William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

defended him. They might find out the reason for that choice—if indeed it had beenchoice, and not some kind of necessity. But it might be confidential and something they could never learn. Did it matter? Could they not trust Rathbone, after all the battles they had fought together?
    In framing the question, she realized with a jolt of cold surprise that the answer must be that she did not, or she would not have asked. She would not have said the same a year ago. Had his marriage to Margaret really changed him so much? Or was it simply that it had brought to the fore a different, weaker part of his character?
    Or was it a different part of hers? She had never been in love with him; it had always been Monk, even if she had doubted at times that he would ever love her, or make her happy. In fact, she had considered it impossible that he would even wish to try. But she had liked Rathbone deeply, and she had trusted a decency in him. If this were a lapse, for whatever reason, could she not forgive him? Was her loyalty so shallow that one mistake ended it? Loyalty had to be worth more than that or it was little more than convenience.
    The bus stopped again and more people climbed on, standing packed together in the aisle.
    And Monk's loyalty to Durban, she thought. That also had to be strong enough to handle the truth. She wanted desperately to protect him from the disillusion she feared was coming. There were moments when she did not want to know why Rathbone had defended Phillips. But they passed. Her better self despised the weakness that preferred ignorance, or worse, lies. She would not want anyone she cared for to love a false reflection of her. After all, could there be a greater loneliness than that?
    They reached the terminus and alighted. It was a walk of about half a mile along the busy street, and she had to go behind Sutton and Snoot because the way was so narrow they could not pass together without bumping into the traffic going the other way. Every few moments Sutton would look back to make sure she was still on his heels.
    Sutton stopped at a small door next to an alley no more than ten feet long, and ending in a blind wall. Snoot instantly sat at his heels. Sutton knocked, and several moments passed before it was opened by a small hunchbacked man with an extraordinarily sweet expression on his face. He nodded when he recognized Sutton and his dog, then heglanced at Hester, more questioning whether she were with them than for her name or business. Satisfied by Sutton's nod, he led them inside to a room so cluttered with books and papers he had to clear two chairs for them to sit down. There were reams of blank paper stacked against the wall; the smell of ink was sharp in the air. The little man hitched himself back with some difficulty into what was obviously his own chair.
    “I dint print it,” he said without any preamble. His voice was deep and chesty, and his diction remarkably clear.
    Sutton nodded. “I know that. It was Pinky Jones, but he's dead, and he'd lie about the time of day. Just tell Mrs. Monk what it said, if you please, Mr. Palk.”
    “It's not nice,” Palk warned.
    “Is it true?” Hester asked, although she had not yet been included in the conversation.
    “Oh, yes, it's true. Lots of folks around here know that.”
    “Then please tell me.”
    He looked at her, for the first time, curiosity sharp in his face.
    “You have to understand, Durban was a man of strong passions,” he began. “Nice on the surface, funny when he wanted to be. I've seen him set the whole room laughing. And generous, he could be. But he felt some things hard, and it seems this Mary Webber was one o’ them. Never heard why. Never heard who or what she was that made him care.”
    “He never found her?”
    “Don't know, Miss, but if he didn't, it wasn't for want of trying. This all started when he went to Ma Wardlop's house. Brothel it is—mebbe a dozen girls or so. Asking her if she'd seen Mary Webber.” He shook his head. “Wouldn't let it drop, no matter what. Finally Ma Wardlop told him one of the girls knew something, and took him to her room. He questioned her in there for more than an hour, until she was screaming at him. That point Ma went an’ fetched a revenue man who lived a couple o’ doors away. Big man, he was.” He pulled his lips into a thin line, an expression of great sadness. “Punched the door in and said he found Durban in a position no policeman should be with a whore, but