William Monk 12 - Funeral in Blue

about the empty house?
    But the bitter and inexcusable thing was the murder of Sarah Mackeson. No understanding mitigated that.
    And what about Charles and Imogen?
    Would Runcorn find out anyway? Possibly, but also possibly not. Hester had no obligation to tell him. Kristian would not. So far Runcorn had no cause to go to the gambling house on Swinton Street.
    All of which was irrelevant. The question was, did Monk tell the truth or did he lie? To achieve what? A concealment of the truth that Kristian had killed the two women? And if he hid it, then what?
    The murder went unsolved? Someone else was blamed, perhaps the Austrian, Max Niemann, who had been meeting Elissa secretly? Or some debt collector?
    He was almost at the police station. He hesitated, then went on, one more time right around the block. That was what decided him. If he lied now, even by omission, he would spend the rest of his life walking around the long way to evade the truth. It was false to his nature, to the few certain standards he held unviolated. He was not a coward, whatever faced him. Lies built more lies. He would fight to save Kristian, or have the nerve to watch him face trial, even be found guilty. He would not make the decision who was guilty or innocent before he knew the facts. He would find the evidence, all of it, whatever it proved, and then live with the results, regardless of the cost to any of them.
    He went up the steps of the police station and in at the door.
    “Is Mr. Runcorn in?” he asked.
    “Yes, Mr. Monk. Up the stairs, sir.”
    Damn! Pity he could not have been out, just this once. He gritted his teeth, thanked the sergeant, and went up. He knocked on the door and, as soon as there was an answer, opened it and went in.
    Runcorn was sitting behind his tidy table. He looked almost pleased to see Monk. “Where’ve you been all day?” he demanded. “I thought you were eager to get this case solved!” He made no reference to having seen him at the funeral of Sarah Mackeson. He was watching to see if Monk was going to mention it. He was pretending they had not seen each other, and yet their eyes had met. Monk realized with a sharp savor of satisfaction that Runcorn was embarrassed at having been caught in an act of uncharacteristic compassion. After all, Sarah Mackeson was a loose woman, the kind he despised. He could hardly say he had gone in order to see who else was there, and expect Monk to believe him. He had stayed far longer than was necessary for that. He had been a mourner. He was looking at Monk now to see if he would deny it.
    Monk would like him to have. He wanted to speak of it, to force Runcorn to admit his change of heart. But he could see in his eyes that he was not going to.
    It was the perfect time to tell the truth. He hated it. It was like having a tooth extracted. All the long history of resentment and misunderstanding between them rose like a wall. He knew his face reflected his anger. Runcorn was staring at him and already hunching his shoulders as if getting ready to ward off a blow. His jaw was clenched. His fingers tightened on the pen he was holding.
    “I know it’s already been done, but I went to check Dr. Beck’s movements on the day of the murder,” Monk said quickly.
    Runcorn was surprised. Whatever he had expected, it was not that. He looked up at Monk standing in front of him. He was forced to lift his head.
    Monk remained steady. He swallowed. “He was on the way back from seeing his patient when he passed the peddler, not on the way out,” he said before Runcorn could prompt him.
    Recognition of what that meant flashed in Runcorn’s eyes, and surprise that Monk should have told him. “Why did you do that?” he said quietly. “Did it take you all afternoon? Or were you debating whether to tell me?”
    Monk ground his teeth. Every word of this was as hard as he had expected. Silence was no longer a choice. He must either tell Runcorn the truth or deliberately lie. Perhaps he was deceiving himself if he thought the choice had ever been otherwise. Plunge in!
    “Hester went to see Dr. Beck after the funeral meal, which was at Pendreigh’s house.” He saw the quick flash of incomprehension in Runcorn’s eyes. Pendreigh was of a social class Runcorn aspired to and would never understand. The fact infuriated him, and that Monk knew it angered him even more. He waited, and they stared intently at each other.
    “Beck’s house is a facade,” Monk said painfully. “Only the