Chapter Text
Friday afternoons meant the courthouse was buzzing with last minute activities before the weekends. Lee himself still had a late meeting with their new client - accused of murder, his first big one since Ian had started feeding him more serious cases without close guidance. He'd spent enough time in Ian's shadow to know the ropes, even enough time in it to know that once the prosecutor's office got wind that he'd be handling the case (not Lee specifically, but someone from the McKellen-Weaving firm), he'd be pitted against one of Ms. Blanchett's hand-picked elite again. Not that he minded too much. It was a one-in-three shot of working across from the one man he loved to spar words with.
Dean had better be available. It had been months since he'd enjoyed the services of a professional investigator. No thanks to Ian and his hogging all of Dean's office hours, then granting the young man a break because he'd been run ragged and "for Christ's sake Lee, you're an officer of the court, go out and do your own goddamn digging once in a while."
The results had been astoundingly horrific. At least Ian had been forced to help clean up the mess.
Client meeting was still an hour later. Right now, however, as packed and busy as the hallway was, Lee's attention kept veering towards the frowning man leaning gingerly against the wall.
Richard was wearing a glare that Lee recognized all too well, having seen it numerous times in court, though very rarely outside of it. He liked to think of it as the "Armitage warning system," since it often meant that Richard was following a mental script of events - reminiscent of how his dad would look before he'd tell Lee, "You sure you want to put your bishop there? You'll be dead in four moves." It meant he was playing into a trap that Richard had set up long before Lee even had a clue, and if he didn't catch on fast, he was going to lose the case.
Lee felt a little insulted that the same glare was being directed at an innocuous little smartphone.
The device made a sound that he recognized as meaning "ERROR." (He supposed its quick series of repetitions meant "OH MY GOD, ERRORED SO MUCH.") Richard's right palm left its surface, hovering five inches above as if to say, "What the fuck did I just press?"
Nice hands, Lee thought, and mentally slapped himself, because inappropriate, goshdarnit, how dare you sir, for shame, etc. He had to remind himself that Richard was hands off. Ian said so. Graham said so. Even his own mother said so. Too much baggage, too out of your league, too male (respectively).
"Too prosecutor," Ian had elaborated after, with a look that served as both instruction and warning.
He wanted nothing more than to go over there and demonstrate whatever it was Richard was having trouble with. The other man was the endless butt of jokes in their law firm regarding his lack of Internet know-how, and while Lee thought it was adorable as hell, Richard looked like he was getting really close to being genuinely distressed.
The last time he'd approached Richard just to chat, though...
He surreptitiously searched the premises for the tall, bald investigator that was always just an arm's reach away whenever Richard was around. Currently, said man was still in the emptying courtroom, talking to that middle-aged police officer who always hated being called to testify. And hated Lee even more, simply on principle.
The phone made another noise. Richard looked suspiciously like he wanted to cry.
Lee's resolve melted faster than butter on a hot skillet. "Need help?" he asked. (So maybe that came out a little too eager, judging from the way Richard drew back a bit.)
"Yes, please." Richard couldn't have handed his phone over faster if it had been on fire. "I don't know what it's doing, and it's very important that I send a message right now."
Lee decided he quite liked Richard's deep voice sounding a little bit desperate and close to his left ear. The other man stood peering over Lee's shoulder while he sorted through the mess he'd made of his phone's UI. "You have a thousand things open." He closed browser windows, notes, a list of outgoing calls...okay, he might have just seen Richard's sources' phone numbers. He cleared his throat and quickly swiped it closed before the other man could think twice about handing his phone to a defense attorney.
The list of apps blessedly appeared. "What do you need? SMS?"
"No, Aidan will be up in the air now. I need to twitter him something-"
"Tweet."
"...tweet him something." Lee grinned. At the edge of his vision, he could see the tip of Richard's ear slowly getting redder. "He checks his twitter every minute, but God forbid he should check his e-mail more than once a day."
"Kids today, right?" Lee hit up "Compose." When he looked up, Richard was giving him a fond, exasperated look. "What?"
