Page 19 of Cruel Shame

“You’re supposed to uphold the law, yet all you’re doing is helping a corrupt family victimize an innocent man with a pack of lies.”

A frustrated breath huffed out of his nostrils. “And you insulted our Deputy Chief Constable.”

“Are you going to take a statement or not?” I snapped.

“Not.” He placed his hands on his hips and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “You’ve told us nothing in the public interest.”

“Nothing that will benefit the Liddell family, you mean?”

He stepped aside. “If you’re going to turn rude and belligerent, you had better leave.”

“What about my chocolate digestives?”

“They’re not coming.” He folded his arms across his chest.

Not that I cared, but they never were. I rose off the hard sofa and wiped my bandaged hands down the sides of my jeans. The corruption in this place felt like a mass of fleas carrying the bubonic plague. The longer a person stayed, the more likely they were going to be infected by the Liddells.

“That was a fucking waste of my time.” I brushed past him and headed toward the door.

DCI Cromar grabbed my arm. “Miss Hancock.”

“What do you want?” I snatched my arm out of his grip.

“We are here to help you, even if it doesn’t seem that way.” Sincerity dripped from his voice, and the way he pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest reminded me of Gilderoy Bloody Lockhart.

I didn’t know if I should cry or spit in his face. The wanker actually believed in what he was saying. “If you care about justice, you’ll listen to Myra Highmore’s claim of where she got that gun.”

“Miss Highmore is a disturbed young—”

“Like me?” I met his gaze. “It’s funny how you dismiss these witnesses as mental the moment their statements disprove your superiors’ lies.”

His nostrils flared, and a muscle on the side on his jaw flexed.

“May I leave, now? Detective Chief Inspector?” Normally, I’d call him a detective and enjoy his spluttered reply that he was also a chief inspector. This time, I used his full job title. If DCI Cromar wasn’t corrupt, maybe something I said might sink through his thick skull.

He stepped aside. “You were never under arrest.”

Without a backward glance, I walked to the door and flung it open. Constable Pala stood outside holding two steaming mugs of tea and stared at me with round eyes.

I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “DCI Cromar could use two cuppas. I’ll let myself out.”

Glasgow Station wasn’t different from the one in Richley. Maybe all police forces around the United Kingdom used the same architect to save costs, maybe I’d become so accustomed to being on the wrong side of the law that I could navigate these places even with a blinding headache and a mind about to collapse into mush.

When I reached the door that led out to the public reception area, the receptionist buzzed me out. As soon as I stepped through the door, Maxwell and Orlando bolted out of their seats and rushed at me with Kendrick strolling behind.

“What happened?” Maxwell asked.

I shook my head. “They wanted me to incriminate him. They wouldn’t listen to anything else.”

“What are you going to do?”

Dread barreled through my insides like an out-of-control bowling ball. I grimaced at my only course of action. “I’m bringing my mother up from London. She needs to clear his name and tell them the truth.”

Chapter Nine

Maxwell and Orlando exchanged glances, seeming to communicate an entire conversation with their eyes. My heart sank. What didn’t they want to tell me? Maybe there was a development in Mr. Burgh’s case, and something I said—or my appearance at the police station—had gotten the police to charge Mr. Burgh and keep him locked up until a future trial.

“What’s happened?” I asked.