The offices of Roscoe & Henderson were in Balwyn North in the eastern suburbs, on the second floor of an old brick building near the main drag.
Liz and Pete settled in uncomfortable seats opposite Richard Roscoe in a huge corner office with tiny windows and expensive furniture. The carpet though was threadbare and there were cracks in the walls.
She’d met Roscoe a dozen or so times. Met wasn’t the right word. Observed him. Listened to him defend killers in the courtroom—Malcolm Hardy being the first of many almost a decade ago. The Hardy case got him other clients because he’d managed to reduce the sentence using voodoo or something. Liz had no idea how he’d done it. But the lawyer had some talent which was wasted on defending criminals of the worst type.
A middle-aged woman with very h
