“If he goes in with that attitude, he will be convicted of murder before the judge has got his coat off.”

There was a thump, fist against furniture. “How dare you be so flippant! The police are clearly biased. They have placed the worst possible interpretation on matters. They are seeking proof of Chingford’s guilt, not confirmation of his innocence.”

“If the investigation is not full and fair, Chingford’s barrister will make hay with it in court.”

“He cannot appear in court!”

“Why not?”

“Because of you!” the Marquess shouted. “You killed John Cheveley and now Chingford is tainted as a murderer too! Your past, your disgraceful dereliction of duty, your perverse disregard for our name has stained us all. Of course everyone assumes the worst of him. How can he be treated fairly in these circumstances?”

Will wished he wasn’t hearing this. Why the hell was the man dressing Kim down in his own bedroom? It was grossly disrespectful to his adult son—and that would be why, of course. Will’s muscles were twanging tight, and not just because he was stuck in this damned uncomfortable position.

“My apologies, sir,” Kim said, voice level. “What is it you want me to do about it?”

The Marquess’s voice dropped back to a more reasonable volume. “You are on familiar terms with the policeman, the detective inspector. Renford.”

“Rennick.”

“Speak to him. Tell him that Chingford could not have done this thing.”

“I don’t think ‘my brother says he didn’t do it’ will count for much.”

“Then make it count! Do whatever needs doing, and get this dealt with!”

A long pause. “I hope I don’t take your meaning, sir.”

“Don’t be childish. You claimed to have influence: use it. Make an arrangement. I did it for you.”

“Rennick is an honest man,” Kim said. “And I doubt what you ask would be in his power anyway.”

“Then in whose power is it?”

Will was pretty sure he knew the answer to that. The Private Bureau covered things up all the time: it was, as he understood it, their job, for good or ill. Could they influence this, though? Could Kim make them?

Would he try?

He took a lot too long to reply. “Sir, this is not a matter of influence. It’s murder. Any attempt to evade the process of law will be seen as perverting the course of justice, and make things very much worse.”

“It is not justice to prosecute an innocent man!”

“Everyone is innocent until the jury finds them guilty,” Kim said. “That’s how justice works.”

“Are you enjoying this?” Flitby asked, with a tremor in his voice, which might have been barely controlled rage, or something else. “Does it give you pleasure to see our name soiled? Are you grasping for your brother’s place? His inheritance?”

“No, sir. I really am not.”