but Stella had never felt compelled to modify the way she spoke to "fit in" as some of her contemporaries had, which resulted in some amusing, affected tones. She shrugged off her black gown, dropping it onto the seat before her.

‘Ah, yes, I'd heard you were the unlucky so-and-so who's prosecuting one of the notorious Dixon clan opposite Elliott; a dodgy duo if ever there was one.' Aiken Ferdinand KC pulled a sympathetic face, closing his laptop.

Stella nodded, reaching around to the back of her neck and unfastening the starched white collarette with its attached bands, pulling it free from where it was tucked in the jacket of her tailored black suit. ‘Hmm. And don't I know about it.' She threw the collarette on top of her wig then smoothed her hands over her blonde hair that was tied back in the usual sleek ponytail she wore for work.

‘Ughh! You have my sympathies. I've heard the case is a stinker and it won't be helped by the fact your opponent's a devious weasel. Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.'

‘Tell me about it. Thanks to Elliott's fannying about, and deliberately dragging his heels, the trial has run into next week which has meant I've had to return a manslaughter trial. The CPS aren't happy about it, but there's nothing I can do.'

Stella rolled her eyes as she headed over to the line of heavily polished, age-worn oak lockers, stopping at the one allocated to her and pulling out her red cloth brief bag that bore her initials embroidered in cream wool. She dumped it heavily on the table beside her laptop and papers, before opening it and fishing out her black metal wig tin, her name printed on it in gold lettering. Ferdy watched as she folded her robes neatly before pushing them into the roomy fabric bag, then grabbed her wig tin and placed it on top. That done, she tugged firmly on the bag's drawstring rope, ensuring it was closed.

‘That really is rotten luck, Hutton. And I've heard the defendant's family have been giving you a rough time too, heckling from the public gallery.'

She released another weary sigh. She'd just passed them giving Vaughan Elliott an earbashing on the corridor, with the odd vociferous insult being hurled her way.

‘Yeah, they have. There's no doubting where the defendant gets his charming personality. His father was shouting his mouth off about how his son was innocent and that if he's found guilty it'll be a travesty of justice. He conveniently appears to have forgotten his son's string of convictions for assault and aggravated burglary, not to mention drug dealing. All carried out before he'd celebrated his twenty-third birthday too, the little cherub.'

‘I dare say the said little cherub will have picked up a few tips from his dear old dad Gav,' Ferdy said wryly. ‘That family are trouble, and not one of them seem to be in possession of a conscience, as his father's outburst testifies.'

‘Oh, without a doubt. He only quietened down when Judge Hoskinson threatened to hold him in contempt of court and send him to the cells.'

Stella decided not to share that when she'd glanced behind at the public gallery – which was something she rarely ever did – she came eye-to-eye with Gavin Dixon who was directing a menacing glare at her. The ferocity of the look had shocked her for a moment, sending a chill up her spine, but she'd kept her poker-face and quickly regrouped. There was no way she was going to let such an unpleasant bully intimidate her or interfere with her carrying out her job.

Ferdy gave an amused smile. ‘Knowing Judge Hoskinson, it wouldn't take much for him to have him sent down to cool off.'

‘Shame he didn't carry out his threat today which, I can confirm, really is officially the day from hell. The complainant's only gone hostile on me, refusing to give evidence, saying that it was all her fault and she'd asked for it because she'd provoked her husband.' Stella shook her head in disbelief. ‘Not sure how she can blame herself for him giving her such a violent beating he'd ended up breaking her arm and three ribs. He's clearly been working on her, getting into her head. I just wish she could see that it's not her fault and he'll end up hurting her again.'

After what she'd witnessed from Gavin Dixon, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd paid his daughter-in-law a visit and persuaded her to change her stance, but without proof there was nothing she could do.

‘Hmm. Coercive controlling behaviour; it's nasty stuff, especially where the Dixon family is concerned. Seriously don't envy you with that one, Hutton.' Ferdy steepled his fingers as he observed Stella, the look in his eyes betraying his fondness for her.

