Execution Dock

“No, I was not!” he said with sudden vehemence. “He did deny it. I simply did not think that the jury would believe him. He is not an attractive character, and if he had spoken that would very definitely have shown. The jury should weigh only the evidence, but they are people-passionate, vulnerable, full of pity and outrage for the crime, and intensely afraid both of doing the wrong thing and of one day being victims of crime themselves.” He spoke so quickly he scarcely had time for breath. “They would have been led by dislike into believing him guilty. They could very easily have crossed the line from being convinced that he had committed other crimes, which I have no doubt he has, to believing that he had committed this one also. They do not have to give reasons for their verdict. I ca

“I know,” she said drily. “Tremayne could have used emotion to sway them against Phillips, and you would have had no recourse because they would not have realized what he had done. They would have imagined that the feelings were entirely their own, not manipulated by counsel.”

He smiled very slightly. “Exactly. I am pleased you see it with such a fair mind.”

It was her turn to smile with the same chilly humor. “Of course I do, now,” she replied. “Unfortunately, I didn't see it so plainly when you were manipulating me. Nor, I'm afraid, did Mr. Tremayne. You are better at it than either of us. But then I dare say you are right in that you are more practiced.”

The color washed deep red up his face. “I had no choice, Hester. Should I have done less than my best for him, because you were the witness? If I had when defending someone you liked, you would have been the first to call me dishonorable. You can't have justice dealt one way for those you like and another for those you don't.”

“Of course not,” she agreed, her voice tighter than she had meant it to be. It gave her away, and she knew he would hear it. “I followed the case because I believed passionately that Phillips was an evil man who tortured and murdered a child who had the courage to stand up against him. I still believe it. But I know that I let my emotions rule me instead of my intelligence. I was not impartial in my judgment, and it let me down. You took advantage of my weakness because you knew me well enough to do so.”

She ignored the flare of anger, and perhaps shame in his eyes. “I am not sure whether I know you well enough or not, Oliver. I used to think I did, but people change, and those closest to them do not always see it. Was it love of justice, or emotion that caused you to take up the defense of Jericho Phillips?”

He was startled.

She did not stop to allow him the chance to interrupt her. “Did you defend him because you thought no one else would do it adequately or even at all? Perhaps you are right if you think no one else would have done it as well. Or did you do it to pay a debt to some friend to whom you owe a loyalty a pity, or a matter of honor, past or future?” She swallowed. “Or to show off, because it seemed impossible, and yet you accomplished it?”

He was very pale now. “Is that what you think of me, Hester?”

She did not flinch.

“It is not what I wish to think. Before the trial I would have stood in that witness box and sworn that you would not.” She thought of mentioning money, and decided against that ultimate insult. “Do you even know who actually paid you?” she said instead. “Are you certain it was not Phillips himself? Isn't he clever enough to have done it through so many other avenues you could not trace it back to him? Then the question is, if he had come to you directly, not through a client, and a friend, would you still have taken the case?”

“I don't know. That is not how it happened,” he replied. “I ca

“I would like to know who paid you…” she began.

“Don't be foolish,” he said sharply. “You know I ca

“I didn't ask you that!” she answered equally sharply. “I know you ca

She leaned towards him. “Oliver, between us we have come close to destroying something that is good. You can help us save Durban 's reputation without damaging your own.”

“And Monk's, of course,” he said cruelly.

Again she did not flinch. “Of course. And mine too, for that matter. Is helping us a reason for not doing it?”

“Hester, for… no, of course it isn't!” he protested. “I didn't expose any of you because I wanted to. You left yourselves wide open. I did what I had to do, to uphold the law.”

“So now do what you can to uphold justice,” she returned. “Jericho Phillips killed Fig, although it is pointless to prove that now, even if we could. He killed others too, and we'll be a lot more careful about our evidence next time. But in order to do that, the River Police have to survive with their own command, not broken up into a dozen different entities, each just part of their local station.”

She stood up slowly, careful to straighten her skirt-something with which she did not usually bother. “We have all done something ugly, all three of us. I am asking you to help us mend it, as much as it can be mended. We may never catch Phillips, but we can do all that is possible to prove to London that the River Police need and deserve to remain a separate department, with their own command.”

He looked at her with what for him was an extraordinary sense of confusion. Emotions conflicted with intellect: loneliness, dismay, perhaps guilt, breaking apart his usual sanctuary of reason.

“I'll do what I can,” he said quietly. “I have no idea if it will be of use.”

She did not argue. “Thank you,” she said simply. Then she smiled at him. “I thought you would.”

He blushed, and looked down at the papers on his desk, overwhelmed with relief when the clerk knocked on the door.

She considered returning home to change from her most flattering dress, which naturally she had worn to see Rathbone, before going to Portpool Lane, but decided that it was a waste of the fare. She always kept clean working clothes at the clinic in case of accidents, which happened quite often.

She found the clinic busy with its regular affairs, tending to the few who were sick enough to require days in bed, and the walking patients with knife or razor wounds who needed stitching, bandaging, general comfort, and a little respite from the streets, perhaps a decent meal. The regular chores of cleaning, laundry, and cooking never stopped.

She offered words of approval and encouragement, a minor criticism here and there, then went to find Squeaky Robinson in his office. He had taken his bookkeeping duties very seriously this last year or so. She had not recently heard him complain about having been cheated out of the building, which, when it was his, had been the most successful brothel in the area. His new vision of himself, more or less on the right side of the law, seemed to please him.