William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

flamboyant gentleman who had made his name in a few sensational cases—and many less publicized ones which had earned him a great deal of money. He was well respected by his professional peers and adored by the public, who were entertained and impressed by his quiet, intense manner and sudden explosions into drama. He was of average height but stocky build, short neck and fine silver hair, heavily waved. Had he permitted it to be longer it would have been a leonine mane, but he apparently preferred to appear sleek. He had a musical lilt to his voice which Hester could not place, and the slightest of lisps.
    Percival was defended by Oliver Rathbone, and as soon as she saw him Hester felt a wild, singing hope inside her like a bird rising on the wind. It was not only that justice might be done after all, but that Rathbone had been prepared to fight, simply for the cause, not for its reward.
    The first witness called was the upstairs maid, Annie, who had found Octavia Haslett’s body. She looked very sober, dressed in her best off-duty blue stuff dress and a bonnet that hid her hair and made her look curiously younger, both aggressive and vulnerable at the same time.
    Percival stood in the dock, upright and staring in front ofhim. He might lack humility, compassion or honor, but he was not without courage. He looked smaller than Hester remembered him, narrower across the shoulders and not as tall. But then he was motionless; the swagger that was part of him could not be used, nor the vitality. He was helpless to fight back. It was all in Rathbone’s hands now.
    The doctor was called next, and gave his evidence briefly. Octavia Haslett had been stabbed to death during the night, with not more than two blows to the lower chest, beneath the ribs.
    The third witness was William Monk, and his evidence lasted the rest of the morning and all the afternoon. He was abrasive, sarcastic, and punctiliously accurate, refusing to draw even the most obvious conclusions from anything.
    F. J. O’Hare was patient to begin with and scrupulously polite, waiting his chance to score a deciding thrust. It did not come until close to the end, when he was passed a note by his junior, apparently reminding him of the Grey case.
    “It would seem to me, Mr. Monk—it is Mr. now, not Inspector, is that so?” His lisp was very slight indeed.
    “It is so,” Monk conceded without a flicker of expression.
    “It would seem to me, Mr. Monk, that from your testimony you do not consider Percival Garrod to be guilty.”
    “Is that a question, Mr. O’Hare?”
    “It is, Mr. Monk, indeed it is!”
    “I do not consider it to be proved by the evidence to hand so far,” Monk replied. “That is not the same thing.”
    “Is it materially different, Mr. Monk? Correct me if I am in error, but were you not sincerely unwilling to convict the offender in your last case as well? One Menard Grey, as I recall!”
    “No,” Monk instantly contradicted. “I was perfectly willing to convict him—in fact, I was eager to. I was unwilling to see him hanged.”
    “Oh, yes—mitigating circumstances,” O’Hare agreed. “But you could find none in the case of Percival Garrod murdering his master’s daughter—it would strain even your ingenuity, I imagine? So you maintain the proof of the murder weapon and the bloodstained garment of the victim hidden in his room, which you have told us you discovered, is not enoughto satisfy you? What do you require, Mr. Monk, an eyewitness?”
    “Only if I considered their veracity beyond question,” Monk replied wolfishly and without humor. “I would prefer some evidence that made sense.”
    “For example, Mr. Monk?” O’Hare invited. He glanced at Rathbone to see if he would object. The judge frowned and waited also. Rathbone smiled benignly back and said nothing.
    “A motive for Percival to have kept such—” Monk hesitated and avoided the word
damning
, catching O’Hare’s eye and knowing a sudden victory, brief and pointless. “Such a useless and damaging piece of material,” he said instead, “which he could so easily have destroyed, and a knife which he could simply have wiped and returned to the cook’s rack.”
    “Perhaps he wished to incriminate someone else?” O’Hare raised his voice with a life of something close to humor, as if the idea were obvious.
    “Then he was singularly unsuccessful,” Monk replied. “And he had the opportunity. He should have gone upstairs and put it where he wished