William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

time. But let some gent get a shiv in ’is gut an’ all ’ell’ll get loose. There’ll be rozzers up an’ dahn every street. I tell yer, it in’t worth it. We’ll all pay, mark my words.”
    “I was thinking of something a little subtler,” Monk replied with a tight, wolfish smile.
    “Yeah? Like wot?” But the cabby was listening now, leaning sideways over his box, peering at Monk in the lamplight through the snow.
    “Like making sure everyone knows about it,” Monk replied. “Making it a news item, with details.”
    “They don’t care!” The cabby’s disappointment was palpable. “ ’Is friends’ll all think it’s clever. Wot’s one ’ore ter them?”
    “His friends might not care,” Monk replied savagely. “But his wife will. His parents-in-law will, especially his mother-in-law!”
    The cabby blasphemed under his breath.
    “And maybe his investors, or his society friends’ wives, the mothers of the girls his sons hope to marry, or of the men his daughters do,” Monk continued.
    “Or’ight. Or’ight,” the cabby said. “I un’erstand yer. Wot yer wanna know? I don’ know Oo they was. I wouldn’t know ’em now if yer marched ’em in front o’ me. But then I don’ s’pose I’d know you temorrer, an’ these geezers kep’ their faces away. I jus’ thought it were ’cos they fancied they were too good ter talk ter the likes o’ me. Jus’ give orders—”
    “What orders?” Monk said quickly.
    “Drive ’em north an’ drop ’em in Portman Square. They said they’d walk ’ome from there. Careful sods, eh? I di’n think nothin’ of it then. They don’t even ’ave ter live near Portman Square. Could’ve got another ’ansom from there ter w’erever they lives. Could be anyplace.”
    “It’s a start.”
    “Go on! Even the bleedin’ rozzers couldn’t find ’em from that.”
    “Maybe, but they’ve been here a dozen times or more. There’ll be a common factor somewhere, and if there is, I’ll find it,” Monk said in a low, bitter voice. “I’ll ask all the other cabbies, people on the street, and there are plenty of those. Someone saw them, someone will know. They’ll make a mistake. They will already have made one, maybe several.”
    The cabby shivered, and it was only partly the snow. He looked at Monk’s face.
    “Like a bleedin’ wolf, you are. I’m ruddy glad you in’t after me! Now, if you wanna go ’ome, get in me cab and get on with it. If yer plannin’ on standin’ ’ere all night, yer’ll do it wivout me, or me ’orse, poor critter.”
    Monk climbed in and sat down, too cold to relax, and was jolted steadily towards Fitzroy Street and a warm bed.
    The following morning he woke aching, his head throbbing. He was in a foul mood, and he had no right to be. He had ahome, food, clothing and a kind of safety. He hurt only because he had slept with his body still knotted with the anger he felt over what he had heard.
    He shaved and dressed, ate breakfast, and went to the police station where he used to work, before he had finally and irrevocably quarreled with Runcorn and been obliged to leave. It had not been so long ago, roughly two years. He was still remembered with clarity—and very mixed emotions. There were those who were afraid of him, still half expecting some criticism or jibe at the quality of their work, their dedication or their intelligence. Sometimes it had been just, too often it had not.
    He wanted to catch John Evan before he went out on whatever case concerned him now. Evan was the one friend Monk could count on. He had come to the station after the accident. They had worked together on the Grey case, unraveling it step by step, at the same time exposing Monk’s own fears and his terrible vulnerability, and in the end the truth which could now be thought of only with a shudder, and a dark shadow of guilt. Evan knew him as well as anyone, except Hester.
    That thought surprised him by its sharpness. He had not intended to allow Hester into his mind. That relationship was entirely different. Most of it had been brought about by circumstances rather than inclination. She was supremely irritating at times. Beyond her skill, her intelligence and undoubtedly her courage, there was so much that he found intensely annoying. Anyway, she was not involved in this case. He had no need to think about her now. He should find Evan. That was important and most urgent. It could happen again. Another woman could be beaten and raped,