Well, when they said he was in custody, I was expecting him to be in more of a secure location, bearing in mind he was arrested and being charged for Violation of the Official Secrets Act, along with defamation of official members of cabinet.
But, nope, having been arrested at the BBC, he’s been transferred to the local police station.
Most likely waiting on whatever paperwork would see him transferred to wherever he can be locked in a cell and the key thrown away.
I wait until darkness settles on the police station, the night shift has just taken over, and the first set of patrols head out. Friday night in London will keep them busy, as Londoners are fuelled with alcohol and bad decisions.
I walk into the police station, the open reception area quiet except for the police officer on desk duty.
“I’d like to see Owen King, please.” I pull out one of my many fake IDs.
The police officer looks at it, and I have to hope that the idiot has no idea how important that man in custody is. For now, and for the future of this country.
“You’re a lawyer.” He looks me up and down, and yeah, okay, the black boots and tactical gear may have been a bit of a giveaway, but I didn’t have time to change.
Okay, I did have time to change, but I didn’t want to in case I needed to use other means of entry, and fighting in a skirt is a real pain in the arse.
“Lucy Cook Legal Aid at your service.” I bow down. “And as per the Police and Criminal Evidence Act Section 58, every detainee has the right to consult legal aid, privately.”
“Alright, alright.” The officer radios to a colleague. “King’s lawyer is here. Move him to room 2.”
The radio crackles and then a loud “Roger,” fills the void between us.
“Please take a seat.”
I don’t sit though, I pace.
I pace, because I wish I knew how I’m going to be able to do this.
I pace, because I’ve wanted nothing more than to see this man again, for him to be in my life, and now he’s in it, I can’t imagine him out of it.
How can the greater good feel so fucking shitty?
But Roman is right.
He can’t have me with him for what comes next, and it will kill me.
“This way, please.”
I startle at the voice and quickly let the officer show me to the small room.
Owen is already sitting at the table, his suit still on, his hair ruffled, but apart from that, he’s okay, and relief washes through me.
The door buzzes, it opens, and Owen’s eyes widen at me.
“Lucy Cook, I’ve been appointed as your defence attorney,” I say quickly, sticking out my hand.
“Owen King. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re going by King now, I see?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m tired of hiding.” He grins.
I smile back, the guard watching the exchange. “Thank you,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “I’ll expect that camera to be turned off. Counsel discussions are to be confidential.”
The officer nods once and leaves us, the door buzzing and locking back into place.
Owen is up and in my arms a moment later.