"You can't pretend that you're even remotely part of my generation, Mr. Pace."
"You're never going to call me 'Lee,' are you?" He handed over the phone and watched as Richard hurriedly typed a message (or tried to - Lee could tell when the erase key was being pressed). "We're just eight years apart. You make it sound like a century."
"You were eight when I was sixteen, if you need a little perspective," Richard muttered without looking up from his task.
"And I'll be forty when you turn forty-eight. Doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" That look of distress was starting to creep back into his expression. "What's wrong?"
"I need to look up his username, but I'm afraid that if I leave this screen, this message will vanish."
Not even a single, reluctant twitch when Lee gestured for his phone. "You haven't even memorized his username yet?"
Richard returned to his former position behind Lee's left shoulder. "I don't...I just look for his picture in the thing - yes, that."
"The thing" was the list of people following him on Twitter. All six of them. Richard murmured, "second from the top," which read "TooFawknIrish1983" and displayed the tiny portrait of a rather handsome, dark-haired young man.
Not as young as Lee thought. He was hoping maybe twelve or something. "Relative of yours?"
"No. Well, I guess. Adoptive nephew, if there is such a thing." Lee returned to the saved draft and began typing in the username while he listened. "Jimmy's older sister's kid. Apparently, that means he gets to call me uncle and I get to give him gifts on his birthday."
And just like that, Lee was at a loss on how to respond. "Jimmy" was "James Nesbitt," the outspoken Irish politician and Vice President of the HRC, now married with a bouncing baby girl on the way. How Richard could just bring him up in normal conversation, smoothly and without hesitation, was beyond Lee. As if the aforementioned man hadn't broken his heart on public television two years ago.
Well...no, that wasn't entirely fair. Lee had been there, after all - sitting as co-counsel to Ian and watching with rapt attention (much like future road kill in the face of oncoming traffic) as Richard had obliterated their defense with a last-minute confession from their star witness. It hadn't been directly Nesbitt's fault that there had been media people outside, just waiting for the court session to end. He'd been caught in the media blitz on his own turf in Ireland, and he hadn't meant for Richard to get swept up in the same frenzy (or so he claimed, later). Or for Richard to find out about his infidelity that way. Or for Richard to lack even the privacy to have a proper breakdown because he'd gotten stuck in an acquaintance's car afterwards.
Actually, screw all that. It had been entirely Nesbitt's fault.
He was saved from toppling into an awkward silence by Graham's stocky presence looming over the two of them. A trick Lee had always been envious of, and which Graham really shouldn't be able to do considering Lee had an inch over the man.
But loom he did, and if looks could kill, Lee would be six feet under right about now.
Talk about holding grudges. Richard stepped past him and spoke quietly with the investigator out of his hearing range. It wasn't that Graham was a bad sort, Lee charitably thought, but honestly, the way the man clung to that one, unfortunate time when Lee had managed to beat him to some damning evidence (not so damning anymore by the time Lee had been done with it) was bordering on unprofessional behavior. And what would State's Attorney Catherine Blanchett think about that?
More importantly, however, Graham was practically draconian about never leaving Richard alone with him for more than a few minutes. That might sound paranoid, but it really wasn't. Him, Lee, specifically. Graham had absolutely no issue with leaving Richard alone with Ian or anyone else from their firm.
Whatever Richard and Graham were discussing, they seemed pretty involved. It took a good four or five minutes before Richard turned back to him with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry. We have to get going."
"Richard." Graham looked aggrieved, and sounded like he was trying very hard for patience (and missing by a mile or two). "Your phone?"
Lee pretended he hadn't just been scrolling shamelessly through his playlists (quite a few eye-opening song selections there, Mr. Armitage) and surrendered the device back to its owner. With a standard-issue, McKellen-approved guileless smile, of course. "Tweet sent. I also added a shortcut on your home screen so you can send a message directly to your nephew next time."
