William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

last of his food. “Evan is investigating the case. I assume you know that. He has not been able to find out what they were doing in St. Giles. It is hardly likely to be anything admirable.” She hesitated, unhappiness profound in her face. “I don’t think I believe he would do such a thing, not willingly, not intentionally …”
    “But you are not sure?” he said quickly.
    Her eyes searched his face, longing to find some comfort there and failing.
    “No … I’m not sure. There is a cruelty in him which is very ugly to see. I don’t know why. It seems directed largely at his mother.…”
    “I’m sorry.” Without thinking he reached forward and puthis hand over hers where it lay on the table. He felt the slenderness of her bones, a strong hand, but so slight his own covered it.
    “It doesn’t have to be anything to do with this,” she said slowly, and he thought it was more to convince herself than him. “It’s just … it could be … because he cannot speak. He’s alone.…” She looked at Monk with an intensity that made her oblivious of the room around her or anything else. “He’s utterly alone. We don’t know what happened to him, and he can’t tell us. We guess, we talk to each other, we work at the possibilities, and he can’t even tell us where we are wrong, where it is ludicrous or unjust. I can’t imagine being more helpless.”
    He was torn whether to say what was in his mind or not. She looked so hurt, so involved with the pain she saw.
    But this was Hester, not a woman he needed to protect, gentle and vulnerable, used only to the feminine things of life. She had already known the worst, worse than he had.
    “Your pity for him now does not alter what he may have done before,” he answered her.
    She drew her hand away.
    He felt vaguely hurt, as if she had withdrawn something of herself. She was so independent. She did not need anyone. She could give, but she could not take.
    “I know,” she said quietly.
    “No, you don’t.” He was answering his own thoughts. She did not know how arrogant she was, how so much of her giving was a form of taking; whereas if she had taken, it would have been a gift.
    “Yes, I do!” She was angry now, defensive. “I just don’t think it was Rhys. I know him. You don’t.”
    “And your judgment is clear, of course?” he challenged, sitting back in his chair. “You could not be biased, just a trifle?”
    A couple passed by them, the woman’s skirt brushing Hester’s chair.
    “That’s a stupid remark.” Her voice was sharp, her face flushed. “You’re saying that if you know something about a thing, then you are biased and your judgment is no good,whereas if you know nothing, your mind is clear and so your judgment is fine. If you know nothing, your mind isn’t clear, it’s empty. By that standard we could do away with juries, simply ask someone who’s never heard of the case, and they will give you a perfect, unbiased decision!”
    “You don’t think perhaps it could be a good idea to know something about the victims as well?” he said sarcastically. “Or even the crimes? Or is all that irrelevant?”
    “You’ve just told me what the crimes are, and the victims,” she pointed out, her voice rising. “And yes, in a way it is irrelevant in judging Rhys. The horror of a crime has nothing to do with whether a particular person is guilty or not. That is elementary. It only has to do with the punishment. Why are you pretending you don’t know that?”
    “And liking somebody, or pitying them, has nothing to do with guilt or innocence,” he responded, his voice louder also. “Why are you pretending you’ve forgotten that? It doesn’t matter how much you care, Hester, you can’t change what has already happened.”
    A man at the next table turned to look at them.
    “Don’t be so patronizing,” she said furiously. “I know that. Don’t you care anymore that you find the truth? Are you so keen to take someone back to Vida Hopgood and prove you can do it that you’ll take anyone, right or wrong?”
    He was hurt. It was as if she had suddenly and without warning kicked him. He was determined she should not know it.
    “I’ll find the truth, comfortable or uncomfortable,” he said coldly. “If it is someone we can all be happy to dislike and rejoice in his punishment, so much the easier.” His voice dropped, the emotion tighter. “But if it is someone we like and pity, and his punishment will tear us apart