Wiliam Monk 01 - The Face of a Stranger

She came the day after they buried Mama. I cannot think there was ever anything you could have done, but she was too upset to be thinking as deeply as she might, and who can blame her? She just found it too hard then to accept what must have been the truth."
    They turned and began walking back again.
    "So she came to the police station?" he asked.
    "Yes."
    "And told me everything that you have told me now?"
    "Yes. And you asked her all the details of Papa's death: how he died, precisely when, who was in the house, and soon."
    "And I noted it?"
    "Yes, you said it might have been murder, or an accident, although you doubted it. You said that you would make some investigation."
    "Do you know what I did?"
    "I asked Imogen, but she did not know, only that you found no evidence that it was other than it seemed, which was that he took his own life while in deep despair. But you said you would continue to investigate it and let her know if you discovered anything further. But you never did, at least not until after we saw you again in the church, more than two months later.''
    He was disappointed, and becoming frightened as well. There was still no direct connection between himself and Joscelin Grey, still less any reason why he should have hated him. He tried a last time.
    "And she does not know what my investigations were? I told her nothing?"
    "No." She shook her head. "But I imagine, from the questions you asked her about Papa and the business, such as she knew it, that you inquired into that."
    "Did I meet Joscelin Grey?"
    "No. You met a Mr. Marner, who was one of the principals. You spoke of him; but you never met Joscelin Grey so far as she knows. In fact the last time she saw you you said quite plainly that you had not. He was also a victim of the same misfortune, and you seemed to consider Mr. Marner the author of it, whether intentionally or not."
    It was something, however frail; a place to begin.
    "Do you know where I can find Mr. Mamer now?"
    "No, I am afraid not. I asked Imogen, but she had no knowledge."
    "Did she know his Christian name?"
    Again she shook her head. "No. You mentioned him only very briefly. I'm sorry. I wish I could help."
    "You have helped. At least now I know what I was doing before the accident. It is somewhere to begin." That was a lie, but there was nothing to be gained in the truth.
    "Do you think Joscelin Grey was killed over something to do with the business? Could he have known something about this Mr. Marner?" Her face was blank and sad with the sharpness of memory, but she did not evade the thought. "Was the business fraudulent, and he discovered it?"
    Again he could only lie.
    "I don't know. I'll start again, from the beginning. Do you know what manner of business it was, or at least the names of some of the friends of your father who invested in it? They would be able to give me the details."
    She told him several names and he wrote them down, with addresses. He thanked her, feeling a little awkward, wanting her to know, without the embarrassment for both of them of his saying it, that he was grateful—for her candor, her understanding without pity, the moment's truce from all argument or social games.
    He hesitated, trying to think of words. She put her hand very lightly on his sleeve and met his eyes for an instant. For a wild moment he thought of friendship, a closeness better than romance, cleaner and more honest; then it disappeared. There was the battered corpse of Joscelin Grey between him and everyone else.
    "Thank you," he said calmly. "You have been very helpful. I appreciate your time and your frankness." He smiled very slightly, looking straight into her eyes. "Good afternoon, Miss Latterly."

12

    The name Marner meant nothing to Monk, and the following day, even after he had been to three of the addresses Hester had given him, he still had no more than a name and the nature of the business—importing. It seemed no one else had met the elusive Mr. Marner either. All inquiries and information had come from Latterly, through Joscelin Grey. The business was for the importing of tobacco from the United States of America, and a very profitable retailing of it was promised, in alliance with a certain Turkish house. No one knew more than that; except of course a large quantity of figures which indicated the amount of capital necessary to begin the venture and the projected increase to the fortunes of those who participated.
    Monk did not leave the last house until well