"Oh." Richard's smile was both grateful and sheepish. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He wasn't quite sure what to make of Mr. Freeman, except for the fact that he wasn't going anywhere near the stand if Lee could help it. The man had a vocabulary on him that would make sailors blush, and the damage it could do to twelve jury members was best left to the imagination. At first glance, he seemed normal and diffident - nice, even. Homely for a man in his early 40's, with his mousey brown hair, boyish face, and tan pullover on a simple white shirt.
"No, I don't care if you're my bloody lawyer! I'm tired, I've been doing nothing but repeating the same shit for the past three hours, and I'm not going to talk anymore until I can fucking call my wife again. Or do I have to find out whose bent dick I need to blow first before I can let my kids know that daddy's bloody okay?"
Lee only just managed to stifle his initial response, which involved letting Mr. Freeman know that as an incredibly gay man, Lee was hard-pressed to recall any sort of dick, bent or otherwise, that would approach a mouth like that of its own volition.
It was a close thing. Lee was tired, too.
He'd tried to go over the details quickly after that - he wasn't up to being verbally abused at the moment, regardless of how much Ian was paying him. (Not enough.)
No, he had to make the delivery himself because his assistant called in sick.
Yes, Ms. Lily had a small catering business and needed high grade, gluten-free flour regularly. Sometimes his assistant delivered it, sometimes he did personally.
No, he hadn't known there was a murder, how bloody stupid did Lee think he was?
His fingerprints were on the murder weapon because he'd tried to yank it out, though he now wished he hadn't and just left the bugger to die. Not that it made much difference, he died anyway.
No, Ms. Lily arrived and screamed while he was trying to remember how to count heart pumps - is it one-one hundred, or one-one thousand...? Oh, one-one thousand? You fucker, you don't know either. They breed know-it-alls like you at Yale Cuntversity?
"What about the affair?" Lee asked, eyes closed and fingers massaging his forehead. When no reply was forthcoming, he looked up and was met with a slack, confused expression, and eyebrows furrowed so precisely, they almost formed a line. "You can't just avoid talking about it."
"What the fuck are you on about?"
"The one you were having with Ms. Lily."
"Me? And Evangeline Lily?!" At Lee's nod, he choked, sputtered, his eyes grew wide, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.
"...Are you saying there was never an affair?"
Lee was almost grateful for the foul language earlier, because it somewhat prepped him for the deluge of filth wrapped around his client's indignant response.
Later, Ian rang him up just as he'd gotten into his car. "Messy," Lee answered, when he was asked how things were with Mr. Freeman.
"That's unfortunate. It's about to get messier, I'm afraid. The case has been taken out of Mr. Bloom's hands and handed over to someone else."
"Nothing we weren't expecting. Ms. Blanchett was bound to re-assign it."
There was a brief, worrying pause before Ian spoke again. "Cate found it prudent to warn me, actually. Mr. Armitage was rather adamant that he handle this particular case, and she couldn't deny him this request."
Lee's breath caught in his throat. "Shit." It would normally be welcome news. Normally, if Richard hadn't specifically asked to handle the case - which was something he just never did - and if the case didn't deal with a specific subject matter that he was bound to hone in on. Not that he had before now...infidelity cases were a dime a dozen. "Why now? Why this one?"
"The 'why this one,' well, we could guess. As to the 'why now,' I'm just as in the dark as you are. Try to find out at the arraignment, if you can."
There wasn't much of a chance to talk at the arraignment - Richard had almost been late, and after he'd screwed them over by not budging on maximum sentencing, he'd rushed out again. Lee had to settle for much later, when he caught sight of Richard at Kircher's bar (the unofficial after hours hangout for the entire local justice department, and maybe for the odd struggling artist or two) right across the courthouse, well into the night.
Lee was fixed with a disapproving stare before he'd even properly seated himself at Richard's table. "Mr. Pace..."
"Whatever. Graham's not here." He made a show of making himself comfortable on the rickety seat, unbuttoning his outer jacket and stretching his legs under the table. The brush against Richard's leg had been accidental, and the contact brief as Richard drew his own legs back and sat up straighter.
