Page 23 of Crocodile Tears

“It was a man, and yes, he did.”

“Do you know who he was?” Josiah asked.

Alexander shrugged. “He was just another houder. He had a pretty blond boy that Elliot wanted to sleep with.”

“And what did Dacre say when you were returned to him the following day in this damaged condition?” Josiah gestured at Alexander’s back.

“He was upset. He blamed himself, and he told me he’d never make me go to a show again.”

“Did you believe him?”

“I’m sure he meant it when he said it.”

Josiah caught the equivocation. “But you didn’t believe him?” Alexander hesitated. “You must see that all the evidence so far is against you,” Josiah told him. “I could take you to court right now, point to the marks on your back, and tell them that you killed Elliot Dacre because you were angry about what had happened to you at the show, and scared that he would force you to do it again.”

“Then why don’t you?” Alexander asked quietly. “Why don’t you charge me right now, if you think you have enough evidence to convict me? Nobody will be surprised to hear that yet another indie has killed his houder, especially not when that indie is the notorious Alexander Lytton. The media camped outside have already decided I’m guilty, and, as Doctor Baumann has pointed out, your reputation speaks for itself. Why bother asking me any more questions?”

Josiah drew himself up to his full height and took a step forward. “Because I’m the senior investigator on this case, and the only way any of my cases go to court is when I am certain I’ve found the perpetrator,” he rapped out. “I don’t care how something ‘looks’ or how it ‘seems’. I want facts, and I’ll keep digging until I’m satisfied. So, you won’t be going to court unless I’m damn sure you’re guilty.”

“And right now, you’re not?”

“I’ve only just started this investigation – you’ll know when I’m done,” Josiah said. “You say you’re innocent, and maybe you are – I don’t know enough, yet. But if youareinnocent, then the more you tell me, the more I can help you. So, I suggest you work with me, answer my questions in full, and be honest, even if you think it’ll prejudice your case. Because I’ll find out if you’ve lied to me, and then it’ll be much worse for you.”

“Very well, sir,” Alexander said softly, lowering his head in a semblance of compliance that Josiah didn’t trust for a second.

“Good. Now, did you believe Elliot Dacre when he said he wouldn’t show you again?” Josiah repeated.

Alexander shook his head. “No. Elliot wasn’t a bad man, but he was selfish. He liked to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and he enjoyed showing me too much to stop. There was the cachet for himof being my houder, and he got his pick of a wide selection of attractive young indies to sleep with as a result.”

“Were you worried about being taken to this show and being forced to spend the night with another abusive houder?” Josiah asked. “Did that make you anxious?”

“No, because it wasn’t my decision – it was Elliot’s. I had no say in it.”

“But you must have had an opinion about it,” Josiah pressed.

“No, sir,” Alexander replied, and that puzzling blank expression was back in his eyes.

Josiah had the sudden realisation that Alexander had, at some point, learned to conceal his true feelings so well that they were completely unreadable – which meant that the man standing so serenely in front of him could be a complete psychopath or a total innocent, and Josiah couldn’t tell which.

The one thing he did know was that if he got this wrong, he could unleash a cunning, ruthless killer back into the world – or condemn an innocent man to death.

Chapter Four

NOVEMBER 2083

Alex

They arrived at The Orchard, in the pretty Kent countryside, at 1.15p.m. The house was a rambling old mansion near Sevenoaks, pre-dating the Rising by over a hundred years, its mellow yellow bricks and ivy-covered walls giving it a warm, friendly feel.

Alex wasn’t sure he really viewed it as “home”, as he’d spent much of his childhood in various boarding schools, but he’d always returned here during school holidays and when he was serving out various suspensions and expulsions.

Lighting up a cigarette, he stepped lazily from the duck. A swarm of indentured servants immediately flurried out of the house to squabble over who should take their cases inside.

“Your father is a good man to take in so many ISs,” Neil said approvingly.

“I suppose.” He blew out a nonchalant ring of smoke. His father hated him smoking, which was all the more reason to do it. “He views it as his religious duty to be a good man. Felt to me like we never had a moment to ourselves when I was a kid. There were always dozens of servants around, getting in the way.”

“The Orchard is a big house – your father is giving these people ahome, and paying for their food and medical insurance. It’s an act of generosity,” Neil told him sternly.

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