Anne Perry - Execution Dock

“No idea. Never ‘eard of ‘er. Which means she's not in my business. She int a thief nor a receiver nor a customer,” Pearly Boy said flatly.

Monk was not surprised; he had not expected her to be. “And I'm after a boy named Reilly, and even more than that, I'm after whoever was forced into looking after him, seeing to it that he didn't get hurt.”

Pearly Boy opened his eyes wide. “Forced? Ow could anyone be forced? ‘Oo would do that, an’ why, Mr. Monk?”

“Mr. Durban would have done it,” Monk replied steadily. “Because he didn't like having boys murdered.”

“Well, I never.” Pearly Boy affected amazement, but his curiosity overcame his judgment, as Monk had hoped it would. Pearly Boy dealt not only in stolen goods but in rare or precious information as well- that too at times stolen. “‘Oo could stop that ‘appening, then?”

“Someone with power.” Monk said it as though he were thinking out loud. “And yet someone who had a lot to lose as well, a lot in danger, if you understand me?”

Pearly Boy was still two steps behind. “‘Oo'd be killin’ boys, then?”

“Jericho Phillips, if they get out of line, rebel against…” He stopped, seeing Pearly Boy's face go suddenly pallid and his body in its decorated waistcoat stiffen until his arms were rigid. Suddenly Monk was as certain Pearly Boy was one of Durban 's informants against Phillips as if he had written it in his notes. He smiled and saw in Pearly Boy's eyes that he had read the understanding, and it knotted his stomach with terror.

“One of Phillips's clients,” Monk went on, his voice quite casual now. He leaned elegantly against the mantel, watching Pearly Boy's discomfort. “I can imagine it happening, can't you? Durban would have followed the man until he could confront him, maybe somewhere near Phillips's boat. Perhaps it would be just after this man, whoever he is, had left a night's entertainment, and the excitement and guilt were still hot inside him.”

Pearly Boy was motionless, eyes on Monk's face.

“No lie would come to him easily then,” Monk continued. “No matter how often he had prepared for such a moment. Durban would have chosen a place where there was enough light to be sure the man recognized his marks of office, his uniform, his cudgel. Yes, he'd definitely take a cudgel, just in case the man was desperate enough to fight. After all, he would have a lot to lose-public disgust, ridicule, loss of position, friends, money, power, perhaps even his family.”

Pearly Boy licked his lips nervously.

“Then Durban would make the offer,” Monk said. “‘Use your power to protect Reilly, the boy most in danger because of his age and his courage, and I'll protect you. Let Reilly die, and I'll expose you to the whole of London.’”

Pearly Boy licked his lips again. “So ‘oo was it then?”

“That is what I want from you, Pearly Boy,” Monk answered.

Pearly Boy cleared his throat. “An’ if I don't? It could ‘ave been lots o’ people. I dunno ‘oo's got that kind o’ weakness. It could be a revenue man, a magistrate, a rich merchant, an ‘arbormaster. They got all kinds o’ tastes. Or it could ‘ave been another policeman! Ever thought o’ that?”

“Of course I have. Who could have protected Reilly? That's the key to it. Who had the power? Above all, who was important enough to Phillips that he would listen to him?”

Understanding flashed in Pearly Boy's soft, clever face, and the excitement of knowledge. “You mean ‘oo's got an appetite ‘e can't control, an’ needs Phillips ter feed it, an’ yet ‘e's got some kind o’ power to ‘elp Phillips that's so good Phillips ‘as got to keep ‘im sweet too? That's a nice one, Mr. Monk, a very nice one indeed.”

“Yes, it is. And I want a nice answer,” Monk agreed.

Pearly Boy's eyebrows rose. “Or what?” He was shivering very slightly Monk could smell the sweat of fear in the closed air of the room. “What if I can't find out?” He tried a bit of bravado. “Or if I decide not to?”

“I shall see that Phillips knows that you told Mr. Durban about this very interesting client, and are on the point of telling me, when we can agree on a price.”

Pearly Boy was white, the sweat beading on his face. “And what price would that be?” he asked hoarsely.

Monk smiled, showing his teeth. “Future silence, and a certain shortsightedness now and then, where the revenue men are concerned.”

“Dead men are silent,” Pearly Boy said through thin lips.

“Not those who can write, and leave clear instructions behind them. Mr. Durban might have been very nice to you. I won't be.”

“I could ‘ave you killed. Dark night, narrow alley?”

“The Fat Man's dead. I'm not,” Monk reminded him. “Take the easy way, Pearly Boy. You're a receiver, not a murderer. You kill a River Policeman, you'll be tracked down. Do you want to be buried feetfirst in the Thames mud, never come back up again?”

Pearly Boy went even paler still. “You'll owe me!” he challenged, his eyes flickering a little.

Monk smiled. “I told you, I'll forget about you… to a point. I'll put you last on my list to close down, rather than first.”

Pearly Boy said something obscene under his breath.

“I beg your pardon!” Monk snapped.

“I'll find ‘im,” Pearly replied.

Suddenly Monk was gracious. “Thank you. It will be to your advantage.”

But as he left his emotions were tangled. He walked warily along the narrow street, keeping to the middle, away from the alley entrances and the sunken doorways.

What was the difference between one blackmail and another? Was it of kind, or only of degree? Did the purpose justify it?

He did not even have to think about that. If he could save any child from Phillips, he would, without a thought for the morality of his actions. But did that make him a good policeman or not? He felt uncomfortable, unhappy, uncertain in his judgment, and closer to Durban than ever before. But it was a closeness of emotion, rage and vulnerability.

And of course when Durban had died at the turn of the year, the protection of Reilly had disappeared. He had been left naked to whatever Phillips had wanted to do. That thought made him feel sick, even as he came out of the alley into the wind and the sun of the open dock.

Rathbone sat at his own dinner table and felt curiously with-/out appetite. The room was beautiful, greatly improved from its original, rather sparse elegance, since Margaret's advent into the house. He was not quite sure what it was specifically that was changed, but it was somehow warmer than it had been before. The table had the same clean lines of Adam mahogany, the ceiling still had the heavy plaster borders of acanthus leaves. The blue-and-white curtains were different, far less heavy than before. There were touches of gold here and there, and a bowl of pink roses on the table. They gave both warmth and a sense of ease to the room, as if it were lived in.

He drew in his breath to thank Margaret, because of course it was she who had caused the changes, then he let the moment slip, and ate some more fish instead. It would sound artificial, as if he were searching for something polite to say. They should be talking about real things, not trivia like the curtains and flowers.

She was concentrating on her food, looking down at her plate. Should he compliment her on it? It was she who had engaged the cook. What was she thinking about, with that slight frown between her brows? Had she any idea what was turning over and over in his mind? She had been proud of him for winning the Phillips case. He could remember the brightness in her face, the way she had walked, head high, back even a little straighter than usual. Because it was clever? Did skill matter so much, ahead of wisdom? Was it because she was on the winning side, and Hester had lost?