William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

grimly. “BothDurban and Monk. I think their power needs curbing. Maybe the newspapers are right, and it's time they were dispersed and command given entirely to the local stations on shore. Too much a law unto themselves at the moment.”
    Rathbone choked back his protest. He could not afford to antagonize Sullivan yet, and he would learn nothing if he put him on the defensive.
    “Do you think so?” he asked, assuming an air of interest. “It seems they have a particular knowledge, and I must say, up to this point, an excellent record.”
    “Up to this point,” Sullivan agreed. “But by all accounts, Durban was not as clever or as honorable as we had assumed, and this new man, Monk, has followed too much in his footsteps. You have only to look at the Phillips case to see that he is not up to the job. Promoted beyond his ability, I dare say.”
    “I don't think so,” Rathbone protested.
    Sullivan raised his eyebrows. “But my dear fellow, you proved it yourself! The man involved his wife, a good woman no doubt, but sentimental, full of well-meaning but illogical ideas. And he, apparently, fell victim to the same wishful thinking. He presented inadequate evidence to poor Tremayne, and so the jury had no choice but to find Phillips not guilty. Furthermore, we know that now he cannot be tried for that crime again, even if we find incontrovertible proof of his guilt. We cannot afford many fiascos like that, Rathbone.”
    “No, indeed,” Rathbone said with perfectly genuine gravity. “The situation is now very serious indeed, more than perhaps Monk has any comprehension.”
    “Then you agree that perhaps the River Police should be disbanded?” Sullivan prompted.
    Rathbone looked up at him. “No, no, I was thinking of the critical problem of blackmail.” He watched Sullivan's face and knew from some movement of shadow in his eyes that he had struck a nerve; how deep he had yet to find out. He smiled very slightly. “Naturally, in order to defend Phillips, I had to study the evidence with extreme care, and of course, question him closely.”
    “Naturally,” Sullivan agreed, his face oddly stiff. “But do be careful,Rathbone. Whatever he told you as your client is still confidential, regardless of the fact that the verdict is in, and he is acquitted. I am not the judge hearing the case now, and no privilege pertains to me.”
    “None at all,” Rathbone said drily “I was not going to let anything slip, beyond generalities. He has never denied that he makes his living by satisfying the more pathetic and obscene tastes of men who have the money to pay to have their fantasies indulged.”
    Sullivan's face reflected a conflict of emotions, fear, contempt, and flickering excitement also. “With such knowledge, it must have cost you dearly to defend him,” he observed.
    While they might have pretended amiability, it was now gone completely, and both men knew it. What remained was mutual dislike, and a thin film of disgust.
    “A lot of people I defend have practices that revolt me,” Rathbone replied. “I am sure you have conducted cases where both the crime itself, and the character of the accused, offended you profoundly. It would not cause you to recuse yourself from the case, or some cases would never be heard.”
    Sullivan gave a slight shrug and half turned away. “I am aware of the difficulties of the law, and justice,” he said without expression. “Is someone accusing blackmail? Or is all this merely theoretical?”
    Rathbone steadied his breathing with difficulty. Sullivan was a judge. Rathbone had stolen the information from Ballinger, which he could not afford to have anyone know, for his own sake, for Cribb's, possibly even for Margaret's. But Rathbone had something to learn, and something to redeem. He must lie.
    “Regrettably, I believe it to be fact, at least in one case, possibly more. Phillips does nothing unless there is profit for him in it. In the case of supplying boys to satisfy these appetites, there is double profit, first for the satisfaction itself, second to keep silence afterwards, because in some instances, if not all, it is illegal. It seems these men will not, or cannot, control themselves, even when it is of such fearful cost to them.” He watched the blood ebb from Sullivan's skin, leaving his cheeks blotched. His expression did not change in the slightest.
    “I see,” he said very quietly, in little more than a whisper.
    “I was certain you would,” Rathbone