Lee plastered on a polite smile. "How are you?"
Richard looked amused and wary. "I've been fine since we last saw each other this afternoon," he carefully said. "Shouldn't you be meeting with your client?"
"Over and done with. Nice job denying him bail, by the way. Don't think I've ever seen anyone denied bail so thoroughly before."
Richard looked down at the table, his lips twisted in a not-quite smile, his hand grabbing his drink - whisky on ice, probably, and already sweating through the glass. "You're not bringing up the case here, are you?"
"I'm not?"
He shook his head. "You're not."
"Oh. All right, then." Lee didn't want to, not really. Not when Graham wasn't around and Richard was looking a few drinks away from being tipsy. The lighting in Kircher's bathed everything in a soft, ambient red-orange, but Lee could still make out the faint flush on Richard's cheeks, and the way his body relaxed against everything that was holding it up. "So, why are you without the Great Scotsman on this cold, lonely night?"
"Graham took his daughter to a doctor's appointment. I'm just meeting someone, I won't stay here long."
Lee ignored the sudden, unpleasant tightness in his belly. He injected a bit of playfulness in his tone to help keep his smile up. "Why, Richard. On a Monday night, what would your parents say?"
Richard frowned. "If you must know-"
"Oh God, sorry I'm late!"
A young man appeared at their table, and Lee's first impression of the disheveled youth was that his dark hair was curly in that annoying, perpetually-photogenic way, and too fucking Irish sounded about right. Richard's smile was warm as the two exchanged a fond, familiar hug. When they broke apart, Richard took a few seconds to nab a third chair from a nearby table while Aidan blinked wide-eyed at Lee.
"Am I interrupting something?" Aidan eventually asked, with a note of suspicion.
"Yes."
"No," Richard said, with unnecessary vehemence. "Aidan, this is Lee Pace, from McKellen-Weaving."
There was no trace of ignorance on the young man's face when they clasped hands in a firm handshake. Lee held no doubt that this boy knew who he was. "A pleasure," he said. "Sorry I took your seat." He gave Aidan an open, assessing look while the young man seated himself. "So you're the nephew."
Aidan went from looking distantly cautious to Christmas having arrived early and showering him with confetti. Lee couldn't help but find the zero-to-sixty facial transformation rather infectious. "Really? He called me that?"
Oops. He could feel Richard's hot glare without even turning his head. "...If 'adoptive nephew' counts, I guess?"
The bright, cheeky smile Aidan beamed at Richard was full of self-satisfaction. Lee wondered what sort of second-hand familial dispute he'd managed to knee in the groin this time.
"Don't get used to it," Richard muttered. "How was the game?"
"Ooo, whiplash!" Aidan laughed. He leaned forward eagerly in his seat, which he'd scooted closer to Richard. "Great, great. We won, but that goes without saying. Oh, and I sent Graham home at the airport, but he said it's important you call him as soon as you can. Something about a handwriting analy-"
"Yes, thank you, Aidan," Richard interrupted again, with a stiff smile. He rose from his chair while fishing his phone out of his pocket. He was a step away from leaving when he paused, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the two seated men.
Lee held up a hand in oath-taking fashion. "I swear your nephew will still be whole, functional, and dubiously literate when you return." Aidan just sort of mockingly laughed, which had Richard sporting an embarrassed flush when he finally left to make his call.
"So," Aidan ventured, not a minute into the silence, and teasingly mimicking Lee's earlier tone, "you're Mr. Pace."
"Guilty." Lee leaned back in his chair and defensively held his hands up. "Whatever you've heard about me, let me just say, I am a nicer and more reasonable person in the flesh."
Aidan grinned, all teeth and sparkling eyes. "Graham said you'd say that."
"Graham told you about me?"
"Few times," Aidan said, "around the ballpark of 'stay away from that morally-corrupt lunatic.' You don't seem half bad, though." The young man bowed his head and seemed to busy himself with opening a pack of cigarettes. "Heard about you from the news, mostly. And once from Uncle. My real one, not Richard."
