The Silent Cry

He asked after children by name, and was answered as if his concern were believed.

"I hadn't realised you knew the area so well," Evan mentioned as they stopped and bought pies from a pedlar on the corner of a main thoroughfare. They were hot and pungent with onions. As long as he did not think too hard as to what the other contents might be, they were most enjoyable. They provided a little highly welcome warmth inside as the day became even colder and the fine rain turned to sleet.

"Me job," Shotts replied, biting into the pasty and not looking at Evan. "Couldn't do it proper if I din' know the streets, an' the people.”

He seemed reluctant to talk about it, possibly he was unused to praise and his modesty made him uncomfortable. Evan did not pursue it.

They continued on their fruitless quest. Everything was negative or uncertain. No one recognised Leighton Duff, they were adamant in that, but half a dozen thought perhaps they had seen Rhys, then again perhaps not. No one mentioned the violence in Seven Dials. It could have been another world.

They also tried the regular street pedlars, beggars the occasional pawnbroker or i

It was the ru

"How do you know it was this man?" Evan said doubtfully, trying to keep a sense of victory at last from overtaking him. Not that it was much of a victory. It was indication, not proof of anything, and even then only what he had assumed. "There must be lots of young men hanging around in the shadows in an area like this.”

"I saw 'im under the lights," the patterer responded. "Faces is me business, least it's part of it. I 'member 'is eyes partic'lar. Not like most folks. Big, black almost. "E looked lorst.”

"Lost?”

"Yeah, like 'e weren't sure wot 'e wanted nor which way ter go. Kind o' miserable.”

"That can't be unusual around here." "E don' belong around 'ere. I knows most 'oo belongs 'ere. Don' I, Mr. Shotts?”

Shotts looked startled. "Yeah… yeah, I s'pose you would.”

"But you go Seven Dials way as well." Evan remembered what Shotts had said about the patterer telling him of Monk's case. "Have you seen him there too?" It was a remote chance, but one he should not overlook.

"Me?" the patterer looked surprised, his blue eyes staring at Evan. "I don' go ter Seven Dials. This is me patch.”

"But you know what happens there?" He should not give up too easily, and there was an uncertainty at the back of his mind.

"Sorry, guy, no idea. Yer'd 'ave terask some o' them wot works there.

Try Jimmy Morrison. "E knows Seven Dials.”

"You don't know about violence in Seven Dials, towards women?”

The patterer gave a sharp, derisive laugh. "Wot, yer mean diff rent from always?”

"Yes!”

"Du

"Rape and beatings of factory women.”

The patterer's face wrinkled in disgust. Evan could not believe he had already known. Why had Shotts lied? It was a small thing, very small, but what was the point of it? It was out of the character he knew of the man, and disturbing.

"You told me he knew," he said as soon as they were a dozen yards away.

Shotts did not look at him. "Must 'a bin someone else," he replied dismissively.

"Don't you write down who tells you what?" Evan pressed. "It makes a lot of difference. Did you ever speak to him before on this case?”

Shotts turned into the wind and his answer was half lost.

"Course I did. Said so, didn't I?”

Evan let the matter rest, but he knew he had been lied to, and it troubled him. His instinct was to like Shotts, and to respect his abilities. There was something he did not know. The question was, was it something important?

He saw Monk that evening. Monk had left a note for him at the police station, and he was happy to spend an hour or two over a good meal in a public house, and indulge in a little conversation.

Monk was in a dour mood. His case was going badly, but he had considerable sympathy for Evan.

"You think it could be the widow?" he asked, his eyes level and curious. The slight smile on his lips expressed his understanding of Evan's reluctance to accept such a thing. He knew Evan too well, and his affection for him did not prevent his amusement and slight derision at his optimism in human nature.

"I think it was probably just what it looked like," Evan replied gloomily. "Rhys was a young man who had been indulged by his mother, and whose father had great expectations of him which he possibly could not live up to, and did not want to. He indulged a selfish and possibly cruel streak in his character. His father went after him to try to stop him, perhaps to warn of the dangers, and somehow they became involved in a fight with others. The father died. The son was severely injured physically, and so horrified by what he saw that now he ca

Monk cut into the thick, light suet crust of his steak and kidney pudding.

"The question is," he said with his mouth full, 'were they both attacked by the denizens of St. Giles, or did Rhys kill his own father in a quarrel?”

"Or did Sylvestra Duff have a lover, and did he either do it himself, or have someone else do it?" Evan asked.

"Who is he? Samson?" Monk raised his eyebrows.

"What?”

"He took on two men at once, killed one and left the other senseless, and walked away from the scene himself," Monk pointed out.

"Then there was more than one," Evan argued. "He hired somebody, two people, and it was coincidence Rhys was there. He was following Leighton Duff, and happened to come on him when he had found Rhys.”

"Or else Rhys was in it with his mother," Monk swallowed and took a mouthful of his stout. "Have you any way of looking into that?" He ignored Evan's expression of distaste.

"Hester's there. She's nursing Rhys," Evan replied. He saw the emotion cross Monk's face, the momentary flicker, the light and then the shadow. He knew something of what Monk felt for her, even though he did not understand the reasons for its complexity. He had seen the trust between them. Hester had fought for Monk when no one else would.

She had also quarrelled when, at least to Evan, it made no sense at all. But he knew the dark areas of Monk's heart prevented him from committing himself as Evan would have. Half-memories and fears of what he did not know made it impossible for him. What he did not know was whether it was fear for Hesterand the hurt he might cause her in that part of himself which lay secret, or simply fear for himself and his own vulnerability if he allowed her to know him so well, to become even more important to him, and to understand it himself.

Nothing in Monk's behaviour let him know. He thought perhaps Hester did not know either.

Monk was halfway through his meal.

"She won't tell you," he said, looking at his plate.

"I know that," Evan replied. "I'm not placing her in the position of asking.”

Monk looked up at him quickly, then down again.

"Made any advance in your case?" Evan asked.

Monk's expression darkened, the skin on his face tight with the anger inside him.