William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

money for naught.”
    Monk went in and closed the door behind him. In other circumstances he might have lost his temper at such language, but he was too intent upon what he might learn from Hector.
    “I came looking to find evidence that the defense would put up to clear Miss Latterly,” he answered with a candid glance at the older man. He still looked ill, red-eyed and pale-faced, his movement shambling.
    “Why did she kill Mary?” Hector said wretchedly, crumpling into the large leather chair near the window. He did not bother to invite Monk to sit down. The room was very masculine; there were scores of books in an oak case against one wall, too far away for Monk to read the titles. A very fine watercolor painting of a Napoleonic hussar hung above the mantelpiece, and another of a soldier of the Royal Scots Greys was on the wall opposite. A little below it was a portrait of an officer in full Highland dress. He was a young man, handsome, with fine features, thick fair hair and wide level eyes. It was several minutes before Monk recognized it as Hector himself, probably thirty years ago. What on earth had happened to the man in that time to change him from what he had been to the pathetic wreck he was now? Surely it must have been more than simply an elder brother with more character, more intelligence and more courage? Were envy and defeat such virulent diseases?
    “Why would a woman like that risk everything for a few pearls?” Hector demanded, his voice suddenly sharp with irritation. “It makes no sense, man. She’ll be hanged … there’ll be no mercy for her, ye know?”
    “Yes,” Monk said very quietly, his throat dry. “I do know. You said something the other day about the company books being falsified….”
    “Oh, aye. So they are.” Hector said it without the slightest hesitation, and almost without expression.
    “By whom?”
    Hector blinked. “By whom?” he repeated, as if the question were a curious thing to ask. “I’ve no idea. Maybe Kenneth. He’s the bookkeeper—but he’d be a fool to do it. It’d be so obvious. But then he is a fool.”
    “Is he?”
    Hector looked at him, realizing he was asking a question, not merely responding to a casual remark.
    “Not over anything specific,” he said slowly. “Just a general opinion.”
    Monk was certain he was lying, and equally certain he had no intention of telling anyone precisely what Kenneth had done to earn his contempt.
    “How do you know?” he asked, sitting down on the smaller, more upright chair opposite him.
    “What?” Hector looked composed. “I live in the same house with him, for heaven’s sake. Have done for years. What’s the matter with you, man?”
    Monk was surprised with himself that he was so little irritated.
    “I realize how you know he’s a fool,” he said calmly. “I don’t know how you know the books have been meddled with.”
    “Oh, I see.”
    “Well, how do you know?”
    Hector looked far away. “Something Mary said. Can’t remember what, exactly. Annoyed about it though. Very.”
    Monk leaned forward sharply. “Did she say it was Kenneth? Think, man!”
    “No she didn’t,” Hector replied, puckering his brow. “She was just annoyed.”
    “But she didn’t send for the police?”
    “No.” He opened his eyes wide and looked at Monk with satisfaction. “That’s why I thought it was Kenneth.” He shrugged. “But Quinlan is a clever swine. Wouldn’t put anything past him either. Upstart. All brains and ambition, greedy for power. Does everything sideways. Never knewwhy Oonagh was so nice with him. I wouldn’t have let him marry Eilish. I’d have sent him on his way, for all that he was charming enough to begin with.”
    “Even if she loved him?” Monk asked quietly.
    Hector said nothing, for several seconds staring out of the window.
    “Aye, well, maybe if I thought that …”
    “Didn’t you?”
    “Me?” Hector’s fair eyebrows rose, wrinkling his brow. “What do I know about it? She doesn’t tell me things like that.” A look of grief came into his face, so intense and so sudden Monk was embarrassed to have seen it. It was a rare feeling for him, and surprisingly painful. For a moment he was confused, not knowing what to say or do.
    But Hector was oblivious of him. The emotion was too consuming and too immediate for him to care what others thought of him.
    “But I’d be surprised if he embezzled,” he said suddenly. “He’s a fly beggar, that one, far too