Stella blew out her cheeks. ‘She's now saying she loves him and wants to get back with him as soon as he's released from prison. She's been sending him letters while he's been locked up, signing herself as "wifey for lifey".'

‘Oh, good Lord! Prosecutor's nightmare. Don't fancy your chances of winning this one.'

‘I know,' she said with a groan.

If that wasn't bad enough, it was made a hundred times worse that counsel for the defence was Vaughan Elliott. He had a reputation for being the slipperiest barrister on the north eastern circuit, who'd try to pull a fast one whenever he could. Such underhand behaviour was viewed as bad form at the bar, but it didn't seem to bother him. It meant you needed your wits about you when you were involved in a case with him, and not because he was a decent lawyer. Stella would have preferred it if he was; she got a kick from a good bout of courtroom sparring. But Elliott had the knack of being disruptive in a trial and was regularly pulled up by the judge for asking leading questions or sneaking evidence in when he shouldn't, ambushing his opponents. He definitely didn't play by the rules.

‘On top of that, I've got the case lawyer from the CPS breathing down my neck about it which isn't helping. She knows what Elliott's like.'

‘If ever there was proof needed that the bar's no longer a gentleman's profession, it's there in the shape of Vaughan Elliott. How that shyster gets instructions beggars belief. If it wasn't for Brentley and Co briefing him he wouldn't have a practice. Their reputation is as dubious as his,' Ferdy said sagely.

‘Very true.' Stella nodded her agreement. ‘Actually, I've heard a whisper that Brentley and Co are being investigated by the Law Society.'

She headed back to her locker, pushing her brief bag inside. She turned the key, glancing over at Ferdy when she was done. Their eyes locked for a moment and a dart of attraction shot through her. At forty-eight, he was fifteen years her senior and an experienced barrister with a successful practice whose opinion she respected. She'd been known to run things by him, especially when she was newly out of her pupillage, interested to hear his take on a situation. In his twenty-five years at the bar, he'd developed a skill for sniffing out when things didn't add up, his eagle eye spotting the tiniest of lacunas in a case. Adding to this list of credentials he was good-looking in a tall, broad-shouldered way. His thick, dark hair, shot with the odd thread of silver, had a slight wave and was swept back off his face revealing a strong brow. He had a patrician nose which sat well with his square jaw, and a warm skin tone, thanks to the many trips he took to his villa in Nice. On top of that, he had a way of looking at you with his intense, blue eyes that made you feel you had his full, undivided attention. It was something he used to great effect in the courtroom, as well as on the female members of the bar, Stella included. His good looks combined with his affable, old-school charm and easy confidence meant he was never without a female companion, and also made him a popular member of the bar. However, his even temperament belied his courtroom persona. He possessed the skill to win a defendant round, making them believe he was on their side, before pouncing with a quietly savage line of questioning, knocking the unsuspecting accused individual off balance.

‘Yes, I'd heard that little nugget too.' His eyes ran appreciatively over her curves that were clad in a sharply tailored black trouser suit, her three inch heels emphasising her long, slender legs. His gaze didn't go unnoticed by Stella.

‘I dare say the rumour-mill will get into full swing soon, and all the sordid little details will become common knowledge. You know what lawyers are like for gossip.' She gave an amused smile as she reached under the table and pulled out the cabin case she used to transport her laptop, papers and, when she was in court out of the area, her brief bag. She lifted it up onto the table and placed her laptop inside along with her notepad and collection of brief papers relating to the Dixon case.

‘I don't think I'm aware of a profession where gossip travels faster. Anyway, it's about time Brentley and Co got their comeuppance, they've been fleecing the Legal Aid Board for years. Can't stand them, especially their head honcho, Garfield Brentley. Despicable man.' Ferdy paused a moment, watching as Stella zipped her cabin case and lifted it to the floor. ‘Don't suppose I could tempt you to a snifter at the Wig Pen?' He raised his eyebrows in question. ‘Maybe grab a bite to eat there?'

‘'Fraid not, I'm driving.' She knew the subtext of his words, knew where his invitation was heading.

