‘I did.’

‘And after that?’

‘Well, this lawyer, the prosecutor – do you know a Scott Randall?’

Hardy shook his head. ‘I’ve heard the name. He’s the guy who put you here?’

She nodded. ‘He asked if Ron had told me about any problems between him and his wife that might have something to do with what happened to her.’

‘Why would he have told you that? Why did this Scott Randall think to ask that?’

‘I don’t know, but he did.’

Their eyes met across the room again, and this time Hardy left the doorway and came back to the table, sitting on a corner of it. ‘So what did you say?’

‘I said he had.’ She shrugged. ‘So Mr Randall asked me what it was, to tell the grand jury what Ron had told me.’

‘And?’

‘And I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’d promised Ron I wouldn’t.’

‘OK, so what was it, this big secret?’

She looked up at him imploringly. ‘Dismas, come on.’

At this moment, before Hardy could respond, there was a knock at the door and the guard admitted Abe Glitsky, who was a study in controlled rage of his own. Stealing a quick look at Frannie, his eyes narrowed for a millisecond and the scar between his lips went white. Then he focused on Hardy. ‘It’s not happening,’ he said. ‘Braun’s not budging.’

Instinctively, forgetting their disagreements, Hardy reached a hand out on the table and Frannie took it. He looked down at her and her eyes were brimming. He didn’t blame her.

‘I can’t stay here, Dismas. Abe?’

Miserable, the two men looked at each other. They didn’t have to say anything. Jail was a reality in both of their lives. When a judge ordered it, people wound up staying all the time. Finally, Hardy let out a breath. ‘So what’s left, Abe? What are our options?’

The lieutenant was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know. I could talk to the desk – maybe get her in Adseg.’