William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

you think I can do to be of assistance.”
    Evan accepted, finding the chair less comfortable than it looked, although he would have sat on boards to stay near the warmth. He was obliged to sit upright rather than relax.
    “I believe you have known Rhys Duff since he was a boy, sir,” he began, making a statement rather than a question.
    Kynaston frowned very slightly, drawing his brows together. “Yes?”
    “Does it surprise you that he should be in an area like St. Giles?”
    Kynaston drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No. I regret to say that it does not. He was always wayward, and lately his choice of company caused his father some concern.”
    “Why? I mean, for what specific reason?”
    Kynaston stared at him. Several reactions flickered across his face. He had highly expressive features. They showed amazement, disdain, sadness, and something else not so easily read, a darker thing, a sense of tragedy, or perhaps evil.
    “What exactly do you mean, Mr. Evan?”
    “Was it the immorality of it?” Evan expanded. “The fear of disease, of scandal or disgrace, of losing the favor of some respectable young lady? Or the knowledge that it might lead him to physical danger or greater depravity?”
    Kynaston hesitated so long Evan thought he was not going to answer. When finally he did speak, his voice was low, very careful, very precise, and he held his strong, bony hands in front of him, clutched tightly together.
    “I should imagine all of those things, Mr. Evan. A man is uniquely responsible for the character of his son. There cannot be many experiences in human existence more harrowing than witnessing your own child, the bearer of your name and your heritage, your immortality, treading a downward path into weakness, corruption of the mind and of the body.” He looked at Evan’s surprise. His eyebrows rose. “Not that I am suggesting Rhys was depraved. There was a predisposition to weakness in him which required greater discipline than perhaps he received. That is all. It is common among the young, especially an only boy in a family. Leighton Duff was concerned. Tragically, it now appears that he had grave cause.”
    “You believe Mr. Duff followed Rhys into St. Giles, and they were both attacked as a result of something that happened because they were there?”
    “Don’t you? It seems a tragically apparent explanation.”
    “You don’t believe Mr. Duff would have gone alone otherwise? You knew him well, I believe?”
    “Very well,” Kynaston said decisively. “I am perfectly certain he would not. Why in heaven’s name should he? He had everything to lose and nothing of any conceivable value to gain.” He smiled very slightly, a fleeting, bitter humor, swallowed instantly in the reality of loss. “I hope you catch whoever is responsible, sir, but I have no sensible hope that you will. If Rhys had a liaison with some woman of the area,or something worse”—his mouth twisted very slightly in distaste—“then I doubt you will discover it now. Those involved will hardly come forward, and I imagine the denizens of that world will protect their own rather than ally with the forces of law.”
    What he said was true. Evan had to admit it. He thanked him and rose to take his leave. He would speak to Dr. Corriden Wade, but he did not expect to learn much from him that would be of any value.
    Wade was tired, at the end of a long and harrowing day, when he allowed Evan into his library. There were dark shadows under the doctor’s eyes and he walked across the room ahead of Evan as if his back and legs hurt him.
    “Of course I will tell you what I can, Sergeant,” he said, turning and settling in one of the comfortable chairs by the embers of the fire and gesturing towards the other chair for Evan. “But I fear it will not be anything you do not already know. And I cannot permit you to question Rhys Duff. He is in a very poor state of health, and any distress, which you cannot help but cause him, could precipitate a crisis. I cannot tell what injuries may have been caused to his inner organs by the treatment he received.”
    “I understand,” Evan replied quickly. The memory returned to him with sharp pity of Rhys lying in the alley, of his own horror when he had realized he was still alive, still capable of immeasurable pain. Nor could he ever rid his mind of the horror in Rhys’s eyes when he had regained his senses and first tried to speak, and found he could not. “I had no