Page 32 of Claim

“So what’s keeping him inside?”

“Speculation.” I shrugged. “And fear. The seriousness of something that hasn’t been charged yet.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You’re skating close to advocacy now.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to argue it. I’m asking you to look at it.”

Silence settled again. She turned the page back, re-reading what I’d written at three in the morning and tried not to remember writing.

“You’ve flagged disclosure gaps. What are they?”

“Phone extraction timelines that don’t align with recorded acquisition. CCTV referenced but not served. Witness statements summarised, not produced.”

“That’s thin.”

“It’s thin because it’s early.” I tried to keep calm, but the desperation was filtering out. She was testing me. I should have known she would. “Which is precisely why continued remand is dangerous.”

She looked up. “Dangerous to whom?”

“To him.” Then, because I knew better, I added, “And to the integrity of the case.”

That earned me a longer look. “You’re asking me to intervene before these settle. Before the Crown commit.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re prepared for them to respond by committing harder.”

“Yes.”

She closed the file partway, not ending the conversation, just narrowing it and her eyes. “This is the kind of case that gets ugly quietly.” She tapped her nail on the file. “Intelligence-led. No paper trail. Everyone assuming something else is coming.” She looked at me. “I don’t like those.”

“I’m aware.” My heart thumped, because that was the reason I liked working for her.

She leant forward. “So what aren’t you telling me?”

I could have danced around it. Delayed it. Found cleaner language and hoped it survived contact with daylight. But that kind of omission would rot everything it touched. I knew the rules. I’d built my career on knowing where the lines were and refusing to pretend otherwise.

So I didn’t hedge.

“I have prior personal involvement with the defendant. It would be declared. If that disqualifies me, I won’t argue.”

I held her gaze and waited.

Whatever happened next would be earned.

“How personal?” She tilted her neck.

“Brief. Consensual.” I paused, then forced the last word out. “Over.”

She kept her eyes on me for a beat longer, searching for something I refused to offer. Then she looked back down at the papers. I hated that word. Over. But I hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t spoken to him. Whatever it had been, whatever it still felt like, it had ended the moment the door closed behind him. Over was the only honest description I had. The only one allowing this to move forward.

Even if it hurt.

“And I would prefer it remain confidential.” I bowed my head. “Between you and me. No one else was aware of it.”

She glanced at the file again. “I can see why.” Then she sighed. “Did you know who he was? Who he was associated with?”

Point of no return.