Page 97 of Claim

Imogen pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s not the question.” She rubbed a hand over her forehead, collecting herself, then looked between us.

“It shouldn’t matter,” Tristan said. “It’s irrelevant to the charge.”

“You of all people should know that it does matter. It matters to management. To risk. And it matters because if this comes out the wrong way, it won’t be the Crown using it first.” She turned to me then. “Thank you for not answering, Mr Slade.”

I wasn’t sure if you’re welcome was wanted there. So I stuck with no comment.

She turned back to Tristan. “You should have told me.”

“I told you what was necessary.”

“Then I’m telling you what’s necessary now: do not gloss over important details I need to know again.” Imogen pointed a warning finger at him. “This does not disqualify you, nor does it change our instructions. But it does mean we ring-fence this information completely.”

Mercer nodded, making a note.

Imogen looked among the three of us, one at a time. “No one else needs to know this. It is irrelevant to the offence unless one of you makes it relevant. Do you understand me?”

Tristan scrubbed a hand down his face. “The prosecution will ask, though.”

“They probably will.” Imogen circled a line on her pad with her pen. “And we will respond that it is irrelevant where Mr Slade was, that he is entitled to privacy, that the person he was with is entitled to privacy, and that compelling disclosure would be disproportionate and contrary to his Article 8 rights.”

Tristan nodded once.

“Good. Then we proceed.” She glanced down at her notes. “So, you received a call at an undeclared location and were asked to do a drop.”

“Yeah. I told him to get someone else. He insisted.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. Then answered honestly. “Because he knew I was backing away. It was a test. Of loyalty. He wanted to see if I’d still jump when he said jump, even when it wasn’t my job to jump anymore and I knew something was off.”

“And how did he persuade you?”

“Same way he always does.” I folded my arms. “He dangled what I wanted, offered me a reward for being a good little foot soldier.”

“What type of reward?”

“My freedom.”

No one in this room missed the irony of how that turned out.

Imogen sighed. “So you attended the drop?”

“I went to the location, but I went clean. Took an empty bag. I half-expected it to be Cormac himself, to be honest. Or for him to be recording it. I thought the whole thing was a setup to scare me back into line.”

“Did you expect police intervention?”

“No. I had a hunch, but I figured if it happened, I’d be out within twenty-four hours. No product. No evidence. Why I did it like that.” I paused. “Except—”

“Except the Crown relied on intelligence-led evidence to keep you in custody,” Imogen finished.

“Yeah. Which means the intelligence could only have come from Cormac.”

She wrote that down. “And what can you tell me about Kyan Gibbon’s death?”

Heat crept up my spine. I shifted in my seat, suddenly wishing I hadn’t layered up. “It weren’t me, but it wasn’t random either. He either knew too much, said the wrong thing, or he was expendable collateral meant to scare me.”

“Did you see it happen?”