The Inside Stair

Anthony Lacey came along the blue carpet at ten to ten with his wig in one hand and a slim file in the other, and held the door of Court Three open for the usher, which Aled noted, because men who held doors for ushers were usually men who wanted it known they were the kind who did.

Then he saw that Lacey had not looked round to see who had noticed. He had held the door because the usher’s hands were full. He went in after her, and the closer let the door down behind him with its long sigh, and that was the last Aled saw of him until eleven.

He was taller than his photograph. Sixty, perhaps. A face like a kind headmaster’s. He had nodded to Aled on the way past, one professional to another, “Officer,” and Aled had said, “Sir,” and neither of them had…