William Monk 12 - Funeral in Blue

than reasonable doubt that one such person, rather than Dr. Beck, may have been guilty of a fearful revenge?” He found his hands shaking as he held on to the railing of the box, palms wet. “If you convict Dr. Beck you will never lie easily in your beds that you have hanged a man innocent of his wife’s death, and that of poor Sarah Mackeson.”
    “Mr. Monk,” the judge said firmly, “you are here to give evidence as to what you have seen and heard, not to make defense counsel’s summation speech, however well you are able to do that.” He turned to the prosecution. “Mr. Mills, if you have no more questions for your witness, you might offer him now to Mr. Pendreigh. . . .” He looked at Pendreigh. “If you are well enough to continue? In view of the extraordinary nature of Mr. Monk’s testimony, and the way it cannot help but affect you personally, the court will be happy to grant you until tomorrow to compose yourself, if you wish?”
    Pendreigh looked bewildered, as if he hardly knew where he was.
    “I . . . I will question Mr. Monk!” he said abruptly, swinging around to stare up at the witness box. His face had no vestige of color, and his eyes were bloodshot.
    “What you have said of my daughter is a damnable lie, but I give you the credit that you may have been led to believe it. Therefore I must suppose that those who told it to you may also imagine it to be true. I concede that in their sickness someone might have felt it motive for revenge, and made this parody of justice a last, dreadful act. If so, as you say, this court cannot, in any semblance of honor, convict Dr. Beck. The defense rests, my lord.”
    He made his way back to his seat like a man walking in the dark, almost feeling his way. His junior stood as if to guide him, but did not indulge in the familiarity of actually reaching out his hand.
    Mills had little more to say. He pointed out that such an avenger of Hanna Jakob was entirely imaginary. No one had named such a person nor was there any proof that he or she existed. Dr. Beck, on the other hand, was very much there. He summed up all the evidence, but briefly, knowing that in the emotion-charged room he could lose their sympathy if he appeared too tied to reason.
    The judge instructed the jury and they retired.
    Kristian was taken down to the cells, and the rest of the court was left to wait in an exquisite suspense. No one knew whether it would be minutes, hours, or even days.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Callandra left the courtroom without any clear idea of where she was going, except to where she could be alone without the pretense of courtesy or that she was more or less all right. She had been as shattered by Monk’s testimony as had the rest of the court. She had seen Pendreigh stagger as if seized by a physical pain, but it was Kristian she had turned to. She had wanted to find Elissa human, not a heroine she could never equal, but she would never have wished this searing tragedy, this desolation which left only a broken and terrible grief for what had once been so beautiful.
    She could understand being so in love it robbed you of your balance, your judgment of good and evil, but she could not make the leap to acting out the passion or the violence as Elissa had. There was nothing worth winning at the cost of your own being, the soul, the integrity that was the core of who you were. The act of doing such a thing made it impossible for you to hold the good, even if you could grasp it for an instant.
    She pushed through the crowd, oblivious of individuals, wanting only to escape for a while.
    Had Elissa submitted to a moment’s insanity when she was exhausted, frightened, pressed in by danger and threat on all sides, then spent the rest of her life regretting it, and unable to redeem any part of herself because she had kept the prize?
    Callandra had expected to feel loathing, and yet, walking slowly out of the courtroom entrance and down the steps with the rain in her face, she was amazed that it was pity that stirred inside her for all that had been thrown away.
    She stood on the pavement alone as people brushed past her. When would they bring in the verdict? Monk had taken a terrible chance. He had been brilliant. She knew why he had done it. It was like him, a desperate throw when all else was lost. He would have known how it would lacerate to the core and create scars for which there was no healing.
    She did not know whether she would be allowed to see Kristian. The verdict