‘You could always leave your car here; head back to my place afterwards. I could drop you off in the morning.' He gave her an inviting smile, his eyes twinkling. ‘Come on, Hutton, you know you'd enjoy yourself. If my memory serves me correctly, you certainly did the last time I suggested it.'

She smiled back. Any other night she might have been tempted, he was good company, had a great sense of humour, and he was right, she had enjoyed the last time they'd got together. Very much so. An image of them making their way to his bedroom, their clothes scattered everywhere, filled her mind. If it hadn't been a Friday, she'd have jumped at the chance, especially after the day she'd had, but not tonight. ‘As good as your offer sounds, Ferdy, Friday evenings are when I meet my friends for a catch-up and nothing could stop me from joining them, especially tonight.'

‘Ah, yes, of course, how could I forget?' he said with an easy-going chuckle. ‘Friday evenings are strictly off limits for the rest of us mere mortals.'

‘You got it in one.' She flashed him a wide smile. ‘I'm outta here. Have a good weekend, Ferdy,' she called over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss before striding out of the robing room, pulling her case behind her.

At over six feet tall in her black patent designer heels, Stella cut a striking figure, with her strong, angular shoulders, athletic figure and sleek blonde hair. "Amazonian" was a term that had been used to describe her on several occasions. She exuded an air of "don't mess with me", her male colleagues in chambers regularly joking she could pack a bigger punch than all of them put together.

‘With her sharp brain and already formidable advocacy skills, she'll go far and her rise will be stratospheric, mark my words,' her pupil master had said when asked if she should be offered a tenancy once her pupillage had ended. ‘She's destined for the bench and she's exactly the calibre of barrister we need to nurture here.'

As she made her way across the compact city, her heels clicking over the pavement, Stella felt the tension of earlier begin to slip away. It wasn't like her to get rattled by a case, or opponent – or a sinister-looking relation of a defendant for that matter – but today's courtroom drama didn't rest easy with her. After the menacing look she'd received from the defendant's father, she found herself feeling grateful that her wig and gown went some way to disguising her appearance, as well as the dark-framed glasses she reserved for court work.

Her mind segued to the conversation she'd had earlier that morning. It was with Fay Norton, a silk from Newcastle chambers with whom she got on well. Fay had told her how she'd recently purchased a family history DNA test kit, since she was keen to learn her ancestry and find out if there was any truth in the rumours her mother's side hailed from Greece. It had set Stella wondering if she should invest in one. She was fully aware it wouldn't reveal the identity of her father, but it would at least give some clues to her background which was more than her mother had been prepared to do. Each time Stella had asked as to the identity of her father, Alice Hutton had clammed up, the conversation ending before it had even got started. Though it had been a while since Stella had last troubled her about it, her curiosity still swirled around at the back of her mind. One day, she'd find out who he was. Of that Stella was sure.

By the time she arrived in chambers, Stella had already made up her mind she wasn't going to hang around for long. She'd just nip into the clerks' room, have a brief word with Allegra, her clerk, update her on the situation with the Dixon case then head home. She didn't want to linger and run the risk of getting drawn into a conversation with fellow tenant, Simon Fagan, who'd been in court there earlier today. He had a reputation for being long-winded and mind-numbingly boring, going into minute detail whether he was talking about one of his cases or what he'd got planned for the weekend. He'd even managed to make a trip to Paris with his wife sound beyond tedious, which took some doing, Stella had thought at the time.

During the week, she'd hang back in chambers, get a decent amount of prep under her belt on the case in hand – provided Simon Fagan wasn't holding court, of course – before leaving for home. Once back at her apartment, she'd continue poring over her brief, stopping only when she felt fully prepared for the following day in court. But Friday nights were different, Friday was the only night of the week when work was strictly off limits. It was reserved solely for her to switch off and catch up with her group of friends, which was something she looked forward to enormously. Meeting up with them all at their usual table, tucked away in a corner of The Jolly Sailors down in the old part of Micklewick Bay wouldn't come quickly enough this evening. The thought brought a smile to her face.