The Silent Cry

"He called me yesterday late afternoon, and simply gave me the information," Evan continued. "I checked it myself and spoke to the people, and took their testimony." He looked at Runcorn i

Runcorn glared at him, a dull pink rising up his cheeks.

"Monk follows his cases for money, Evan," he said between his teeth.

"Don't you forget that! You follow yours because you are the servant of justice, without fear or favour, with loyalties to no one but Her Majesty, whose law you represent." He leaned forward over the desk, his elbows on its polished surface. "You think Monk is a hell of a clever fellow, and to a certain level, so he is. But you don't know everything. You don't know everything about him, by a long way! Watch him and learn, by all means, but I warn you, don't make a friend of him! You'll regret it!" He said that last with a frown, not viciously, but as a warning, as though he were afraid of something for Evan, not for himself. A shadow of old sadness crossed his face.

Evan was taken by surprise. Runcorn was speaking against Monk, and he should have been angry with him. Instead, he was aware of something lost, a loneliness, and he felt only sorrow, and perhaps a touch of guilt.

"Don't trust him…" Runcorn added, then stopped abruptly. "I don't suppose you'll believe me!" There was anger in his voice, with himself for having spoken so openly, revealed more of his feelings than he intended to, and a thread of self-pity because he did not expect to be believed.

Against his will, Evan did believe him, not because Runcorn said so, but because Monk himself feared it. But it was what he had been, not necessarily what he was now. And what he was in the future lay within his own grasp.

"I don't disbelieve you, sir," he said aloud. "You haven't told me anything, only to be careful. I imagine you are speaking from some experience of your own, or you would not feel as you do, but I have no idea what it is. Monk has never spoken of it.”

Runcorn let out a burst of laughter, hard and almost choking in his throat. It was filled with helplessness and rage and unhappiness which time had never healed.

"He wouldn't! He likes you. He needs you! He may not know how to be ashamed, but he's sense enough to understand what you would think of him!”

Evan did not want to know, he would much rather have kept his ignorance, but he knew Monk himself needed to know.

"For what, sir?”

Runcorn stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back so sharply it teetered on two legs and all but overbalanced. He turned away to the chest of drawers full of files, his back to Evan.

"Go and arrest Rhys Duff for the murder of his father," he ordered.

"You did well in the case. I didn't expect you to be able to solve it. You were wise to take advantage of Monk. Use him, when you can.

Just don't ever let him use you. Don't turn your back on him. Above all, don't trust him. Don't count on him to be behind you when you need him." He swung around, his eyes hard and clear. "I mean that, Evan. I don't want to see you hurt. You're soft, but you're a good man. Think well of him if you want, but never trust him!”

Evan hesitated. It was ugly, very ugly, but it was indefinite, all implications and insubstantial pain. There was nothing he could get hold of to prove… or disprove, nothing to take to Monk for him to retrace his own steps, and understand himself.

"Did Monk betray you, sir?" he said aloud, then instantly wished he had not. He did not want to hear any of it. Now it was unavoidable.

Runcorn stared at him.

"Yes, he betrayed me. I trusted him, and he destroyed everything I ever wanted," he replied bitterly. "He saw the trap in front of me, and he watched me walk right into it.”

Evan drew in his breath to question how much it was fair to blame Monk for such a thing. Maybe he had not seen the pitfall any more than Runcorn himself had. Or maybe he had assumed Runcorn had seen it also.

Then he realised that not only was it pointless to argue over the letter when the spirit was what drove, but that in his heart Monk believed himself guilty.

"I see," he said quietly.

Runcorn faced him. "Do you? I doubt it. But I've done all I can. Go and arrest Rhys Duff. And don't mention anything about the other two men, do you hear me, Evan? I forbid it! You could jeopardise any chance we have of getting them in the future." His eyes betrayed the anger and frustration of his helplessness now. It scalded inside him to see them escape and know it could be for ever.

"Yes, sir. I understand." He turned and walked out, his mind already made up to take Monk with him when he went to Ebury Street. Monk had solved this case, and his own case too. He deserved to be there.

It was cold and growing dark as Monk, Evan and P.C. Shotts arrived in a cab at Ebury Street. Evan had considered taking the police wagon, and decided against it. Rhys was still too ill to be transported in such a vehicle, if he could be moved at all. The fear that he could not was the reason he had brought Shotts. He expected to leave him to guard and watch against the extreme event of Sylvestra trying to smuggle Rhys away.

The cab drew up and they alighted. Evan paid the cabby and, pulling his coat collar up, walked ahead of the other two across the pavement.

He had never made an arrest which gave him less sense of achievement. In fact now that his foot was on the step and his hand stretched towards the bell, he admitted he dreaded it. He knew that Monk, a yard behind him, felt the same, but Monk did so for Hester's sake. He had never met Rhys. He had not seen his face. To him he was only the sum of the evidence he had found, and above all the cause of pain in the women he had listened to, whose bruised lives he had witnessed.

The door opened and the butler's face darkened as soon as he recognised Evan.

"Yes, sir?" he said guardedly.

"I'm sorry," Evan began, then straightened his shoulders and continued.

"But I require to speak to Mrs. Duff. I am aware it may not be convenient, but I have no alternative.”

The butler looked beyond him to Monk and Shotts. His face was white.

"What is it, sir? Has there been another… incident?”

"No. Nothing further has happened, but we now understand more of what occurred the night of Mr. Duffs death. I am afraid we need to come in.”

The butler hesitated only a moment. He had caught the authority in Evan's voice and he knew suddenly the weight of his office.

"Yes, sir. If you will please follow me I shall inform Mrs. Duff you are here." He stood back for them to enter. Evan and Monk did so, leaving Shotts outside as previously agreed. He was there only as a precaution. He expected the possibility of remaining all night, until he was relieved by someone else in the morning. His only release lay in Rhys being deemed sufficiently well to be moved to a place of imprisonment pending his trial.

Inside the hall was warm and bright, a different world from the icy gloom of the street. The butler walked across towards the withdrawing room door.

"Wharmby," Evan said suddenly.

"Yes, sir?”

"Perhaps you had better ask Miss Latterly to come downstairs.”

"Sir?”

"It might be easier for Mrs. Duff to have someone else present, someone who can offer her some… assistance…”

Wharmby turned even paler. He swallowed so his throat jerked.

"I'm sorry…" Evan repeated.

"What… what have you come for, sir?" Wharmby asked.

"To tell Mrs. Duff what we know of how Mr. Duff met his death, and then the duty which follows from that. Tell her we are here, and then please ask Miss Latterly to come.”