"And how is the real uncle?" Lee surprised himself by actually being curious. He hadn't heard much about Nesbitt since the mess of a media storm two years back. Whoever his crisis manager was deserved a bonus.
"Good. Busy." His hands stilled for a moment, one cigarette frozen halfway out of the box. "They're getting back together, y'know."
Lee's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
"Yeah, 'oh,'" Aidan said, his brows furrowed. "I mean, not yet, obviously. But it's just a matter of time."
Which was probably Aidan-speak for "not really," Lee surmised. "What makes you say that?"
Aidan leaned forward, exuding excitement and smug energy, his voice pitched low like he was divulging some big secret. "They've been calling each other more. Loads more."
"Hm. I'm surprised Graham's fine with that."
It was nearly comical, how large Aidan's eyes grew. Such a sweet, earnest boy, really. There was little wonder he'd been intent on maintaining contact with Richard even after the split. "You won't tell him, will you? Not that I'm saying you would - we've only just met, and you don't owe me anything-"
"Of course not." Aidan still looked worried. Lee shrugged. "I'm a lawyer. If I went around blabbing secrets, I'd be dead by now."
"Good, good." That brilliant smile from earlier made a brief reappearance. "I mean - the not telling part, not the dead part. I just really want this to go well, you know? Uncle's smiling a lot more these days, too."
I bet he is. Lee had a caustic reply half-formed on his lips when Aidan's features once again lost all positive energy and turned somber. "I've been meaning to say...never got an opportunity, really, but since we're here..." He took a deep breath. "Thank you, you know. For before."
Lee peered at him quietly for a few seconds, his mind playing what he last said on repeat while trying to grasp for a context. He gave up. "Please start making sense."
Aidan's mouth firmed. He made a face and raked his hand through his hair. "I'm glad someone was there with him, 's all. It could have been so much worse."
Oh. Lee felt the last threads of his good humor fall. "Yes. It could have," he said, regretting the way his voice reflected some of the acrimony he felt. Aidan picked up on it and looked a little abashed. "And you're welcome."
The ensuing icy silence permeated even the young man's near-constant good cheer. He ducked his head and burned through his cigarette in relative peace while Lee took the occasional sip from his drink and let the uncomfortable quiet stretch.
Two years ago felt like a lifetime, mostly because of how the people around him talked about it. Remember that time, how long ago was it, I saw it on the news again - wasn't it sad? Wasn't it just terrible, how it all happened? It's so great how they're both moving on with their lives.
And Richard did look fine, he supposed. If not for Graham's round-the-clock presence. If not for a multitude of little details that all explained why Richard didn't smile anymore when people bid him good morning, and why his weekends were spent late at the office with a few glasses of good bourbon at lights out.
Lee had no idea how Nesbitt was doing. "Good. Busy," apparently. And they've been calling each other "loads" more.
He breathed out a soundless sigh and distractedly watched the young man across from him attempt (and fail) to blow smoke rings with every misty exhalation. He wanted to say he hadn't done it for Aidan, so no thanks were necessary. But that just reminded him of how he'd done it for Ian, because Ian was his superior and he had sounded like he knew what he was doing at the time. But after the incident, after the cameras stopped filming and the reporters stopped nosing around the courthouse, when Lee's clue bat finally hit home and he realized that it wasn't just Richard's and James's worlds that had changed, he hoped Richard thought he had done it for him, too.
He didn't have much going for him, after all. He'd already fibbed his first impression, back when he was still green and Ian hadn't taken an interest in his career yet. Richard just had to be walking by when his tie got caught in the courthouse's ancient printer and he'd needed an embarrassing amount of rescuing. The prosecutor hadn't been in his thoughts much then, if at all. Richard had been the trial lawyer Ian bitched about sometimes when things were heading south. A celebrity by proxy due to his (then) life partner. There were still old magazines stockpiled in their waiting room with spreads featuring the two of them in their $7,000 Tom Ford suits, sterling silver watches, and diamond cufflinks.
