Page 298 of These Tears

The sour smile remains, but his answer takes a beat too long. ‘Seems like Elias knows a lot.’

‘Enough to bring you down.’

‘And you don’t want that.’ It’s not a statement. It’s a taunt.

‘He is mad. If he walks, I am in danger.’

A tremor in my hand betrays my nerves, but it lands at exactly the right moment.

He sighs once, then reclines against the seat. ‘Routes, journals, pieces of information. Those are not power. Control is. Who signs. Who looks away. Who stamps a shipment without opening it. Who receives cash and calls it debt repayment.’

‘So Arthur Crane knew the routes,’ I say.

‘Arthur knew nothing.’

I let the correction hang. ‘But Melody Crane did.’

His finger stills against the desk. ‘The woman wanted a slice of the pie. Shame she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.’

The dog gives a quiet whine.

My skin prickles beneath my clothes.

‘You came here to bargain for your freedom,’ he then murmurs.

‘I know you can remove me as easily as you have the rest of the Cranes.’

‘Quite right.’

The answer comes too quickly. His lips press together, as though he hears it only after it has escaped.

‘Complete your statement,’ Cromwell says. ‘Describe Crane accurately: violent, unstable, obsessive. The right officers will understand which parts deserve emphasis, and the right newspapers will understand which version of you deserves sympathy.’

‘You can arrange that?’

‘Among other things. You can go back to your life. Keep your lips tight. And Elias Crane can go where he belongs.’

‘In chains?’

He smiles. ‘In hell, Ms Nottingham.’

I go numb all over. He promises death without so much as a twitch of hesitation.

I swallow whatever has wedged itself behind my tongue.

He watches me for one suspended second too long before his attention catches on Brute again, and then his gaze travels to the door.

Before my face gives me away, I turn towards the lift, the dog moving with me like a wall of fur and teeth and claws between my spine and Cromwell’s desk.

‘Ms Nottingham,’ he calls.

I pause at the lift. Look back over my shoulder.

‘Drive safely.’

I don’t remember pressing the button when the lift doors open. My feet take me inside before my knees remember they’re not supposed to shake yet.

Every second of the descent to the ground floor lodges somewhere between my chest and throat.