Anne Perry - Dark Assassin

It was over almost before Monk realized it. Without a word, the cortege departed. In silence, Runcorn, Cardman, and Monk left, in opposite directions.

"Suicide," Monk's superior said brusquely when Monk went into his office early in the afternoon. "For God's sake, man! She jumped right in front of you, and took with her the poor devil who was trying to save her! Don't make it even worse for the family by drawing it out!" Farnham was a big man, broad-shouldered and heavy-bellied. His long-nosed face could break into a sudden smile, and there were those who spoke of certain acts of kindness, but Monk felt uneasy in his presence, as if never certain he would be true to the best in himself. Farnham had sought authority and won it, and now he wore it with intense pleasure.

Arguments of belief or intuition would only be mocked. Anything Monk put forward would be seen as enlightened self-interest for the River Police. "It probably is suicide, sir," he agreed aloud. "But I think we should make certain."

Farnham's eyebrows rose. He had trusted Durban and known where he was with him, or at least he had assumed he did. He resented the fact that now he had to learn the strengths and weaknesses of a new man. He was sufficiently aware of what had really happened not to hold Monk accountable for Durban 's death. But Monk had survived, and Farnham blamed him for that.

"Not much is ever sure in police work, Monk," he said sourly. "Thought you would have known that!" The criticism was implicit.

Monk swallowed his impatience. "Not about what happened on the bridge, sir. I'm thinking of what she was investigating to do with the sewer tunnels and their construction."

"Not our concern!" Farnham snapped. "That's the Metropolitan Police." The distaste with which he said that was exactly what Monk had expected, had already seen in him in the few weeks he had been here. It was part of what Farnham disliked in Monk himself, and the fact that he had been dismissed from the Metropolitan Police was conversely a point in his favor.

"Yes, sir," Monk agreed with difficulty. "But if there is something, and it causes a real disaster and we knew about it, or at least had a chance to find out, do you think they'll see it that way?"

Farnham's eyes narrowed. "You can have a couple of days," he warned. "If you find something worth pursuing, then give it to them, on paper, and keep a record of it here! Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Monk thanked him and left before Farnham could change his mind or add any further restrictions.

He began by learning as much as he could about the vast network of new and old sewers and how they interconnected. It was an immense complex, intended to take the ocean of waste from London 's three million people eastwards away from the city and its present egress into the river, and instead process it through large purification works closer to the sea. Then the surplus water could be released, comparatively clean, and the solid waste otherwise disposed of. It was a brilliant feat of engineering, costing a king's ransom of money, but for the capital of the Empire and the seat of government for a quarter of the world, it was absolutely necessary.

It took more time to find the exact place of the Argyll company in it, and he was surprised how large it was. It must have cost a considerable effort and influence to obtain it, and no doubt would not be easily forfeited. They had three sites close to one another. Two were cut-and-cover, like the crevasse that Hester had described, but one was too deep for that method. They were actually tunneling, burrowing like rabbits under the ground, scraping out the earth and rock and carrying it back to the entrance to get rid of it. The necessity for this was created not only by the depth but also by the fact that other rivers and gas lines crossed above it in several places and could have collapsed had they been exposed by the more open method.

He searched but could find no adequate map that charted all of London 's old wells, springs, and submerged rivers or the old gutters, drains, and waterways that had altered over the course of the centuries. Clay slipped. Some earth absorbed water; some rejected it. Some old drains, dating back to the Roman occupation, had survived. Some had been broken or had caved in, and the land had subsided, diverting them deeper or sideways. The earth was a living thing, changing with time and usage. No wonder Sutton, whose father had been a tosher and knew all the waterways large and small, was now frightened by the vast steam engines that shook the ground, and by the knowledge that men were digging, shoveling, and moving earth, disturbing what was settled.

Monk was circumspect about mentioning the Havillands' name, but he would not learn anything further of use if he did not. It gave him a wry, half-sour pleasure that it was far easier now than in his independent days because he could use the power of the River Police to ask for what he wanted. He was cramped by rules, hemmed in and robbed of freedom by the necessity of answering both upwards to Farnham and in a sense downwards to Orme and the other men. He could not lead if he could not inspire men to follow him. The mere holding of office could force obedience for a while, but it could not earn the respect or the loyalty that were what mattered. He would not replace Durban anywhere except in the records on paper.

He made detailed enquiries of clerks at the construction offices regarding old maps, earlier excavations, waterways, the nature of soil, graveyards, and plague pits-anything that might affect new tunneling. He was told of James Havillands investigations.

"And Miss Mary Havilland?" he insisted. "Did she explain her involvement? Weren't you curious that a young woman should know anything about such matters, or care?"

"Yes, I was," the clerk agreed. "That's 'ow come I remember. As 'e were 'er father, she told me, an' 'e were dead, she were doin' what she could ter finish 'is work. 'E worked fer one o' the big companies, Argyll Company."

"She told you that?"

"No. I know that meself. Not that I knew 'im, like, but I seed 'im on the works once or twice. Din't look well. Sort o' pale an' sweatin'. Mind, I seen men like that when they 'as ter go down deep. Scared o' bein' closed in. An' o' the rats an' the water." He shuddered. ''Don't like 'em much me-self."

Monk pressed it a little further, noting down the details, then thanked the clerk and left.

The rest of the day yielded nothing new. Mary Havilland had followed in the footsteps of her father in half a dozen places. Obviously Havilland had believed that the steam engines were dangerous, but had he learned anything that proved it?

Monk turned it over in his mind as he walked back along the dock-side towards the station. It was dark and there was a fine rain. The smell of the tide was harsh, but he was becoming used to it. Even the constant slurping of the water against the embankment and on the steps down to the ferryboats and barges assumed a kind of familiar rhythm. The foghorns were booming again because the rain blinded vision; lights loomed out of the darkness before there was time to change course.

He wondered about Scuff. Where was he on a night like this? Had he eaten? He had shelter, Monk knew that, but had he any warmth? Then he remembered that the chief booty of mudlarks was coal. Very often the lightermen would deliberately knock pieces off their barges into the shallow water for the small boys to get. Perhaps he had a fire. The riverside was full of children scraping by the best they could-like the rest of the city. It was irrational to worry about one.

He forced his mind back to the case.

Had Havilland found anything to make it necessary for someone to kill him? It seemed unlikely. What could it be? Argyll's had had no serious accidents. But Havilland had been an engineer himself, and he knew exactly what their huge machines were capable of, what safeguards were taken, and that Alan Argyll, of all people, would not want injuries or time lost. An unforeseen incident might kill dozens of men, but it would ruin the company.