William Monk 12 - Funeral in Blue

the defense with Monk still not here, and that they could not do.
    So, Fermin Thorpe stood in the high witness box, smiling, a tight, narrow little grimace, staring down at Pendreigh in the middle of the floor, and the judge and jury waited for them to begin; impatiently, it was time-wasting.
    Pendreigh smiled. He understood vanity and he knew his own power.
    “Mr. Thorpe,” he said cautiously. “So the court can understand the value of your testimony, the years of experience you have had upon which to base any judgment, both of men and of medicine, perhaps you would tell me the details of your career?”
    There was a sigh of impatience from the judge, and Mills half rose to his feet, but it would be pointless to object, and he knew it. Pendreigh had every right to establish his witness, to give every ounce of weight to his testimony that he could.
    Thorpe was grateful. It showed in the easing of his body, the way he relaxed his shoulders and began to speak, at some length, of his achievements.
    Pendreigh nodded without once interrupting him or hastening him on. Finally, when they came to the point of his offering an opinion on Kristian’s character, Hester found herself aching with the tension in her body. Her shoulders were stiff, her hands knotted so tightly her nails hurt her palms. There had been no alternative, but still she was sick with fear. This was Thorpe’s chance to savor revenge. Had Pendreigh the skill to control him? She dared not look at Callandra.
    “So you have worked with many physicians and surgeons and had the responsibility for their behavior, their skill, ultimately even their employment by the hospital?” Pendreigh said graciously.
    “Yes. Yes, I have,” Thorpe answered with satisfaction. “I suppose you could say that in the end it was all my responsibility.”
    “An extraordinary burden for one man,” Pendreigh agreed deferentially. “And yet you never flinched from it.”
    Mills stood up. “My lord, I think we are all agreed that Mr. Thorpe has a great responsibility, and that he has discharged it with skill and conscience. I feel we are now wasting the court’s time by going over that which is already established.”
    “I have to agree, Mr. Pendreigh,” the judge said a trifle sharply. “Please ask your questions regarding Mr. Thorpe’s estimate of Dr. Beck’s character, not his medical skills. We have no doubt of them. You have given them to us abundantly over the last few days.” His impatience and lack of sympathy were only too apparent.
    “Yes, my lord, of course,” Pendreigh conceded. He turned to Thorpe. “You have always selected your staff with the utmost care, not only for their medical skill but for their moral character as well, as is your charge. May the court assume that in keeping Dr. Beck you did not alter those high standards, or make any exception?”
    Thorpe was caught. He had been planning to damn Kristian, to taste a very public revenge for past defeats, but he could not do so now without ruining himself. The anger of it, the momentary indecision even at this date, as he saw his victory sliding away, was all so clear in his face Hester could have spoken his thoughts aloud for him.
    “Mr. Thorpe?” Pendreigh frowned. “It is surely an easy question. Did you maintain the same high standards as you always have in keeping Dr. Beck in your employ and allowing him to operate on the sick and vulnerable men and women who came to your hospital for help . . . or did you, for some personal reason, allow a man you did not trust to keep such a position?”
    “No! Of course I didn’t!” Thorpe said, then instantly realized he had been forced into committing himself. He flushed dark red.
    “Thank you,” Pendreigh accepted, moving backwards and indicating that Mills might now question the witness.
    Mills stood up, dapper and confident. He opened his mouth to speak to Thorpe.
    Hester froze. Thorpe was bursting to undo what he had said, his eyes pleading with Mills somehow to create the chance for him.
    The entire room was silent. If only it mattered as much as it seemed to. Whatever Thorpe said would make little real difference. It was emotional; the facts were not touched.
    “Mr. Thorpe,” Mills began.
    “Yes?” Thorpe leaned a little forward over the rail of the witness box, staring down at Mills below him.
    “Thank you for sparing us your time,” Mills said flatly. “I don’t think I can ask you to add to what you have said. Your loyalty does