Page 17 of Twisted Elites

I rubbed the back of my neck. “How’s he going to do that?”

“Leave it with Pinkerton,” said Sebastian. “He’s one of the best criminal lawyers in the north of England.”

“Now might be a good time to put pressure on her to change her mind,” said Leopold.

“Can you drive us down tonight?” I asked.

He nodded. “Mr. Pinkerton wants to meet us at the club in the afternoon. We can visit Ashley in the hospital afterward.”

* * *

Mr. Pinkerton waited for us in one of the club’s meeting rooms. This one was about the size of the dining room at home, but with six chairs arranged around an elegant, mahogany table. A painting of Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, hung at the back of the small room, making me wonder if he used to own the club.

The lawyer was a tall, steel-haired man in his fifties, with kind, cornflower-blue eyes that contrasted with his undertaker-style suit.

Sebastian made the introductions, and we took our seats. A waiter brought in coffee in a tall, silver pot with matching jugs of milk, cream, and two bowls containing brown and white sugar cubes.

After the waiter served the drinks, he brought in a plate of wafer-thin cookies that looked like Belgian waffles and left.

Mr. Pinkerton raised his brows. “I apologize for the delay in getting back to you, but my assistants needed to analyze a mass of paperwork.”

I leaned forward on my seat and tried to imagine what kind of documentation they would need. Ashley’s statement, the doctor’s reports, a few witness statements that mostly said they saw Prakash being led away by the police?

“What do you mean?” asked Sebastian.

“Your friend is in more trouble than a prosecution for grievous bodily harm.”

My breathing stopped for several seconds before my lungs started working again. All I could blurt out was, “Why?”

The lawyer opened a leather version of the manilla folders Miss Claymore used and leafed through the papers. “They have reopened a suicide case, which they now believe to be murder.”

“Corrine Gibbons,” I whispered.

Mr. Pinkerton’s head snapped up. “Did you know the girl?”

“I only joined Brittas Academy in September, but I know her twin brother. He mentioned that the police were looking into her death, but I didn’t think they would hold Prakash back for that purpose until now.”

“Can you get him out on bail?” asked Leopold.

“A few important witnesses have come forward, saying that Mr. Kashaayah is a risk to the school children.”

“Who?” If it was Mrs. Benazir, I would storm down to her office and tell the hypocritical shit what I thought of her double-dealing tactics.

He leafed through the papers again. “Wendy Claymore, the former deputy headmistress cited an incident where Mr. Kashaayah attacked other students.”

Leopold threw up his hands. “We only beat up those guys because they groped Willow, and Claymore is Sebastian’s ex.”

The lawyer’s face went slack, and all the color drained from his cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

Sebastian bowed his head. “We were intimate.”

“That’s an understatement!” Leopold curled his fingers into fists. “The woman used to sneak into his room and—”

“What do I have to do to get her statement discredited?” Sebastian raised his voice, drowning out Leopold’s.

I chewed my lip. My mind conjured up an image of a Medusa-like banshee writhing atop Sebastian’s struggling, muscular body. She was clad in a lace negligée that revealed every contour of her athletic form. Ugh. I shook the image out of my head. It was probably my imagination and not a real memory. The only time I’d ever seen Miss Claymore not wearing her regular black pantsuit, she’d been wearing a long, fleece dressing gown.

“Well, this…” The lawyer coughed into his left hand. “I may be able to mention her sexual relationship with you to cast doubt on her statement. But I have to ask, did you ever make a complaint?”