William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

the river, I didn’t think at all. There was nothing in my mindbut a blind determination to catch him. I hardly even felt my own wrenches and bruises until afterwards.”
    Rathbone looked at Hester. “Are you sure he didn’t cry out almost immediately, after the initial shock of the attack? It might take a moment in time to ward him off, and collect his wits.”
    “He had six separate wounds,” she answered. “But they were all clean. He may well have bruises come up in the next day or two as well, and his clothes were torn a little, as if in a struggle. But Caleb had only one real wound, and that was the slash across his throat which killed him.”
    “What are you saying?” Rathbone leaned forward. “That Ravensbrook was mistaken, or that in some essential of importance, he lied?”
    “I think so. Yes, I think he lied,” she answered very deliberately. “I just don’t know why.”
    Monk sipped his port, looking from one to the other of them.
    “You mean there was a considerable struggle before he called out?” Rathbone persisted. “What reason would he have? If it was not suicide, and not an accident, then are you saying that Ravensbrook murdered him? Why on earth should he? Not just to prevent him from being hanged. That’s absurd.”
    “Then there is something we don’t know,” Hester answered. “Something which would make sense of it … or if not sense, at least something understandable to one’s feelings.”
    “People kill for various reasons,” Rathbone said thoughtfully. “Greed, fear, hatred. If it is irrational, then it may spring simply from emotion, but if it is rational, then it will be as a result of something that has happened, and to prevent something else from happening, to prevent some loss or pain to themselves, or someone they love.”
    “What could Caleb do to Ravensbrook, apart from be hanged, which could be a disgrace, but he has already disgraced himself very thoroughly.” Monk shook his head.“Hester is right. There is something crucial that we don’t know, perhaps haven’t even come close to.” He turned to Rathbone. “What was going to happen next, if Caleb had lived?”
    “The defense would have begun tomorrow,” Rathbone replied slowly, his concentration suddenly sharpening, his wineglass ignored. “Perhaps we need to speak with Ebenezer Goode? I thought I knew what he was going to do, but perhaps I don’t.”
    Monk stared at him. “What could he do? Plead insanity? The best argument he has is that it was an accident, that Caleb didn’t mean to kill him, and then when he had, he panicked. Either that, or try to convince them there is not enough evidence to prove Angus is dead at all. And I don’t think he will win with that.”
    “Then maybe that’s it.” Rathbone clenched his fists on the white tablecloth. “He was going to bring out some evidence to show Angus was not the just and honorable man we suppose. That would be worth killing him for. To protect Angus’s name, and Genevieve’s. Perhaps to prevent Caleb from telling some appalling truth about him? That would be a reason.”
    “Do you think Lord Ravensbrook would kill Caleb to protect Genevieve?” Monk looked skeptical. “I gathered from their behavior towards each other that their relationship was cool, at best.”
    “Then to protect himself?” Rathbone argued urgently, leaning farther forward. “Or protect Angus, or his memory of him. After all, he was the nearest to a son he had. One can love a son in a strange, passionate and possessive way, as if he were part of oneself. I’ve seen some very complex emotions between parent and child.”
    “And Caleb?” Monk asked, his lips drawn back in a hard smile.
    “God knows.” Rathbone sighed. “Perhaps it was to spare him the verdict and the hanging. I wouldn’t wish hanging on anyone. It’s an appalling way to die. It’s not the actualdrop, and the rope around the throat, jerking tight and breaking the neck as the trap opens, it’s the deliberate hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute dragging it out to the appointed hour. It’s a refinement of cruelty which degrades everyone involved.”
    “Then perhaps we should ask Mr. Goode?” Hester concluded. “If we want to know? But do we?”
    “Yes,” Monk said without hesitation. “I want to know, even if I don’t want to do anything about it.”
    Rathbone’s eyes widened. “Could you do that … know, and do nothing?”
    Monk opened his mouth to reply, then changed his mind.