William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

still furious, still imprisoned in silence. His eyes brimmed over with tears, and he turned away from her.

8
    M onk walked briskly along Brick Lane, head down under the wind which was clearing the last of the fog. He must see Vida Hopgood again before he pursued the case any further. She had the right to know of Runcorn’s refusal to involve the police in the case in spite of the mounting proof that there had been a series of crimes of increasing violence. Memory of their encounter still angered him, the more so because part of his mind knew Runcorn was right, and in his place Monk might well have made the same decision. He would not have done it out of indifference, but as a matter of priorities. Runcorn had too few men as it was. They only touched the surface of crime in areas like Seven Dials. It was an easy excuse to ignore people like Vida Hopgood, but it was also unfair to all the countless other victims to put men where they could make no effective difference.
    Thinking of it made him angrier still, but it was better than thinking of Hester, which was so natural to him, and at the same time so full of all kinds of discomfort. It was the same kind of temptation as pulling a bandage off a wound to see if it had healed yet, touching the place that hurt in the hope that this time it would not. It always did … and he did not learn by experience.
    He turned the corner into Butcher’s Yard and was suddenly sheltered. He almost slipped where there was ice on the cobbles. He passed a man shouldering a heavy load covered insacking, probably a carcass. It was quarter past four and the light was fading. In late January the days were short.
    He reached Vida Hopgood’s door and knocked. He expected her to be in. He had found this a good time to call. He looked forward to the warmth of her fire and, if he were fortunate, a hot cup of tea.
    “You again,” she said when she saw him. “Still got a face like a pot lion, so I s’pose yer in’t found nothin’ useful. Come on in, then. Don’t stand there lettin’ in the cold.” She retreated along the passageway, leaving him to close the door and follow her.
    He took his coat off and sat down uninvited in front of the fire in the parlor, rubbing his hands together and leaning towards the grate to catch the warmth.
    She sat opposite him, her handsome face sharp-eyed, watchful.
    “Did yer come ’ere ter warm yerself ’cos yer got no fire at ’ome, or was there summink in particular?”
    He was used to her manner. “I put all we have before Runcorn yesterday. He agrees there is plenty of proof of crime but says he won’t put police onto it because no court would prosecute, let alone convict.” He watched her face for the contempt and the hurt he expected to see.
    She looked at him equally carefully, judging his temper. There was a gleam in her eyes, a mixture of anger, humor and cunning.
    “I wondered w’en yer was gonna say that. D’yer wanna give it up then, that wot yer mean? Come ter it straight?”
    “No, if that was what I meant, I’d have said it. I thought you knew me better.”
    She smiled with a moment of real amusement.
    “Yer a bastard, Monk, but there are times w’en if yer wasn’t a rozzer, or I could ferget it … which I can’t … I could almost fancy yer.”
    He laughed. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said lightly. “You might suddenly remember, and then where would I be?”
    “In bed wi’ a shiv in yer back,” she said laconically, but there was still a warmth in her eyes, as if the whole idea had anelement which pleased her. Then the ease died away. “So wot yer gonna do about these poor cows wot bin raped, then? If yer in’t givin’ up, wot’s left, eh? You gonna find them bastards fer us?”
    “I’m going to find them,” he said carefully, giving due weight to every word. “What I tell you depends upon what you are going to do about it.”
    Her face darkened. “Listen, Monk—”
    “No, you listen!” he cut across her. “I have no intention of ending up giving evidence at your trial for murder, or of being in the dock beside you as an accessory before the fact. No jury in London is going to believe I didn’t know what you would do with the knowledge once I found it for you.”
    There was confusion in her face for a moment, then contempt. “I’ll see yer in’t caught up in it,” she said witheringly. “Yer don’t need ter run scared o’ that. Jus’ tell us ’oo they are, we’ll take care o’ the rest.