The Silent Cry

Chapter Eight

Monk walked briskly along Brick Lane, head down under the wind which was clearing the last of the fog. He must see Vida Hopgood again before he pursued the case any further. She had the right to know of Runcorn's refusal to involve the police in the case, in spite of the mounting proof that there had been a series of crimes of increasing violence. Memory of their encounter still angered him, the more so because part of his mind knew Runcorn was right, and in his place he might well have made the same decision. He would not have done it out of indifference, but a matter of priorities. He had too few men as it was. They only touched the surface of crime in areas like Seven Dials.

It was an easy excuse to ignore people like Vida Hopgood, but it was also unfair to all the countless other victims to put men where they could make no effective difference.

Thinking of it made him angrier still, but it was better than thinking of Hester, which was so natural to him, and at the same time so full of all kinds of discomfort. It was the same kind of temptation as pulling a bandage off a wound to see if it had healed yet, touching the place that hurt, in the hope that this time it would not. It always did…

and he did not learn by experience.

He turned the corner into Butcher's Yard and was suddenly sheltered. He almost slipped where there was ice on the cobbles. He passed a man shouldering a heavy load covered in sacking, probably a carcass. It was quarter past four and the light was fading. In late January the days were short.

He reached Vida Hopgood's door and knocked. He expected her to be in.

He had found this a good time to call. He looked forward to the warmth of her fire and, if he were fortunate, a hot cup of tea.

"You again," she said when she saw him. "Still got a face like a pot lion, so I s'pose yer in't found nothin' useful. Come on in, then.

Don't stand there lettin' in the cold!" She retreated along the passageway, leaving him to close the door and follow her.

He took his coat off and sat down uninvited before the fire in the parlour, rubbing his hands together and leaning towards the grate to catch the warmth.

She sat opposite him, her handsome face sharp-eyed, watchful.

"Did yer come 'ere ter warm yerself cos yer got no fire at 'ome, or was there sum mink in particular?”

He was used to her ma

She looked at him equally carefully, judging his temper. There was a gleam in her eyes, a mixture of anger, humour and cu

"I wondered well yer was go

"No, if that was what I meant, I'd have said it. I thought you knew me better!”

She smiled with a moment of real amusement.

"Yer a bastard, Monk, but there are times well if yer wasn't a rozzer, or I could ferget it… which I can't… as I could almost fancy yer.”

He laughed. "I wouldn't dare!" he said lightly. "You might suddenly remember, and then where would I be?”

"In bed wi' a shiv in yer back," she said laconically, but there was still a warmth in her eyes, as if the whole idea had an element which pleased her. Then the ease died away. "So wot yer go

"I'm going to find them," he said carefully, giving due weight to every word. "What I tell you depends upon what you are going to do about it.”

Her face darkened. "Listen, Monk…”

"No, you listen!" he cut across her. "I have no intention of ending up giving evidence at your trial for murder, or of being in the dock beside you as accessory before the fact. No jury in London is going to believe I didn't know what you would do with the knowledge, once I found it for you.”

There was confusion in her face for a moment, then contempt. "I'll see yer in't caught up in it," she said witheringly. "Yer don't need ter run scared o' that. Jus' tell us 'oo they are, we'll take care o' the rest. Won't even tell anyone 'ow we found 'em.”

"They already know." He ignored the sarcasm, the reasoning, and the excuses.

"I'll tell 'em yer failed," she said with a grin. "We found 'em ourselves. Won't do yer reputation no good, but it'll keep yer from the rope… seein' as that's wot yer after, in' it?”

"Stop playing, Vida. When I know who they are, we'll come to some agreement as to what we do about it, and we'll do it my way, or I'll not tell you.”

"Got money, 'ave yer?" she said with raised eyebrows. "Can afford ter work fer no pay, all of a sudden? In't wot I 'card.”

"It's not your concern, Vida." He saw from her face she did not believe him. "Maybe I have a rich woman who'll see I don't go hungry or homeless…" It was true. Callandra Daviot would help him, as she had from the begi

Her eyes opened wide in amazement, then she began to laugh, a rich, full-throated surge of merriment.

"You!" she chortled. "Yer got yerself a rich woman ter keep yer!

That's priceless, that is! I never 'card any think so fu

"So those are my conditions, Vida," he said with a smile. "I intend to find out who they are, then we bargain as to what we do about it, and what I tell you rests on our agreement.”

She pursed her lips and looked at him steadily in silence, weighing up his strength of resolve, his will, his intelligence.

He looked back at her without wavering. He did not know what she knew of him from the past, but he had felt his reputation in Seven Dials keenly enough to be sure she would not judge him lightly.

"O'right," she said at last. "I reckon as yer in't go

Monk thanked her and left. He walked slowly, hands pushed hard into his pockets. The deeper he looked into the case, the more did it seem as if Rhys Duff could be guilty. One thing he had noticed which he had not told Vida Hopgood was that from everything he had been able to establish, there had been no attacks since the incident in which Rhys had been injured. They had begun slowly, building up from small unpleasantnesses, gradually escalating until they were assaults so violent as to threaten life. Then suddenly they had stopped altogether. Ten days before that had been the last of them.

He crossed an open square and went into the alley on the far side, passing a man selling bootlaces and an old woman with a carpet bag.

Why the ten days? That was a larger space than between the other attacks. What had kept them away for such a length of time? Was there a victim he had missed? To fit in with the pattern there should have been at least two.

Further afield? Rhys had been found in St. Giles. Had he and his friends moved territories, perhaps fearing Seven Dials had become too dangerous for them? That was an answer that fitted with what he knew so far. But he must put it to the test.

He turned and began to walk west again until he came to a thoroughfare and caught a cab. It was not very far. He could have gone all the way on foot in half an hour, but suddenly he was impatient.