Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil(69)

“He’ll be remanded in custody and a court date will be set.”

“Charlie doesn’t deserve to be locked up, Chief Inspector,” Arthur Crombie said. “What happened in Calais has set him over the edge.”

“He hasn’t had a night’s sleep since,” his mother said.

The Crombies didn’t seem the sort of people who made excuses for their son, but it was Charlie’s second arrest in as many weeks, and Bish didn’t want to promise them anything.

“This judge is a decent man,” Bish told them, “and can probably be swayed by an accused’s statement. So Charlie being personable and sincere may be the way to go. Have him talk about his trauma after the bombing.”

The Crombies exchanged a look. “Personable and sincere” didn’t seem to describe their son. They were led away by their harassed barrister and Bish moved into the courtroom with a handful of others. There he saw the Kenningtons. Crombie may have got away with breaking their son’s nose, but they were no doubt going to make sure he didn’t walk away from this one.

A short while later, Crombie was accompanied into the dock, where he stood looking as sullen as ever, his usual sour, pasty-faced self, dressed in skinny black jeans, white shirt, skinny tie, and black jacket. The judge entered, his eyes sweeping the room and settling on Bish and then Elliot, who were sitting beside the Crombies.

Although it was only a bail hearing, Russell Gorman’s barrister was more interested in a character assassination. The cheating incident at Charlie’s previous school was rehashed. His sexual relationship with Violette LeBrac was brought up. The drinking, smoking, causing of public nuisance, breaking of curfew, and urinating in public fountains while on the tour were discussed in detail. Bish wondered if this had come from Rodney Kennington. Wasn’t it the rule that what happens on tour stays on tour? Kennington was a corporate whistle-blower in the making. Not a moral one, but one who’d do it out of spite, out of bitterness for not getting the promotion. Bish surreptitiously moved forward in his seat and poked Crombie’s barrister in the back. Say something, you stupid woman, he wanted to shout. This wasn’t a trial.

In the dock Crombie was staring from Kennington to Gorman, hatred in his expression. Bish could see that he was going to be the media’s next target.

“You’re a strange one, Charlie,” Judge Walsh said, looking far from impressed. “Decent people raising you, and you reward them with disgraceful behavior. I think this court needs for you to start with an apology to Mr. Gorman.”

Walsh was giving Charlie a chance to keep his record clean. The Crombies turned to Bish for confirmation and he nodded. It was now up to Charlie to impress Judge Walsh.

“Mr. Crombie?” Walsh said. “We’re waiting.”

Rodney Kennington was leaning over and whispering something to his parents. They seemed amused by what he had to say. Suddenly Crombie leapt to his feet, throwing a punch at the glass wall before him. “Fuckers!” he shouted.

“Oh, Charlie,” his mother muttered.

“They locked my girl in a cupboard like she was nothing. Called her a slag and no one tried to stop them!”

Bish was as stunned as everyone else in the room. The judge ordered that procedures be stopped and Crombie was dragged from the dock, still yelling threats at Gorman.

“I’ll come for you again, and this time I’ll cut out your heart!”

“A Shakespeare in the making,” Elliot muttered.

The Crombies were ashen-faced as they watched their son disappear beyond doors not open to the public.

Bish and Elliot shouldered their way past the reporters, into the restricted hallway, where one of the guards was trying to hold Charlie back. He had lost control, his fists flying way too close to Walsh, who was waving off security. Two guards finally pinned him to the ground.



“The thing is, I’m going to have to set bail or put this down to post-traumatic stress and have him go through a psychological assessment,” Walsh said in his chamber a short while later. He had asked Elliot and Bish to join him after Charlie had been taken back to his cell. The judge had ordered a written apology from Charlie. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything with that pen,” he warned the guards.

Walsh was trying to find the best way around the situation. “But I’m not going to waste my time if Crombie’s not worth the trouble.”

“Let’s hope he’s not going to track down every person on that bus and knock them out,” Elliot said.

“Do you think the Crombies can find someone to vouch for a sliver of decency in this kid?” Walsh asked.

“He was sticking up for a girl,” Bish tried.

“Yes, that’ll make me very popular with the public,” Walsh said. “‘Charlie Crombie was sticking up for the granddaughter of the Brackenham bomber, so let’s wipe any record of wrongdoing from the files.’”

“I doubt there are too many people who could say much in Charlie’s defense at the moment,” Bish said.

Elliot agreed. “And Gorman will make a media fuss if you let the kid off the hook.”

“Gorman reminds me of that bastard who used to thrash us raw in geography,” Walsh said.

He stood up and walked to the cabinet in the corner of his office. Unlike Elliot and Bish, Anthony Walsh hadn’t aged disgracefully. He had never done anything disgracefully. He’d always been ahead of his time, the first openly gay head prefect at his school.