William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

for all the alarm, there was a very faint smile on his face as well. “Yer don't learn, do yer! Gawd in ‘eaven! Wot der yer want now?”
    She took it as if it were agreement, or at least acquiescence. She leaned forward on the table. “He is only acquitted of murdering Fig, specifically. He can still be charged with anything else …”
    “Not ‘anged,” he said grimly. “An’ ‘e needs ‘angin’.”
    “Twenty years in Coldbath Fields would do for a start,” she countered. “Wouldn't it? It would be a much longer, slower death than on the end of a rope.”
    He gave it several moments’ thought. “I grant yer that,” he said finally. “But I like certain. The rope is certain. Once it's done, it's done ferever.”
    “We don't have that choice anymore,” she said glumly.
    He looked at her, blinking. “Yer wonderin’ ‘oo paid ‘im, or d'yer know?” he asked.
    She was startled. “Paid?”
    “Sir Rathbone,” he replied. “‘E din't do it fer nothin’. Wot did ‘e do it fer, anyway? Does she know?” He jerked his hand in the general direction of the kitchen.
    “I've no idea,” Hester replied, but her mind was busy with the question of who had paid Rathbone, and why he had accepted the money. She had never considered the possibility of his owing favors before, not of the sort for which such a payment could be asked. How did one incur such a debt? For what? And who would want such payment? Surely anyone Rathbone would consider a friend would want Phillips convicted as much as Monk did.
    Squeaky screwed up his face as if he had bitten into a lemon. “If yer believe ‘e done it fer free, there in't much ‘ope for yer,” he said withdisgust. “Phillips's got friends in some very ‘igh places. Never reckoned Rathbone was one of ‘em. Still don't. But some of ‘em ‘ave a lot o’ power, one way an another.” He curled his lip. “Never know where their fingers stretch ter. Lot o’ money in dirty pictures, the dirtier, the more money. Got ‘em o’ little boys, an yer can ask yer own price. First for the pictures, then fer yer silence, like.” He tapped the side of his nose and looked at her sourly out of one eye.
    She started to say that Rathbone would not have yielded to pressure of any sort, then changed her mind and bit the words off. Who knew what one would do for a friend in deep enough trouble? Someone had paid Rathbone, and he had chosen not to ask why.
    Squeaky pursed his lips into an expression of loathing. “Lookin’ at the kind o’ pictures Phillips sells people can affect yer mind,” he said, watching her closely to make sure she understood. “Even people who you wouldn't think. Take ‘em out o’ them smart trousers an’ fancy shirts, an’ they think no different from yer beggar or yer thief, when it comes ter queer tastes. Exceptin’ some folk ‘ave got more ter lose than others, so it leaves ‘em open ter a little pressure now an’ then.”
    She stared at him. “Are you saying Jericho Phillips has friends in places high enough to help him before the law, Squeaky?”
    He rolled his eyes as if her naiveté had injured some secret part of him. “‘Course I am. Yer don't think ‘e's been safe all these years ‘cause nobody knows what ‘e's doin’, do yer?”
    “Because of a taste for obscene photographs?” she went on, disbelief thick in her voice. “I know many men keep mistresses, or conduct affairs haphazardly, and in some unlikely places. But photographs? What pleasure can there be in seeing them that is so powerful that you would compromise your honor, reputation, everything to deal with a man like Phillips?”
    He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Don’ ask me ter explain ‘uman nature, Miss. I in't responsible fer it. But there's some things you can make children do that no adult'd do without lookin’ at yer like yer'd crawled up out o’ the garbage. It in't about love, or even decent appetite, it's about makin’ other people do wot you want ‘em to, an’ tastin’ the power over an’ over like yer can't get enough of it. Sometimes it's about the thrill o’ doin’ something that'd ruin yer if yer wascaught, an’ the danger of it makes yer kind o’ drunk. An’ neither of them in't always no respecters o’ persons, if you get my meanin’. Some people need ter be colder an’ ‘ungrier ter think on wot matters.”
    She said nothing.
    “Goin’ with ‘ores is one thing,” he continued. “Let's face it, it in't all that serious,