Cleaver is in prison, charged with the manslaughter of Lane Hole's sweet, elderly neighbour. Flush with funds since optioning the rights to her story to Hollywood, Missy bails him out. But she has to stand aside for Polly Nesbitt who retains her interest in Cleaver. Unfortunately Kirsty no longer does, and will allow Cleaver to retain his extremities if she and Col are not implicated in his trial and he pays his debt in full, in thirty days.
While Wendy blames Cleaver for Fuzz's desperate embrace of religion, Polly does an old-fashioned, on-air hatchet job on Cleaver. Cleaver seems friendless.
Emboldened by her confrontation with the school mothers, Scarlet steps in to help Cleaver. Barney relents and warns Cleaver that he'll go down for manslaughter but says he is likely to beat the hug charge. With their help, Cleaver goads Cal McGregor into having the charge upgraded.
But Cal didn't get to be Attorney-General without a few devious tricks of his own. His old mate, Director of Public Prosecutions, Norton Kent, finds a charge that will stick and send Cleaver down for a very long time, and also the judge who is likely to do it.
Cleaver will need to rely not only on his own wits and the talents of his friends to avoid a hefty stretch behind bars, but also on his belief that Cal McGregor will do absolutely anything to see Cleaver endure that stretch.
Whilst barrister Cleaver Greene's ex-wife may call him unreliable, his son will call him a mate. To his learned friends at the bar table he is a real wag, and to most judges he is an outrage. To the Tax Office, he is a defendant, to a certain brothel owner a legend, and to his former cocaine dealer a tragic loss.
The clients he loves the most are those that appear to be utterly hopeless. He will do whatever it takes to defend and save life's truly lost souls. The big sinners. Its drug lords. Its cannibals. Its bestialites. And at the same time, he will struggle to save himself, to stop himself falling back into the abyss that has characterised most of his self-destructive adult life thus far.
Despite his own hopelessness, his wit and charm have won him hordes of companions over the years. Most nights of the week, there is no shortage of invitations: dinner with a judge, drug dealers, or his copper mates.
He tends to wake up bruised. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Usually it's a combination thereof. Occasionally he wonders how his life came to this. Living in a studio above a café in the Cross, without his wife and son, in love with a prostitute, defending hopeless cases.