Page 67 of Claim

“He was placed in proximity to known adversaries.” I stuck to the facts. To procedure. Anything that might steady my heartbeat. “Including an individual connected to a rival organised crime group. Within twenty-four hours, he was involved in a violent incident.”

“Instigated by him?” She wasn’t writing any longer, but nor was she looking at me.

“No. He reacted. And crucially, he was put in a position where that reaction was foreseeable.”

That got her attention. She looked up. Properly. Cool, sharp eyes that had dismantled KCs twice her age. “Injured?”

“Yes.”

“How bad?”

I exhaled through my nose. “Significantly. Facial injuries. Rib damage. Shoulder trauma. Enough that he was then placed in segregation.”

Mercer cut in smoothly. “We’ve requested the incident logs and segregation authorisation. They haven’t been served yet.”

Imogen’s mouth thinned. “Of course they haven’t.” She glanced back to me. “And when you attended?”

“I was denied access initially. I had to insist. On record.”

A beat. “On what basis?”

“Article Six. Legal professional privilege. Active bail application.” I kept my voice level. “They relented once a supervisor was involved.”

Imogen leant back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “So the state places a remand prisoner in harm’s way, fails to prevent foreseeable violence, injures him in custody, isolates him, then attempts to restrict access to counsel and refuses to take photos of his injuries?”

“That’s the thick of it, yes.”

“And your view?”

“That continued remand now presents a demonstrable risk to his safety that the prison has shown it cannot adequately manage.”

Imogen nodded and pointed her pen at me. “That is the correct framing.”

Relief flared.

She then turned to Mercer. “We reapply.” She then reached for a fresh sheet of paper. “And let’s be clear, this is not about Richard Slade in isolation. I’ve done my research. You were right to bring this to me, Tristan. This case sits at the intersection of organised crime, political proximity, and reputational insulation. Names appear in places they shouldn’t. This entire operation is not subtle. And when defendants are moved, isolated, and injured without adequate explanation, I stop believing in coincidence.”

She fixed me with a stare.

“And I’m not here because I am sentimental. I am allowing this because this has all the hallmarks of a David-and-Goliath prosecution. And I have very little patience for Goliath.”

Mercer nodded. Grim. Confirming without adding.

“So when I say we do this properly,” Imogen’s gaze flicked back to me, “I mean it. We do not hand the court a defendant who looks unstable, unmoored, or conveniently disposable.” She wrote on her paper. “We move him. Or we don’t move at all. So, as we have to assume the judge will focus heavily on where he is to reside pending trial, returning him to any environment connected to this investigation exposes him to further harm and creates the very conditions the prosecution will claim justify continued remand. We neutralise that by moving him.” She looked at me directly. “Did you talk about that when you were with him? Did he give you an address not tied to all of this?”

I glanced at Mercer. Him back at me.

Imogen’s eyebrow lifted a fraction. “That wasn’t rhetorical, Mr Hale-Fitzroy.”

“At the time of my visit,” I chose every word carefully to not outright relay that we had a problem, “the bail address was unresolved.”

“Unresolved,” she tapped her pen on the desk, “is not an address.”

“I’m aware.”

Mercer glanced between us. “We can’t file without a bail address.”

“I know.” I shifted in my seat.