Execution Dock

She stood helpless on the stand, surrounded by strangers who saw her through Rathbone's words, and she wondered if he actually saw her that way. Was this his true opinion, and all the past courtesy was only good ma

Then she was touched by the first cold splash of fear that he could be right. Perhaps she was led by emotion rather than a fair and equal rationality. Perhaps Monk was led by his sense of debt to Durban, as Rathbone implied, and she simply went along with it in blind loyalty.

Rathbone sat down, knowing he had succeeded superbly. She looked at his face and had no idea what he felt, or if he felt anything at all. Perhaps his intellect would always dominate his heart. That was why she had not accepted his offer of marriage, turning it aside gently, as if it had not really been made, in order not to hurt him.

Poor Margaret.

Tremayne stood up and attempted to redress the balance, but it was impossible, and he realized it quickly enough to do little damage before he sat down again.

Hester remained in the courtroom afterwards as Rathbone called other witnesses who cast doubt on Durban 's honesty. It was done so subtly that at first she did not realize the impact of it. A revenue man testified as to Durban 's zeal in pursuing Phillips.

“Oh, yes, sir,” he said, nodding his head vigorously. “‘E was very keen. Like a terrier with a rat ‘e were. Wouldn't let go fer love ner money.”

“Wouldn't let go,” Rathbone repeated. “For the sake of the jury Mr. Simmons, would you describe exactly the kind of thing you are referring to? The gentlemen may have had little to do with police procedure and be unfamiliar with what is usual, and what is not. I assume you are speaking of behavior that was out of the ordinary?”

Simmons nodded again. “Yes, sir. I see what yer mean. Folks might think as all policemen are like that, an’ they in't. ‘E were very different, Mr. Durban were. ‘E'd ask one question, and if yer didn't give ‘im the answer ‘e wanted, ‘e'd go round it a different way, an’ then another again. I've seen some o’ them bull terriers what didn't ‘ave a grip like ‘e ‘ad. If I'd been less than ‘onest, I'd ‘ave told ‘im what ‘e wanted, just to get ‘im off me back.”

“Indeed. Did he tell you why he was so determined to find out who killed the boy Fig, Mr. Simmons?” Rathbone was very careful not to lead the witness, not to ask him for assumptions or evidence that was hearsay. Tremayne was unhappy with it, but there were no grounds for him to object. Hester could see it as clearly as watching a game of chess. Every move was plain, obvious the moment after it had been made, and yet impossible to forestall.

“No, sir, ‘e din't,” Simmons answered. “Couldn't say whether ‘e ‘ated Phillips ‘cause ‘e killed the boy, or cared about the boy ‘cause it was Phillips ‘oo killed ‘im.”

Rathbone responded quickly before Tremayne could object, or Sullivan sustain him.

“You mean his behavior gave you reason to think there was a personal dislike, above the matter of the crime? What behavior was that, Mr. Simmons?”

Tremayne half rose, then changed his mind and sank back again.

Sullivan looked at him inquiringly, a sharp interest in his face, as if he were watching a personal battle beneath the professional one, and it interested him intensely, almost excited him. Was this why he loved the law, for the combat?

Simmons was struggling with his answer, his face furrowed. “It were personal,” he said at length. “I can't really say ‘ow I know. Look on ‘is face, way ‘e spoke about ‘im, language ‘e used. ‘E'd sometimes let go of other things, but never Phillips. ‘E were real torn up with the way the boy ‘ad been used, but ‘e were still glad to ‘ave a reason ter go after Phillips.”

There was an almost indiscernible ripple of appreciation around the room.

Lord Justice Sullivan leaned sideways a little to face the witness, his face earnest, one hand clenched on the beautiful polished surface in front of him.

“Mr. Simmons, you may not state that the accused is guilty of having murdered the boy, unless you know of your own observation that he did so. Is that the case? Did you see him kill Walter Figgis?”

Simmons looked startled. He blinked, then he went white as the full import of what he had been asked dawned on him. “No, me lud, I didn't see it. I weren't there. If I ‘ad been, I'd've said so at the time, an’ Mr. Durban wouldn't've needed to ride me like ‘e did. I don't know for meself ‘oo killed the poor little devil, nor any o’ them other kids up and down the river what go missing and get beaten, or whatever else ‘appens to ‘em.”

Rathbone raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying that Mr. Durban appeared to you to be more interested in this lost child than in any other, Mr. Simmons?”

“Damn right ‘e did,” Simmons agreed. “Like a dog with a bone, ‘e were. Couldn't ‘ardly think o’ nothing else.”

“Surely he was equally concerned with the theft, fraud, smuggling, and other crimes that happen on the water, and dockside?” Rathbone said i

“Not that I saw, no sir,” Simmons replied. “Always on about Phillips, and that boy. ‘Ated him, he did. Wanted to see ‘im ‘anged. ‘E said so.” He glanced up at Sullivan and then away again. “That I ‘eard with me own ears.”

Rathbone thanked him, and invited Tremayne to take his turn.

Hester could think of a dozen things to ask in rebuttal. She stared at Tremayne as if by force of will she could prompt him into doing so. She watched him rise, a little of his usual grace lost to tension. What had seemed a certainty was slipping out of his hands. He looked pale.

“Mr. Simmons,” he began very politely. “You say that Mr. Durban gave you no reason for his eagerness to catch whoever abused, tortured, and then murdered this boy, and as you yourself suggest, perhaps many others like him?”

Simmons shifted his weight uncomfortably. “No, sir, ‘e didn't.”

“And you found it hard to understand that he should consider the lives of children much more important than the evasion of customs duty on a cask of brandy, for example?”

Simmons started to speak, then changed his mind.

“Do you have children, Mr. Simmons?” Tremayne inquired gently, as one might of a new acquaintance.

Hester held her breath. Did he? Did it matter? What was Tre-mayne going to make of it? At least some of the jurors would have children, if not all of them. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands. She found that she was holding her breath.

“No, sir,” Simmons answered.

Tremayne smiled very slightly. “Neither does Sir Oliver. Perhaps that might explain a great deal. It is not everyone who has Mrs. Monk's compassion for the injured and the dead who do not belong to their own family, or even their own social class.”

There was a distinct rustle in the gallery now. The people on either side of Hester quite blatantly turned to look at her. One even smiled and nodded.

Simmons blushed furiously.

Tremayne wisely hid his victory. He inclined his head towards the judge, as if to thank him, and then returned to his seat.

Rathbone sounded a little less certain as he called his next witness, a dockmaster named Trenton from the Pool of London. He testified to Durban 's friendship over several years with the mudlarks, beggars, and petty thieves who spent most of their lives at the river's edge. This time Rathbone was more careful to allow his witness to express his own opinions. Tremayne had scored an emotional victory, but he was going to find it a great deal more difficult to score another.

“Spent time with them,” Trenton said with a slight shrug. He was a small, squarely built man with a heavy nose and mild ma