Page 19 of Dissection of a Murder
“Absolutely not!” I shoot back. “Your background is an asset, not a flaw. I didn’t have money or contacts, but I had grit, steel, and determination—just like you.”
The room bursts into applause.
“Leila!” another girl shouts. “What changes do you think need to be made post-#MeToo?”
It’s a change of topic, but I was expecting it to come up tonight.
“The #MeToo movement has given all of us a platform and the courage to call out and extinguish latent sexism in this profession. I’ve seen women having to put up with leery male solicitors, or being told, ‘I’ll send this brief to someone else if you don’t comply.’ Women feeling that the only way they’ll succeed in this career is because of how they look or who they’re willing to sleep with. No more. Wemuststick together. We are worth more than that.”
People whoop and clap in agreement. To see a new generation of potential lawyers talking openly about preparing themselves to tackle this makes me think change really is possible.
When the noise dies down, Rachel moves to a girl at the very back of the auditorium. I can’t see her at all. I can only hear her voice.
“Could I just ask, off the back of the #MeToo stuff, which is all very empowering and current, et cetera,” she says. Condescensiondances on the surface of her voice. “Are you saying that girls shouldneverconsider performing sexual favors in this profession even if it wouldsignificantlyadvance their career?”
It’s an odd thing to say, particularly in today’s climate, and it’s loaded with a tone I don’t like.
“You’d be gaining success via the back door. So, no.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she asks, surprised. The room is silent.
“No.”
“Were you ever tempted?” she challenges. “When you were younger, especially coming from such adisadvantagedbackground?”
I pause, aware that I have hundreds of eyes on me, and I don’t like what she’s insinuating. The heat from the stage lights is starting to make me sweat.
“I wasn’t,” I reply firmly.
“Your husband is King’s Counsel, isn’t he, Leila?”
The host sees where this is going and takes the microphone away from the girl asking the question. Or is it a woman? She sounded older than a teenager. And there was a familiarity in her voice I couldn’t place.
“We only have time for one question each, I’m afraid!” Rachel says, moving on, and I’m grateful for her tact. As the next girl asks her question, I smile, but my mind is reeling. Who would ask a confrontational question like that?
The Q&A lasts for another hour. At the end, some attendees approach the stage and ask for selfies, which I don’t mind. It’s good publicity forChats at the Bar.
It’s dark when I leave, just past 8 p.m. My car is at the far side of the car park, dimly lit by one tall lamppost at the other end. There’s a car parked next to mine and a few others scattered around, but most have gone. I wish I’d parked closer to the entrance.
My pace quickens as I approach my car. Reaching into myhandbag, I fumble for the keys and press the button to unlock the door so I can get straight in. As the reverse lights flash, a hooded figure is illuminated at the rear. The person jumps slightly, then turns sharply to walk away.
“Hey!” I shout out instinctively.
The figure doesn’t stop, moving farther into the dark.
A feeling of dread settles around me.Why was someone by my car?
Something is off. And my instincts are very rarely wrong.
8
Leila
110 days before trial
The downside ofdoing talks and events is that you have to post where you’ll be. If someone doesn’t like you, or you have an ex-client who wants access to you, it tells them exactly where you are.
After checking my car thoroughly, I drove home and decided not to tell Julian. I can’t even be sure the person was doing anything to my car. Nothing was damaged or taken, and he’d tell me we don’t have any proof, which is true. Besides, if I raise any kind of official alarm about being followed or watched, all kinds of red alerts would be enacted, which would cause far too much drama.
