William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

is her father, and she is your wife, her testimony has to be compromised. Or it is possible that she simply does not remember.”
    Now Rathbone really had nowhere to turn, except to abandon that line of question. He started again.
    “Mr. Monk, you said in your testimony yesterday that you discounted Mr. Rupert Cardew as a suspect in the murder of Mickey Parfitt. This was in spite of the fact that it appears to be absolutely undeniable that his cravat, which he was seen wearing earlier in the day, was the ligature used to strangle Parfitt. You gave as your reason for this a witness who swore that this highly individual cravat had been stolen from Mr. Cardew late in the afternoon of the same day. I am sure the jury wonders, as I do, how a man can have a cravat stolen from around his neck, and we wait eagerly for Mr. Winchester to call this person, so that we may hear.”
    Rathbone could see the sudden misery in Monk’s face, in spite of his attempt to disguise it. The previous moment’s triumph had vanished. He stiffened a little and his shoulders altered almost indefinably,pulling the fabric of his excellent jacket a little more taut. Did the court see it also? Winchester would, surely?
    Monk did not speak.
    Winchester did not rise to his feet and ask if there was a question in all this preamble. That in itself was indicative of danger, complexity, something hidden.
    “How did you find this witness, Mr. Monk?” Rathbone went on.
    “At the time, we suspected Mr. Rupert Cardew of having killed Parfitt,” Monk replied levelly. His voice sounded emotionless, belying the tension in his body. “That was from having found the cravat, and having identified it as being his. In following his actions on the day Parfitt died, we learned where he had been, and of the loss of the cravat.”
    “And exactly how did you find out that it was Rupert Cardew’s?” Rathbone affected innocence, even admiration.
    “There was a reasonable assumption that it belonged to someone who knew Parfitt,” Monk replied. “Since it was clearly expensive, that suggested one of his wealthier patrons. Such people do not fall within Parfitt’s social circle, nor could he seek them out. It is far more likely that his reputation spread by word of mouth, and by suggestion from his patrons. Since we could not go to them—”
    Rathbone interrupted, “Because you do not know who they are?”
    “Exactly,” Monk was forced to agree. “Therefore we started at the type of place where word of mouth would spread, or gentlemen with such tastes might be easily found.”
    “Which is?”
    “Cremorne Gardens, among others.”
    There was a flicker of recognition in the faces of the jurors, and a rustle of indrawn breath in the gallery. The reputation of the place was known to many.
    “What led you to Cremorne Gardens?” Rathbone asked.
    “Common sense,” Monk replied with a quiver of his lips that might almost have been a smile. “It is a natural place to seek clients for a trade such as Parfitt’s.”
    Rathbone nodded with satisfaction. “I imagine so. And did you find Mr. Cardew there?”
    “No, I found someone who could identify the cravat,” Monk answered him.
    “And shall we hear their testimony?”
    “If Mr. Winchester wishes it, although I can see no reason. Mr. Cardew does not deny that it is his, nor does he deny that it was stolen from him that afternoon. The police surgeon will confirm that he took it from around Parfitt’s throat.”
    “And this elusive witness, whose name I have not yet been told—Curiously enough, Mr. Winchester has not spoken of him, or her. Are you aware of why that is, Mr. Monk?”
    Monk breathed in deeply. “He will not be calling Miss Benson.” His voice was quiet, rough-edged. Even the judge leaned forward to hear him.
    Rathbone affected amazement, but his pulse was racing, his mind suddenly filled with excitement.
    “Indeed? This Miss Benson would appear to be key to your case, Mr. Monk? If you do not call her, you leave speculation in the minds of the jury either that she does not exist or that, if she did testify, she would not say what you wish her to. Can you explain such a decision to the court?” He made a slight, elegant gesture with his hand to include the rest of the room.
    Monk was pale. “Yes, I can. Fearing for her safety, I had Miss Benson moved from her lodgings in Chiswick into the clinic in Portpool Lane. I believed she would be safe there. However, she chose to leave without