Execution Dock

In framing the question, she realized with a jolt of cold surprise that the answer must be that she did not, or she would not have asked. She would not have said the same a year ago. Had his marriage to Margaret really changed him so much? Or was it simply that it had brought to the fore a different, weaker part of his character?

Or was it a different part of hers? She had never been in love with him; it had always been Monk, even if she had doubted at times that he would ever love her, or make her happy. In fact, she had considered it impossible that he would even wish to try. But she had liked Rathbone deeply, and she had trusted a decency in him. If this were a lapse, for whatever reason, could she not forgive him? Was her loyalty so shallow that one mistake ended it? Loyalty had to be worth more than that or it was little more than convenience.

The bus stopped again and more people climbed on, standing packed together in the aisle.

And Monk's loyalty to Durban, she thought. That also had to be strong enough to handle the truth. She wanted desperately to protect him from the disillusion she feared was coming. There were moments when she did not want to know why Rathbone had defended Phillips. But they passed. Her better self despised the weakness that preferred ignorance, or worse, lies. She would not want anyone she cared for to love a false reflection of her. After all, could there be a greater loneliness than that?

They reached the terminus and alighted. It was a walk of about half a mile along the busy street, and she had to go behind Sutton and Snoot because the way was so narrow they could not pass together without bumping into the traffic going the other way. Every few moments Sutton would look back to make sure she was still on his heels.

Sutton stopped at a small door next to an alley no more than ten feet long, and ending in a blind wall. Snoot instantly sat at his heels. Sutton knocked, and several moments passed before it was opened by a small hunchbacked man with an extraordinarily sweet expression on his face. He nodded when he recognized Sutton and his dog, then he glanced at Hester, more questioning whether she were with them than for her name or business. Satisfied by Sutton's nod, he led them inside to a room so cluttered with books and papers he had to clear two chairs for them to sit down. There were reams of blank paper stacked against the wall; the smell of ink was sharp in the air. The little man hitched himself back with some difficulty into what was obviously his own chair.

“I dint print it,” he said without any preamble. His voice was deep and chesty, and his diction remarkably clear.

Sutton nodded. “I know that. It was Pinky Jones, but he's dead, and he'd lie about the time of day. Just tell Mrs. Monk what it said, if you please, Mr. Palk.”

“It's not nice,” Palk warned.

“Is it true?” Hester asked, although she had not yet been included in the conversation.

“Oh, yes, it's true. Lots of folks around here know that.”

“Then please tell me.”

He looked at her, for the first time, curiosity sharp in his face.

“You have to understand, Durban was a man of strong passions,” he began. “Nice on the surface, fu

“He never found her?”

“Don't know, Miss, but if he didn't, it wasn't for want of trying. This all started when he went to Ma Wardlop's house. Brothel it is-mebbe a dozen girls or so. Asking her if she'd seen Mary Webber.” He shook his head. “Wouldn't let it drop, no matter what. Finally Ma Wardlop told him one of the girls knew something, and took him to her room. He questioned her in there for more than an hour, until she was screaming at him. That point Ma went an’ fetched a revenue man who lived a couple o’ doors away. Big man, he was.” He pulled his lips into a thin line, an expression of great sadness. “Punched the door in and said he found Durban in a position no policeman should be with a whore, but didn't say what it was, exactly. She claimed he'd forced himself on her. He said he never touched her.”

Hester did not reply. Her mind raced from one ugly scene to another, trying to find an answer that would not disgust Monk.

Palk's face was screwed up in revulsion, but it was impossible to say whether it was for Durban, or the lie the prostitute might have told. “Ma Wardlop said she'd keep her mouth shut about it all if Durban would be wise enough to do the same. Only she meant about anything he might see in the future, and he knew that.”

“Blackmail,” Hester said succinctly.

He nodded again. “He told her to go to hell, and take the revenue man with her.” Palk said it with some satisfaction, curling back his lips in a smile that showed surprisingly strong white teeth. “They said they'd not just spread it around the streets, they'd put it in the papers too. He told them he agreed with the Duke of Wellington-‘publish and be damned.’ He wasn't going to keep his mouth shut about anything he didn't want to.”

“And what happened?” she asked, fear and admiration tightening inside her, her stomach knotted, her breath slow, as if the noise of it might stop her hearing what he would say next. It was stupid. Durban was dead and could not be hurt anymore. And yet she cared painfully that he had had the courage and the honor to defy them.

“Nothing, until the next time he caught them robbing a customer,” the little man answered. “And put the girl in prison for it. Then they published it all right.” His eyes did not move from hers. “Very embarrassing it was for Durban, but he weathered it. Lost a good few he'd thought were friends. Hard way to find out they weren't. Got laughed at in places where they used to call him ‘sir.’ It hurt him, but I only seen him show it once, and then just for a moment. He took it like a man, never complained, and never, far as I know, looked the other way on anything they did.”

“What happened to the girl?” She felt a flood of warmth inside her, an easing of the ache of tension, then the chill again, and fear of the next answer.

“Nothing,” Palk told her, his eyes reading her emotions like print on the page. “That wasn't Durban 's way. He knew she was only doing what she had to, to get by. He had a hot temper, but he never took it out on women or kids. Soft, he was, in his own fashion, as if he knew what it was like to be poor, or hungry, or alone.” He smiled at the memory. “Beat the hell out of Willy Lyme for knocking his wife around, but gentle as a woman with old Bert when ‘e got daft and didn't even know who he was anymore. Went into the canal after the poor old sod drowned himself, and cried when he couldn't save him. Poor old Bert. Came to his funeral, Durban did. Never knew for sure, but I reckoned he paid for most of it. Bert hadn't sixpence to his name.”

He looked narrowly at Hester. “I don't know why yer want to know, Miss. You can't hurt Durban now, but there's a lot of folk won't take it kindly if you speak ill of him. Wouldn't be a good thing.”

“I'm trying to stop those who would,” she replied.

He looked puzzled, searching her face.

She smiled at him. “My husband took his place in the River Police, because Durban suggested him. We tried to solve Durban 's last case, and we failed so badly we can't go back and do it again. I want to show that the court was wrong and we were right, Durban and my husband and I.”

“Won't do any good,” Palk told her.

“Yes, it will. We'll know it, and that matters.”

“Is Monk the new fellow at Wapping?”

“Yes.”

“Won't be easy to follow Durban.”

“Depends where he was going.”

He looked at her without blinking. “Right and wrong,” he said. “No man's right all the time, but he was more than most.”