I took a step toward her.
“No. We don’t want to contaminate the evidence.” Remy crowded me back into the wine cellar proper.
I knew he was right. I took a handkerchief from my pocket, wiped my eyes, and blew my nose. “I want him to pay for this. If it even seems as if he’s going to walk away, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t walk away.”
To a man like Allister Ashford, whose name was the only thing that meant anything to him, public humiliation was the ultimate punishment. I didn’t think that was something he’d want to face.
“I’m so sorry,” Remy said again. He cupped my cheek and caught a tear I’d missed. For a moment I thought he was going to embrace me, but the moment passed, and instead he took a step back and said briskly, “Now, you need to speak to your nephew, and I need to make a phone call. I’ve a friend at the Yard. I’ll—”