Anne Perry - Execution Dock

Squeaky pursed his lips into an expression of loathing. “Lookin’ at the kind o’ pictures Phillips sells people can affect yer mind,” he said, watching her closely to make sure she understood. “Even people who you wouldn't think. Take ‘em out o’ them smart trousers an’ fancy shirts, an’ they think no different from yer beggar or yer thief, when it comes ter queer tastes. Exceptin’ some folk ‘ave got more ter lose than others, so it leaves ‘em open ter a little pressure now an’ then.”

She stared at him. “Are you saying Jericho Phillips has friends in places high enough to help him before the law, Squeaky?”

He rolled his eyes as if her naiveté had injured some secret part of him. “‘Course I am. Yer don't think ‘e's been safe all these years ‘cause nobody knows what ‘e's doin’, do yer?”

“Because of a taste for obscene photographs?” she went on, disbelief thick in her voice. “I know many men keep mistresses, or conduct affairs haphazardly, and in some unlikely places. But photographs? What pleasure can there be in seeing them that is so powerful that you would compromise your honor, reputation, everything to deal with a man like Phillips?”

He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Don’ ask me ter explain ‘uman nature, Miss. I in't responsible fer it. But there's some things you can make children do that no adult'd do without lookin’ at yer like yer'd crawled up out o’ the garbage. It in't about love, or even decent appetite, it's about makin’ other people do wot you want ‘em to, an’ tastin’ the power over an’ over like yer can't get enough of it. Sometimes it's about the thrill o’ doin’ something that'd ruin yer if yer was caught, an’ the danger of it makes yer kind o’ drunk. An’ neither of them in't always no respecters o’ persons, if you get my meanin’. Some people need ter be colder an’ ‘ungrier ter think on wot matters.”

She said nothing.

“Goin’ with ‘ores is one thing,” he continued. “Let's face it, it in't all that serious, as Society looks at it. Most married ladies turn the other way an’ gets on wi’ their own lives. Keep the bedroom door locked, likely, ‘cause they don't want ter wake up wi’ no nasty disease, but don't make no scandal about it. Pictures o’ little girls is indecent, an’ it makes a right-thinkin’ person disgusted.”

He shook his head.

“But little boys is summink else altogether. It in't only indecent, it's illegal. An’ that's entirely another thing. If nobody knows about it, most in't goin’ ter go lookin’. We all know that things go on we'd sooner not think about, an’ most folk mind their own affairs. But if yer forced ter know, then yer forced ter do summink. Friend or no friend, yer out o’ yer clubs and yer job, an’ society won't never ‘ave yer back. So yer pays ‘igh, wide, and ‘andsome ter keep it good an’ quiet, see?”

“Yes, I do see,” Hester said a trifle shakily. A whole new world of misery had yawned open in front of her. Not that she had been unaware of homosexuality. She had been an army nurse. But the use of children to exert a power no adult relationship would tolerate, even one purchased with money, or to gratify a hunger for the thrills of danger, was a new thought, and extremely ugly. The idea of children kept and hired out for such a purpose was sickening.

“I need to destroy Mr. Phillips, Squeaky,” she said very softly. “I don't think I can do it without your help. We have to find out who else we can ask to assist us. I imagine Mr. Sutton will be one, and possibly Scuff. Who else can you think of?”

A succession of emotions crossed Squeaky's face: first incredulity, then horror and an intense desire to escape, lastly a kind of amazement at flattery, and the beginning of a daring impulse.

She waited him out.

He cleared his throat, giving himself time. “Well.” He coughed slightly. “There's a couple I know of, I s'pose. But they in't very…” He fished for the right word, and failed to find it. “… nice,” he finished lamely.

“Good.” She did not hesitate. “Nice people aren't going to be any help at all. Nice people don't even believe in creatures like Jericho Phillips, let alone have the slightest idea how to catch them. He probably eats nice people for breakfast, skewered on a fork.”

He smiled mirthlessly, but not without a certain surprised satisfaction.

There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer, Claudine Burroughs came in with a tray of tea. She set it down on the tabletop, a fraction closer to Hester than to Squeaky. The pot was steaming gently, the fragrance of it inviting.

Claudine was a tall woman, roughly the same height as Squeaky, so he always stood a trifle more stiffly when beside her, to add the extra half-inch. She was narrow-shouldered and broad-hipped, handsome enough in her youth, but years of loneliness in an unsatisfying marriage had drawn many of the lines downward in her face. Only since coming to Portpool Lane, searching for some charitable work to do, had she found a genuine and vital purpose.

“Thank you,” Hester said with the sudden realization of how welcome the tea was. She wondered if Claudine had any idea of yesterday's desperate disappointment, or if she was simply aware that Hester was tired, even at this hour of the morning. She was weary inside, confused and beaten, which was an even deeper thing.

Claudine was still standing motionlessly, waiting for something.

Squeaky moved in his chair, impatiently, implying that Claudine had interrupted. Hester turned to look at her, and realized that she was uncomfortably aware of his annoyance. Perhaps she did know about yesterday's conclusion.

“I'd like to help,” Claudine said awkwardly, her face pink, her eyes unable to look at them. And yet she would not leave. She waited there in acute embarrassment, determined to be part of whatever they were doing, to give her own contribution, regardless of the cost.

“Yer can't,” Squeaky said flatly. “Ye're a lady, ye're not part o’ the folks wot we need ter be talking ter. Very kind o’ yer, but yer wouldn't be no use. Thank yer fer the tea.” He probably meant it kindly, but to drop from being part of the plan to fetching the tea was like a slap across her face.

Claudine stood her ground, but she struggled for words. Her face was so pink Hester felt as if her cheeks must be burning.

“We haven't any plans yet,” Hester said quickly “We don't even know where to start. We need to go over everything again, but with more care. And part of the trouble is that the people who testified before are now going to be very afraid. Phillips isn't in prison any longer, and he'll be dangerous.”

“Then we will have to be very careful, too,” Claudine replied, staring at Hester and ignoring Squeaky. “We will have to question them so they do not realize the importance of what they are saying until they have said it, and cannot retreat. The man Phillips is very terrible, and he must be put away.” At last she looked at Squeaky. “I am glad you are going to help. I respect you for it, Mr. Robinson.” She turned abruptly and walked to the door, then she looked back at Hester, doubt in her eyes. “I shall be available to do anything I can to help. Please do not forget that.” Before either of them could reply, she went out, shutting the latch firmly behind her.

“Yer in't goin’ ter use ‘er!” Squeaky protested, leaning forward across the desk, his eyes wide. “What can she do? She couldn't find ‘er way from one end o’ the street ter the other. An’ she in't got no right ter respect me. I didn't tell ‘er I was goin’ ter do anything at all with wot ‘e…” He stopped, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Are you saying you won't do anything, Squeaky?” Hester asked with a very faint smile.