William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

Evan himself. At least some of it stemmed from Runcorn’s long relationship with Monk and the rivalry between them, the years of unease, of accumulated offenses which Monk could not remember and Runcorn never forgot. Evan did not know the origin of it, but he had seen the clash of ideals and natures when he first came, after Monk’s accident, and he had been there when the final and blazing quarrel had severed the tie and Monk had found himself out of the police force. Like every other man in the station, he was aware of the emotions. He had been Monk’s friend, therefore he could never truly be trusted by Runcorn, and never liked without there always being a reservation.
    “So what have you got?” Runcorn asked abruptly. Evan’s silence bothered him. He did not understand him; he did not know what he was thinking.
    “Very little,” Evan answered ruefully. “Leighton Duff died somewhere about three in the morning, according to Dr. Riley. Could have been earlier or later. He was beaten and kicked to death, no weapon used except fists and boots. Young Rhys Duff was almost as badly beaten, but he survived.”
    “I know that! Evidence, man!” Runcorn said impatiently, curling his fist on the desktop. “What evidence have you? Facts, objects, statements, witnesses who can be believed.”
    “No witnesses to anything, except finding the bodies,” Evanreplied stiffly. There were moments when he wished he had Monk’s speed of mind to retaliate, but he did not want the ordinary man on the beat to fear him, only respect him. “No one admits to having seen either man, separately or together, in St. Giles.”
    “Cabbies,” Runcorn said, his eyebrows raised. “They didn’t walk there.”
    “We’re trying. Nothing so far.”
    “You haven’t got very much.” Runcorn’s face was plainly marked with contempt. “You’d better have another look at the family. Look at the widow. Don’t let elegance blind you. Maybe the son knows his mother’s nature, and that’s why he’s so horrified that he cannot speak.”
    Evan thought of Rhys’s expression as he had looked at Sylvestra, of his flinching from her when she moved to touch him. It was a repellent thought.
    “I’m going to do that,” he said reluctantly. “I’m going to look into his friends and associates more closely. He may have been seeing a woman in that area, perhaps a married woman, and her male relatives may have taken offense at his treatment of her.”
    Runcorn let out a sigh. “Possible,” he concluded. “What about the father? Why attack him?”
    “Because he was a witness to the scene, of course,” Evan replied with a lift of satisfaction.
    Runcorn looked at him sharply.
    “And another thing, sir,” Evan went on. “Monk has been hired to look into a series of very violent rapes across in Seven Dials.”
    Runcorn’s blue eyes narrowed. “Then he’s more of a fool than I took him for. If ever there were a profitless exercise, that is it.”
    “Have we any reports that might help?”
    “Help Monk?” Runcorn said with disbelief.
    “Help solve the crime, sir,” Evan answered with only a hint of sarcasm.
    “I can solve it for you now!” Runcorn stood up. He was at least three inches taller than Evan, and considerably moresolid. “How many were there? Half a dozen?” He ticked off on his fingers. “One was a drunken husband. One was a pimp taking his revenge for a little liberty turned license. At least two were dissatisfied clients, probably too drunk. One was an amateur who changed her mind and wanted more money when it was too late. And probably one was drunk herself and fell over and can’t remember what happened.”
    “I disagree, sir,” Evan said coldly. “I think Monk can tell the difference between a woman who was raped and beaten and one who fell over because she was drunk.”
    Runcorn glared at Evan. He was standing beside the bookshelf of morocco-bound volumes in a variety of profound subjects, including philosophy.
    Evan had used Monk’s name and the memory of his skill, quicker, sharper than Runcorn’s, on purpose. He was angry and it was the easiest weapon. But even as he did it, he wondered what had started the enmity between the two. Had it really been no more than a difference of character or beliefs?
    “If Monk thinks he can prove rape of half a dozen part-time prostitutes in Seven Dials, he’s lost the wits he used to have,” Runcorn said with a flush of satisfaction under his anger. “I knew