Page 121 of The Devil's Torment

He sips his wine, blue eyes locked on mine over the rim of the glass. “What would you have me do?”

“Bury it.”

“Hmm.” He leans back to allow the server to set down his steak.

“Thank you, Evan.” I do the same, breathing in the delicious smell of the duck.

I wait for Evan to depart, then turn my attention back to Bartholomew. The man is as easy to read as a billboard in Piccadilly Circus. He’s going to drag this out. Oh, he’ll surrender, but I’d rather he did it without me having to use my trump card. It’s good business to have as many of those in the deck as possible.

“You’re asking for a lot, Christian. Two people died.”

“I’m aware.”

“There are protocols, procedures, other departments to answer to.”

I draw in a deep breath and pick up my knife and fork. Slicing off a piece of duck, I let the succulent meat melt on my tongue. Delicious.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I’m not sure I can, Christian. This is above my pay grade.”

So, this is how he’s playing it. Fine. One less card in the deck won’t kill me.

I set down my cutlery, prop my elbows on the crisp, white tablecloth, and rest my chin on my hands. “That’s a real shame.”

“I’d like to help. You know I would. I’m not stupid. I know how the world works, but some things are too big to hide.”

“And some things are too big to stay hidden, isn’t that right, Thomas?”

Two deep grooves develop between his bushy eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“No?” I dab my mouth with my napkin, then set it beside my plate. “I met a lovely woman earlier today. Charming. Also very talkative with the right… encouragement.”

Beads of sweat instantly form on the forehead of the man who thought he’d been so clever. He swallows, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. He says nothing, as I expected him to. He’s still unsure if I know anything at all or if I’m bluffing. Unfortunately for him, I know the whole sordid tale.

“And the boy. Spitting image of his father. Five is such a lovely age, isn’t it? Their personality really comes into its own.” I scrape a palm over my stubble. “Five, plus nine months of pregnancy would make sweet Amy… barely legal when you stuck your pudgy little dick into her. What did you do, Thomas? Promise her you’d leave your wife for her if she just gave up the sugar?” I tut. “WhatwillDaphne say when she finds out?”

He’s whiter than a fresh coating of snow. His mouth opens and shuts three times, yet he doesn’t say a word.

“And the Prime Minister… he won the election on a principled manifesto. He can’t allow any scandal to derail his chances of a second term in office. You’d have to fall on your sword. The long history of a political family in tatters, and for what? Because you wouldn’t do a favor for a friend.”

I shave off another piece of duck and chew it thoughtfully while my threat sinks in. Swallowing, I level him with a stare. “What’s it to be, Thomas? A healthy donation to your retirement fund, or a life left in tatters?”

He pauses, then hits me with a triumphant smile. “If you can get Amy to talk, I can get her to shut the fuck up.”

What was it Forrest Gump said? Stupid is as stupid does. How true.

“Ah, but you’d have to find her. How you could leave your own flesh and blood living on the poverty line is a mystery to me. Luckily for Amy, she won’t have to work two jobs just to put food on the table. I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

Spittle forms at the corners of his mouth and a vein pops in his forehead. “You can’t do this.”

I scoop up a forkful of truffle mashed potatoes. “Too bad,old boy.I already have. Bury the fucking report, or I will bury you.”

* * *

Grace

Body language is a bit of a hobby of mine. I’m no expert, but even an amateur like me can tell that the conversation the two men sitting across the restaurant from me are having isn’t a friendly one. There’s a clear hierarchy in place, and the older guy is on the losing side.

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