William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

sure?”
    She did not answer. There was no point in being defensive and saying that she knew he was good. She did not know it, she believed it, and she did that only because Monk did.
    Sutton sighed. “Sure you want to?” This time he was not arguing, just waiting to allow her space to retreat, if she needed to.
    But there was no point; Monk would go ahead regardless of whether she went with him or not. He could not leave it alone now. Something of his belief in himself, in his value as a friend, depended upon Durban being essentially the man he supposed him to be. And if he were to be disillusioned, he would need Hester's strength all the more. Standing apart would leave him bitterly alone.
    “Better to know,” she replied.
    Sutton sighed and finished the last of his sandwich, still standing, then drained his glass. “Then we'd better go,” he said with resignation. “C'mon, Snoot.”
    “What about your rats?” she asked.
    “There's rats … an’ rats,” he replied enigmatically. “I'll take you to see Nellie. What she don't know in't worth the bother. Just follow me, and keep your ears open an’ your mouth shut. It in't nice places we're goin’. By rights I'd rather not even take you, but I know you'll insist, and I ‘aven't got time for an argument I in't goin’ to win.”
    She smiled bleakly and followed after him along the narrow street, the dog between them. She did not ask what Nellie's occupation might be, and he did not offer any further information.
    They took a bus eastwards into Limehouse. After walking with him another further half mile on foot through tangled lanes and cobbles, with awkward roofs almost meeting above them, she had lost her sense of direction entirely. She could not even smell the incoming tide of the river above the other odors of dense, swarming city life: thedrains, the stale smoke, the horse manure, the sickly sweetness of a nearby brewery.
    They found Nellie in a dim back room behind a public house. She was a small, tidy woman dressed in black that had long ago faded to a variety of grays. She wore a widow's lace cap on hair that sat in absurd little-girl ringlets down the sides of her creased face. Her eyes were small, narrow against the light, and—when Hester met them almost accidentally—as sharp as gimlets. She could probably see a pin on the floor at twenty paces.
    Sutton did not introduce them, he merely told Nellie that Hester was all right, that she knew when to speak and when not to.
    Nellie grunted. “That's as may be,” she said curtly. “What d'yer want?” The last was addressed to Sutton; Hester was already dismissed.
    “Like to know a bit more about some o’ the river police,” Sutton replied.
    “Wot for?” Nellie regarded him suspiciously. “They in't never gonna cross your path.”
    “For a friend of mine,” Sutton said.
    “If your ‘friend’ is in trouble, better ter deal wi’ the reg'lar cops,” she told him unequivocally. “River Police is right bastards. Not many of ‘em, an’ not much way round ‘em.”
    “Straight?” He raised his eyebrows.
    “Mostly,” she conceded.
    “Monk?”
    “Used ter be reg'lar p'lice, so I ‘eard. Mean bastard, an’ clever. ‘Ang on ter a case like a bleedin’ bulldog.” She glanced at Snoot sitting at Sutton's feet. “Bulldog,” she repeated.
    “But straight?” Sutter insisted.
    “Yeah. Leave ‘im alone. Best ‘e never ‘eard of yer.”
    “Orme?”
    “Straight as a stair rod,” she replied with a sniff.
    “Durban?”
    “Don't matter. ‘E's dead. Blew ‘isself up on a ship.”
    “But was he straight?”
    She tilted her head to one side and twisted her mouth until itlooked like she had tasted a bad egg. “If yer after Jericho Phillips again, ye're a fool. ‘E ‘ad summink on Durban, same as Durban ‘ad on ‘im. Dunno wot it were, an’ reckon I'm best ter keep it that way. Although I like ter know things. Never say when it might come in useful. But someone ‘ad the bite on Durban. Dunno if it were Phillips ‘isself or just that ‘e knew about it. But I do know that Mr. Durban weren't nothin’ like wot ‘is precious river police thought ‘e were. Got secrets, that one, an’ I never found out wot they were, so it in't no use askin’ me, Mr. Sutton, no matter wot yer thinks I owe yer.”
    Sutton had to be content with that, at least from her.
    Even when they were outside again, he said nothing to Hester, except to ask her if she wished to