At 4.21 p.m. the judge in Court Eight granted Henley’s application to access Laurence Durant’s phone. Henley had been so lost in her dark reverie, and guilt that she was still keeping Stanford and Eastwood in the dark, that she hadn’t heard the judge call her name. She had a list of reasons to rationalise her decision. Stanford needed to focus on the impending adoption of his first child and Eastwood hadn’t known Rhimes as long as the rest of the team. She’d walked out of the courtroom with no sense of euphoria but instead with a deepening sense of betrayal. Heading for her car, she was fishing around her bag looking for her parking ticket when she heard someone beeping their horn. Henley felt a flutter of panic as a Mercedes pulled up at her side but it quickly subsided when she saw who was sitting in the driver’s seat. Eloise Rhimes.
‘I was sitting at the traffic lights when I saw you cross the road,’ said Eloise.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Henley. ‘I didn’t even notice.’
‘That’s ok. Sometimes that building feels as though its sucking your soul, and you want to run away as far as possible but it’s good to see you, Anjelica.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Eloise. I would have told—’
Henley stopped as a car appeared behind Eloise, the engine revving with annoyance.
‘Let me park up and we’ll have a quick drink,’ said Eloise.
‘Eloise, I really can’t. I’ve got get back to the—’
‘One cup of coffee,’ Eloise said in the tone she reserved for the defendants appearing in her courtroom.
Henley closed her bag. There was no point fighting back. ‘Ok.’
‘If I’m honest, I’d rather be having a proper drink,’ Eloise said, emptying the sugar sachet into her latte. ‘But the last thing I need is a defendant to spot me knocking back a large gin and then getting into my car.’
‘You’ll be splashed over social media in a heartbeat,’ Henley replied.
‘Let’s stop beating around the bush,’ said Eloise. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
Henley chewed her biscuit. She knew it had been coming. The moment when Eloise brought her to task.
‘I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose, but this—’ Henley said.
‘You can stop right there if you’re about to use the“It’s this case” line. I was married to a police officer for over thirty years. I’ve heard every excuse imaginable.’
‘You’re right,’ Henley conceded. ‘I have been avoiding you, but I have also been consumed with this case.’
‘Fox-Carnell,’ Eloise said, exhaling sharply. ‘Harry hated that case. Hated her. Which was so unlike him, to hate a suspect. He always used to say, “I’m just doing my job. My emotions have got nothing to do with it,” but her. He said you could see in her eyes that she was evil.’
‘I’m not going to disagree but she’s now my victim. My case. I can’t treat her any differently just because I was in the room when she was charged with murder.’
‘Harry would have said the exact thing,’ Eloise said sadly.
They sat quietly in a moment of remembrance. Henley turned her face to the window, watching as the rush hour traffic stalled on London Road.
‘You wouldn’t have gone radio silent if you hadn’t found something,’ Eloise said. ‘I kept telling myself that no news is good news, but I know better than that.’
‘Is that why you spoke to Stephen?’ Henley asked Eloise. She felt a pang of regret at the sharpness of her tone when she saw the angst stretch the skin on Eloise’s face.
‘I didn’t go behind your back,’ Eloise said. She leaned back in her seat and hugged herself as though she was cold. ‘Stephen came round to see me, and I was … you know what it’s like. You’re minding your own business doing something mindless, like throwing out the mouldy peppers from the fridge and then all of a sudden, the grief hits you.’
‘The last time it happened I was putting petrol in my car and, out of nowhere, it came over me like a wave,’ said Henley. ‘I couldn’t tell you who I was grieving for. Rhimes, mum or both.’
Eloise nodded with understanding. ‘I only told Stephen because he was there in that moment. He asked how I was, and it came out. Asking you for help. That I thought—’ Eloise lowered her voice. ‘That he didn’t do it himself.’
Henley knew she’d been living in a space of denial since Linh had confirmed that Rhimes hadn’t killed himself and that someone had falsified his death certificate. She could see and feel Eloise’s anguish and told herself that it would be kinder to lie, but knew she couldn’t.
There was no easy way to rip off the plaster or to make the sting of lemon juice on a cut less painful. ‘He didn’t,’ Henley said quickly.
Eloise’s face crumpled as though she was hearing the news of her husband’s death for the first time. ‘How?’ she asked quietly as Henley reached across the table and took hold of her hand, squeezing gently.
‘Are you sure you want me to?’ Henley asked softly.
