Mummy's Favourite by Sarah Flint

to glee.
    â€˜You must be joking? Are you sure? Thanks.’
    After Hubbard’s claim in his interview, checks on his home phone had thrown up one number which had appeared on several occasions since Julie’s disappearance. They had been waiting to discover the registered owner of that number and Charlie was now totally mesmerized by Hunter’s reaction.
    â€˜Bloody hell, this is going to be interesting.’ He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘It’s only come back as registered to His highness, the great Justin Latchmere.’
    â€˜What!
The
Justin Latchmere?’
    He scribbled down an address.
    â€˜Well, there can’t be too many Justin Latchmeres living in the most exclusive part of Clapham, can there?’
    Justin Latchmere was known to everyone in the CID at Lambeth. He worked as a barrister at their local Crown Court and had done so for years. There were few detectives, solicitors or counsel who had failed to come under his spell. Justin was one of those men whose reputation and presence went before them. He was fifty-five years of age with brilliant white hair, swept back off his face into a tiny ponytail at the back of his head, which caused his wig to bulge slightly. Tall, athletic and charismatic, with a finely honed bone structure that made him appear youthful and boyish, while at the same time endowing him with a look of wisdom and knowledge. Justin had worked for both prosecution and defence in the past before settling into the less morally beneficial but more lucrative role of counsel for the defence. Nobody who had ever come across him at court forgot him.
    He oozed charm and agreeability, flirting outrageously with any female he needed to get onside, while being every man’s best mate, their right-hand man in times of crisis, until they fell into his trap and made a mistake. That done, his killer instinct kicked in, like a spider approaching its silky target, mercilessly reducing his quarry to a stuttering, stammering wreck in the witness box, and all with a persuasive smile plastered across his charming features. Anybody returning to the office after a particularly sound mauling in court would receive the sympathy of all their compatriots if admitting to having been ‘Latchmered’.
    Given his reputation for incisive and cut-throat questioning, it was hard to understand how everyone still buzzed round him like bees to a honeypot, but they did. Women fell at his feet and he wasn’t adverse, so rumour had it, to the odd dalliance here and there, but none lasted long and none were ever allowed to intrude on the longevity of his marriage to his wife, Dana. She was his rock, as he was happy to admit, and even though his roving eye sometimes got the better of him, he would always return after each conquest to her forgiving arms, cowed and chastened slightly but ready to turn on the charm offensive and win her over. Theirs was a solid marriage, not harmed, it seemed, by a spot of outside activity, so long as it didn’t affect the relationship by becoming serious. Charlie suspected that as long as the money was still pouring in, Dana Latchmere would allow her errant husband an awful lot of freedom. Having met Dana several times though, she had to say that she’d found her to be a particularly friendly, unassuming woman who quietly but firmly held the purse strings without giving the impression of doing so.
    â€˜I wonder why Justin Latchmere has been phoning Hubbard’s address then? Seems very strange.’
    â€˜I don’t know. Maybe Hubbard had spoken to him about his case and Latchmere was going to be his barrister, should it go to Crown Court.’
    â€˜But to call him from his own home address? Why on earth would an experienced barrister do that from his personal phone? He must be off his head to allow someone like Hubbard easy access to his private number.’
    Hunter was animated and back to his usual self.
    â€˜Right. You have ten minutes