Then his career had taken an odd turn after he'd landed a few large settlements for their firm. Instead of being left alone to continue in that vein, Ian had taken him aside and asked, "How do you feel about criminal law?"
Gradually, names he'd only heard tossed around their offices acquired faces and became more familiar. Richard, as it turned out, was humble and shy outside of court, something which Lee had almost been sure was an affectation to get into people's good graces, regardless of Ian's assurances to the contrary. He'd tested it, even - poked and prodded at the man when he was in a state similar to how he was now: relaxed but not drunk, candid but not unguarded. He had been more disappointed than relieved when he failed. Ian had gloated for days.
Lee roused from his musings when a sound of utter dismay came from the chair across from him. He looked up to see Richard having filched the half-smoked stick from Aidan's fingers and stubbed it on the ashtray in the middle of the table.
"Not while you're staying with me," Richard said, completely ignoring Aidan's indignant "Uncle said you used to smoke at my age!" and pressing something into the young man's now empty hand. "Key to the house, keys to the car. You still remember the passcode?"
Passcode. Wow. The baseball bat at Lee's bedside table now seemed woefully inadequate.
"Yeah." Aidan stood. Lee couldn't blame him for looking relieved. "Will you be here long?"
"Not long. I have something I need to discuss with Mr. Pace."
When they were alone again, Richard clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "An item we believe to be your client's was just recovered from Ms. Lily's dresser this afternoon."
Well, shit.
"We'll hand it over when it returns from testing."
Lee sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I thought we weren't talking about the case?" he said, and he'd really meant for that to come out with some hint of teasing, but it just came across as curt and a little accusatory. If Richard wanted to get into this, he still had a bone to pick as to why he was insisting on maximum sentencing.
Richard looked surprised. Then regretful. And awkward. "You're right. I did say that." He withdrew his hands from the table and laid them on his thighs. One might have been scratching a bit - Lee doubted if Richard even knew that he tended to do that when he was feeling embarrassed. "Look-"
"So what did I do, that you won't call me by my name?" Lee interrupted. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the way Richard's eyes dropped to the table between them.
"Why is it so important to you?"
"Because I like to think of us as friends." Even to his own ears, he sounded a little miffed. "And you didn't answer my question."
"I have friends." Richard's expression closed off, and that right hand was definitely scratching his thigh now if it hadn't been earlier. And he was still very decidedly not answering (or even addressing) Lee's question. As much as Lee found him irresistible, Richard was, ironically, the most frustratingly non-confrontational man he had ever met when it came to matters unrelated to work, and it wasn't doing much for his stress levels.
"You have Graham," Lee countered. "Who has an adoring family. He can't be there for you all the time."
A misstep, Lee belatedly realized, when Richard's countenance smoothed back into pleasant, familiar territory. "You'd be surprised." Saying that drew out a brilliant, fond smile out of the man. Lee tried to stomp on his jealousy and failed by quite a lot. "Good night, Mr. Pace."
Richard wrapped his coat tightly around himself and walked away from his table. He took a small detour towards the bar, had a short word with the bartender, and placed a fiver in the open charity can before he left - but then he always did that. Not many seemed to notice, but Lee did, and Lee was also fairly sure that those bills only ever really benefited the person behind the bar.
Minutes after he was abandoned to his own drink at Richard's table, Lee opened the messaging app on his phone and typed a message:
Met Aidan. Couldn't have at least spared my feelings and mentioned in passing that Nesbitt and Richard are back together, could you?
Lee pocketed the device as soon as he'd hit "Send." As sweet a boy as Aidan appeared, he placed his trust in strangers far too quickly.
There had been no response from Graham, but Lee hadn't been expecting one. The man had stopped replying to any sort of message from Lee months ago. Confirmation that he'd even read the text came three days later in Richard's office, while he and the prosecutor were updating their witness lists. Graham had wordlessly handed Richard an envelope, and Richard had responded with a formal and dismissive, "Thank you."
