Page 18 of Cruel Shame

Angry heat surged through my veins and heated my face. Every blood vessel on the left side of my head pulsed in sync with my pounding heart. I wished this concussion didn’t mess with my reflexes. The first time we met, I treated him like the wanker he was, and now he was making me look like I’m some kind of victim in denial.

“Listen,” I said between clenched teeth. “Lady Liddell showed me that fake DNA report, and I tore it into pieces. Mr. Burg is not my father.”

He leaned back in his seat, spread his legs wide, and folded his arms over his thin belly. “How do you know?”

“What?”

“You weren’t there when Duncan Burg forced himself on your mother.” He tilted his head to the side and leveled me with penetrating stare. I supposed that was the police equivalent of striking a triumphant pose.

“Neither were you.” I leaned forward with my fists clenched. “When Lady Liddell spouted those lies, I went straight to London to ask my mother.”

His eyes twinkled. “Because you suspected it was true.”

“I suspected Lady Liddle was planning on using the fake DNA test against my family.”

Cromar shook his head. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t know,” I snarled. “Maybe the smug grin she gave me after I tore up the test and she said she’d made multiple copies.”

“And it’s a good thing that she did, otherwise this information would never come to light.”

I ground my teeth. He’d already made up his mind. Actually, he was either trying to be a dick or was working directly for the Liddells. At a guess, I’d say it was a combination of all three.

“This conversation is going nowhere,” I said with a groan.

DCI Cromar rose from his seat, strolled toward the exit and swept his arms toward the door. “You came to us, Miss Hancock.”

“Because I want you to take down a statement,” I hissed.

He folded his arms over the yellowing sweater. “Did Mr. Burgh ever act inappropriately toward you?”

“Never.”

“A witness produced a recording containing you accusing him of…” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his smartphone, and tapped a few commands.

I narrowed my eyes, bracing myself to hear Elizabeth’s made-up bullshit.

“Here we are.” Cromar cleared his throat. “Miss Hancock screamed at the top of her voice ‘are you coming onto me? It sounds like you’re pissed off because I didn’t go into the cupboard with you’.”

Every drop of blood drained from my face and into a heart spasming with palpitations. I said those words. Said them when I didn’t know why the hell Mr. Burg had brought me to the academy and why he kept calling me by my first name.

How was I to know what my grandfather would be the headmaster of a posh Scottish school? I grew up with a druggie for a mother and a drug lord for a stepfather. People like me weren't supposed to come from such breeding.

I turned my gaze back to the empty sofa. How much would I bet that our conversation was stored somewhere on a computer ready to be unearthed? If I denied it, I’d lose any credibility as a character witness.

“There’s no shame in being a victim of abuse.” DCI’s voice turned coaxing. “Abuse has followed you like a black cloud, Miss Hancock. From your stepfather to your foster fathers to Samuel Kettering and now your grandfather.”

The pain in my head chose this moment to sharpen, and I winced at the sensation of being impaled through the eye with a javelin. Frustration welled through my insides. If only I could think straight, I’d have the right words to put this bastard in his place. My throat thickened, and my face grew hot with tears.

“Have a hanky.” DCI Cromar stood at the edge of my sofa, his lips curved in what he probably thought was a sympathetic smile. “Dry your eyes and help me ensure he doesn’t do the same to another impressionable, young woman.”

“You’re disgusting,” I murmured.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How would you like it if someone accused you?”

Cromar’s brows drew together in a frown. “Miss Hancock—”