William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

silence, not a sound from outside penetrated the room. There was no motion of breath. Even the lamps seemed to burn without a hiss, as if the air swallowed them.
    Genevieve opened her eyes and looked down at the naked chest in front of her.
    “No,” she whispered, and the tears spilled over her eyes in both relief and despair. “It is not my husband. Please put back the cover over the poor man. I do not know who he is.”
    “It is not Angus?” Monk insisted. “You are quite sure?”
    “Yes.” She turned away from the body. “There are no scars on him. Angus had a unique pattern of scars on the side of his chest where he was hurt, a stab wound, oncewhen he was with Caleb. I know exactly where it is. I stitched it myself. It is not there in that man.”
    Monk guided her towards the doorway out. “I’m sorry to have brought you here,” he said bitterly. “I would have spared you this, could I have known.” He nodded to the morgue attendant and the constable followed them out.
    “I know you would, Mr. Monk,” she answered with a little cough. She put her hand over her face and swayed. He steadied her and the constable came quickly to the other side. He guided her to the entrance and the sharp night air.
    “Thank you.” Monk looked at the constable. “I’ll see Mrs. Stonefield home.”
    “Yes sir. Good night sir. Ma’am.”
    When the trial of Caleb Stone recommenced the following day, Rathbone was aware of the preceding night’s events. He regretted profoundly both Genevieve’s ordeal and the fact that it had not been Angus’s body. He was also moved by it. She could so easily have claimed him. It was extremely unlikely anyone would have challenged her, and the poor man, whoever he was, would almost certainly not be identified by anyone else.
    “Surely the temptation crossed her mind?” he said to Monk as they walked in the rain up the steps into the Central Criminal Court. “She could hardly have been prosecuted for such an error, even if it were ever proved. It could have answered all her immediate needs.”
    “And ours,” Monk agreed grimly, following Rathbone in through the massive doors and shaking his umbrella before he folded it. “But no. She looked just once and pronounced it not him. She had no doubts. What she thought about in the journey there, or for the few moments before she looked at him, we shall probably never know. If she was tempted, she had overcome it by then.”
    “Remarkable woman,” Rathbone said quietly, taking off his hat. “I wish I could feel more certain of an outcome for her.”
    “Little hope?” Monk asked.
    “Not as it is,” Rathbone replied. “But I shall do my best. We are certainly not beaten yet.”
    The first witness of the day was Monk himself. He testified of his search for Angus, which had taken him eventually to finding Angus’s clothes on the beggar in the East India Dock Road, and his exchange of his own in order to obtain them.
    Then he told of his pursuit of Caleb, with the police, and the arrest in the marshes. Rathbone did not mention their earlier encounter, since all that Caleb had said was inadmissible, being hearsay, and unwitnessed. Archie McLeish had been out of earshot beyond the other makeshift door.
    When Rathbone had finished, Ebenezer Goode rose to his feet. He looked at Monk carefully, meeting his gaze. He recognized a professional. His eyes gleamed and his lips parted in a wolfish smile, brilliant, all teeth, but he was far too wily to attack where he could not win.
    “Do you know where Angus Stonefield is now, Mr. Monk?” he asked very gently, as if they had struck up a casual conversation in some tavern over a pint of ale.
    “No,” Monk replied.
    “Do you know, for certain, Mr. Monk, irrefutably, whether he is alive or dead?”
    “No.”
    Goode’s smile grew, if possible, even broader.
    “No,” he agreed. “Neither do any of us! Thank you, that is all.”
    Rathbone rose and called Lord Ravensbrook. There was a stir of interest, but only slight. The case was slipping away, and Rathbone knew it.
    Ravensbrook took the stand with outward calm, but his body was rigid, his eyes staring straight ahead. He might have faced a firing squad with the same tight, unhappy courage. Enid was there in the crowd again, with Hester beside her, but he did not appear even to be aware of her, much less to seek her.
    When he had been sworn, Rathbone approached him and began.
    “My lord, you have known both brothers since their