Page 303 of These Tears

I had sent MacLeish the recording of my conversation with Cromwell, and he had done a wonderful job of releasing it into the wild two minutes before the hearing started. With Sindre making certain it travels across the country without anyone inside this room being able to contain it.

I don’t know if it will do any good in court. But things like this won’t just drown in public. Cromwell might bury files and frighten witnesses. Delay proceedings. Keep Elias buried under paperwork while evidence slowly disappears.

But he would never be able to force thousands of people to unhear his voice.

I lift my eyes to Elias’ face. One corner of his mouth moves – he’s much too furious with me for it to be a smile, but it’s almost there.

Demon, he mouths.

My lips threaten to betray me. I press them flat before anyone can see as his gaze sweeps the room, while the staff scramble to restore order.

The bald head rises among the chaos of people springing to their feet. Cromwell makes it three steps towards the aisle before two uniformed officers move into his path. One touches his earpiece, listening.

Cromwell’s expression hardens, his gaze lancing through the speakers, then shifting to me. Whatever he is about to say disappears. One of his men shifts behind him, spouting something about absurdities. The officers, however, remain where they are, keeping him in one place.

I don’t hear every word over the objections, but I do see Cromwell’s spine snapping straight.

And then—

One of the officers takes his arm. He guides him out, but before he’s swallowed by the cluster of uniforms, his gaze cuts through the courtroom and latches on to mine.

There is no smugness left in it now.

Just a dark promise.

Wood resounds sharply from the dock. Elias’ body has pitched forward, eyes trained on Cromwell. He saw that look, too.

The custody officers catch him by the arms. He doesn’t fight them, but every muscle in him strains towards Cromwell with such naked aggression that the people nearest the dock jerk away.

I know exactly what he wants to do. A ruined part of me almost wants to let him.

‘The hearing is postponed,’ the judge says, striking through the noise. ‘No material arising from this interruption is to be treated as evidence until it is properly obtained, authenticated and disclosed.’

Conall appears to my right, shaking his head. ‘You may have just handed Cromwell’s barrister an argument before we’ve even reached Crown Court.’ He runs his palm over his face and sighs as he leans in and says in a low voice, ‘You’re going to give me the original file. You are going to say nothing to the press. You are going to let me try to keep this from eating the case alive.’

The triumph I’d been nursing shrinks considerably.

I nod. ‘The original is on the recorder attached to Brute’s harness.’

After I’d seen Cromwell, Sindre had taken the dog for a walk – all the way to the hotel room where his laptop waited to receive the files. Just in case something happened to the recorder, a copy was uploaded directly to my cloud storage.

The Irishman gives me a look containing several centuries of undisclosed profanity.

One look at it and the victory lap is cancelled.

I’m not stupid, though. Cromwell may be answering police questions. The reporters may have their headline. Investigators may finally be looking towards the truth.

But Elias remains behind secure glass. Cromwell’s arrest probably changed the direction of the investigation, but it hasn’t cleared my wild bear.

At best, the evidence has given investigators something new to authenticate – and Conall another reason to start tearing through Cromwell’s version of events.

Thankfully, the judge doesn’t let the chaos of the morning breathe for long.

He starts laying out rules and procedures, then adjourns the court. His gaze moves lethally across the room. ‘I strongly advise everyone present to remember that this is still a court of law.’

Law.

Perhaps.