Don't Get Caught

Chapter 17 - Ariel

Cruising at thirty-five thousand feet, I rested my sweaty forehead on the cold mirror of the claustrophobic toilet cubicle. My hot breath steamed up the glass, an unidentifiable chemical smell filled my nostrils and the engines thrummed in my ears. Unable to wait until we reached our hotel, a quickie in the toilet of a crowded Ryanair flight to Spain had seemed like the best way to start our trip. Peter had already returned to his seat while I straightened my clothes.

I peeled my head back from the glass and studied my flushed face. Why did I feel so disgusted with myself? OK, I was using Peter, but I also quite fancied him. I narrowed my eyes at my reflection. Of course, I knew exactly what was bothering me about this situation. Danny. I felt inexplicably guilty.

I splashed cold water on my face, untwisted my thong and unlocked the door, avoiding eye contact with all passengers and crew as I shuffled down the aisle back to my seat. Peter was reading a newspaper and didn't look up when I sat down next to him. That suited me fine – I needed to prepare. I took out my iPad and opened my notes on Christina and Bernard.

The remainder of the flight passed in an odd fizzling silence. It wasn't like we were a real couple who were comfortable in each other's subdued company; there were so many conversation topics available to choose from. Once or twice I was tempted to pick one, but each time I changed my mind. We disembarked, navigated customs, and exited through arrivals before we finally spoke.

"Taxi?" Peter nodded at the sign above our heads directing us to either the train station or the taxi rank.

I agreed, taking out my phone to search for the address of our hotel.

"Have I done something to piss you off?" Peter asked, settling back in the seat of our taxi and removing his expensive sunglasses so he could look at me properly.

I didn't remove mine. "Not especially."

"So, what's with the silent treatment? You invited me on this trip, remember?"

I sighed loudly and physically, allowing my shoulders to rise and fall for dramatic effect. I turned away to look at the sprawling landscape. Blue sky, miles of flat scrubland, the mirage of a tiny town far off in the distance. "I know, and I'm sorry. I think I'm just nervous. It's not you. A lot's riding on this trip."

"About that," he said carefully. "Have you thought about the consequences?"

I turned to look at him that time, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the light. "Of course. Are you suggesting I haven't?"

"Let's say that Danny's sister confesses to you that she killed Bernard; that she was the one who pushed him off the balcony. Then what?"

I shrugged. "Simple. Danny's not guilty and he won't have to go to jail."

"OK, but if that's true then it won't be a revelation to him - he knows it already. He's saying he did it for a reason. Most likely to protect his sister. You forcing a confession out of her is going to achieve what exactly?"

I pursed my lips, I didn't much like his tone. "She will get a lighter sentence. Maybe even get off completely if it can be proven it was self-defence."

"You can't promise her that, Ariel. As far as I can tell, your plan is to force a confession out of this poor woman with a false promise that she'll be OK but her brother won't be. But you don't know that. You don't know what a judge will decide if she owned up to this."

"Don't you care about the truth? You're meant to be a lawyer." I drummed my fingers on the leather seat between us. My turquoise nails bright against the black seat.

Peter put his hand over mine to stop the sound. "Of course I care about the truth. But that's not what this is about. You're just here to help Danny, regardless of what's true. What if he did it, but you guilt-trip his sister into confessing under the pretence that she'll get away with it? That she could save her brother? You're messing with people's lives here. For whatever reason, they've made their choices. You should keep out of it."