William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

even courteous, but there was something knowing in his manner, and the creases that almost concealed his eyes suggested a sneer.
    “What's the message?” Monk asked, then half wished he had refused to listen. “Never mind. If you can't tell me who it's from, maybe it doesn't matter.”
    “Gotta deliver it, sir,” the man insisted. “Paid ter do it. Wouldn't reckon my chances if I mess wi’ this gentleman. Nasty, he would be, real nasty … if yer get my meanin’?” He looked up at Monk and he was definitely smiling now. “Glad ter see yer listenin’, sir. Save my neck maybe. Gentleman said ter tell yer ter back off the Durban case, whatever that is? D'you know?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see yer do. ‘E said it would be best people think like they do, ‘cause Durban did wot ‘e did. Otherwise, this gentleman said ‘e'd make the ‘ole thing public. Said ‘e ‘as all the evidence that yer took on this Durban's job wi’ the police, wi’ all ‘is papers and things. An’ yer took over ‘is other interests an’ all, the business o’ getting little boys, that is. Yer got one special trained up fer yerself, an’ all. Clean and bright, ‘e is. Go down a treat wi’ certain gentlemen wi’ special tastes. Scuff, I think ‘e called ‘im. That sound right to yer, sir?”
    Monk felt sick to his stomach, his body cold. It was obscene, as if a filthy hand had reached out and touched everything that was decent and precious, staining them with its own dirt. He wanted to lash out at the man, hit him so hard he broke that leering face and left it a bloody pulp so he would never smile again, never speak clearly enough to say words anyone could distinguish.
    But that would be exactly what he wanted. And he was probably not unarmed. An attack would be the perfect excuse to knife him in the stomach. It would be self-defense. Another example of River Police brutality. He could say honestly that he had accused Monk of procuring a small boy for Phillips's use. Who could prove otherwise?
    Was this what Durban had faced, threats of blackmail? Do what I want, or I'll paint every decent act of compassion as an obscenity. The accusation will stain your name. Because of their own filth, there will be those who believe it. You will be unable to do your job. I'll cripple you.
    Or do what I say, turn a blind eye to the cases I tell you to, and I'llkeep quiet. And when you've turned away from some, out of fear of me, I'll have another unbreakable thread to bind you with, and this one will be true. You will have denied your duty, corrupted yourself to stay safe.
    “I hear you,” Monk replied. “Tell your paymaster to go to hell.”
    “Oh, very unwise, Mr. Monk, sir. Very unwise.” The man shook his head, still smiling. “I'd think again on that, if I were yer.”
    “You probably would,” Monk agreed. “But then you are obviously for sale. I am not. Tell him to go to hell.”
    The man hesitated only seconds, then realized that he would gain nothing by remaining, and turned and went away at a surprisingly rapid pace.
    Monk walked back into the station. What he had to do was best done immediately, before he had time to weigh his words and be afraid.
    Orme looked up, surprised to see him back so soon. He must have read the concern in Monk's face. He stood up, as if to follow him into his office.
    “I need to speak to everyone,” Monk said distinctly. “Now.”
    Orme sat down again slowly and one by one the other men stopped what they were doing and faced him.
    He had their attention. He must begin. “As soon as I stepped outside a few minutes ago,” he said, “I was accosted by a man who delivered a message. He did not say from whom, but the implication was obvious.” It was difficult to trust. He hated making himself so vulnerable. He looked at their waiting faces. This was his future. He must trust these men, or lose their respect and the one chance he had to lead them.
    “This man told me to leave the Jericho Phillips case alone,” he went on. “If I don't, Phillips will make sure that I am accused of procuring small boys for use on his boat, to be rented to his clients, and then photographs taken in obscene and illegal acts to be sold for entertainment.” He drew in his breath and let it out slowly to try to stop the terror in his voice. It embarrassed him that he could not stifle it completely.
    “He will say to the press that initially Commander Durban was not Phillips's enemy, but his