Considering how familiar the two men normally were with each other (and disgustingly affectionate - Lee didn't care how Graham tried to justify it, letting a sleeping man nuzzle into your neck while you tucked a blanket around him was not normal Bro Behavior), that had practically been Richard yelling at Graham to get the hell out.
Graham hadn't looked too pleased, either. Must have been some fight, Lee thought, and tried to convince himself that being proud of what he'd just achieved was a bad, bad thing.
"It wasn't. Stolen, I mean." The vitriolic diatribe Martin had greeted Lee with earlier seemed to have fizzled out and died when Lee mentioned the new evidence. All that was left behind was this filth-free, eerie meekness that ill-suited the man.
"If it wasn't stolen, then please tell me there's a good reason for your watch to have ended up in Ms. Lily's dresser."
Martin winced. "Must have been during one of those times when I stayed over for tea?"
"Mr. Freeman..." Lee said with grit teeth and thinning patience. Clients lying or hiding relevant information was never a pleasant experience.
Martin raised his hand. "I know what you're thinking. It wasn't an affair, it was tea! And it was only sometimes. We talked about the bloody weather and last night's football game, and the fucking horrible state of public transport. There was no kissing or touching or anything of the sort! Does..." Martin's gaze turned wide-eyed and fearful. "Does my Amanda know? About any of this?"
My Amanda. Always "my Amanda," and fuck it if Lee didn't find that so helplessly charming. "I doubt anyone's told her about this recent development yet, but...she will find out. It's best if it came directly from you."
"Oh God." He ran his hand through his hair, perplexed. "Oh God. Can't you...anything? A gag order? Isn't that something you lawyers can do?"
"That wouldn't apply here. I'm sorry." Martin fell silent and looked at the floor. Lee wasn't quite sure if he'd heard him. He canted his head to the side, trying to catch the man's eyes. "I'll schedule a visit for her tomorrow, all right?"
It was a while before Martin spoke again. "She's going to doubt me, isn't she?"
Lee didn't know Amanda. He'd talked to her a few times because of the case, mostly in their offices. He'd had to, and despite the nature of his questions, Amanda's trust in Martin remained steadfast and wholehearted. Like a big, damn oak against a brewing thunderstorm.
Like how Richard used to talk about Nesbitt to other people when they were still together, whenever the latter would say something controversial on TV.
No, he didn't know Amanda, but he could definitely see that Martin's devotion to her wasn't one-sided. "You don't have anything to worry about if things happened the way you say they did." He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile when Martin met his eyes. "She's been your strongest supporter since all this started. Have a little more faith in her."
"Yeah, but I know how this looks, don't I? And I know how this will look to her." He straightened in his chair and rubbed both hands over his face. "Jesus. I've done nothing but tell the truth the whole time I've been here, and it all sounds fake, like some fucking excuse, doesn't it?"
Martin didn't seem to be looking for a reply, so Lee kept quiet. It did sound fake. It was not the sort of talk that was received well in court, not from a man accused of murder and infidelity.
Lee believed him, though. Not that it mattered.
"She's going to be so hurt. And mad. Mostly hurt. Fuck." Martin sighed. "You're right, I need to talk to her."
"Why doesn't Amanda know that you sometimes stayed over for tea?" Lee asked, as gently as he could.
"I don't know. Evangeline's a sweet girl, and a bloke likes to have his ego stroked sometimes, you know? Didn't want to have that conversation, I suppose." Martin slumped in his chair, looking so downtrodden and defeated that Lee wished he had Ian's talent for knowing exactly what to say to make a client feel better. "I'm tired. Can we continue this tomorrow?"
Lee drummed his fingers on the tabletop. So what if they were running out of tomorrows? Martin was near useless whenever he was like this, anyway - worried sick about his wife, and playing out imaginary scenarios of how badly things could go when next they met.
"Sure," he said, with a practiced, reassuring smile. "Take all the time you need."