William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

telling anyone where she was going. I assume that she was afraid.”
    “Ah, yes—the clinic where the dubious Mr. Robinson keeps the books. Are you saying that you now do not know where she is?”
    “Yes.” There was something tight and strained in Monk’s face, a pain that possibly only Rathbone knew him well enough to recognize.
    The look that passed over Monk’s face troubled Rathbone, but he did not know why. He had the feeling that he had missed something. “Then, we must draw our own conclusions, both as to why Miss Benson came up with her original story and why she now has taken flight and refuses to come forward and repeat it to us. Thank you, Mr. Monk. I do not believe I have anything further to ask you.”
    Monk moved to leave the stand.
    “Oh! Just one more thing!” Rathbone said.
    Monk stopped and turned back, his face bleak.
    “Will Mr. Winchester be calling Mr. Cardew to explain this … theft? I have no notice that he will be a witness.”
    “I don’t know. Quite possibly.”
    Rathbone inclined his head, satisfied. He waved dismissal graciously and returned to his seat.
    Winchester rose and called Mr. Horrible Jones to the stand.
    The judge frowned. “Is that his lawful name, Mr. Winchester?”
    “It appears to be the only one he knows, my lord,” Winchester responded.
    “Very well. I suppose we have no choice. Proceed.”
    ’Orrie climbed awkwardly up the winding steps to the stand and stood clutching the rail as if the whole edifice were swaying like a ship at sea. One eye swiveled dangerously; the other looked with grave apprehension at the jury, who either stared back at him or painfully avoided his gaze.
    He was sworn in, and Winchester asked him with considerable courtesy to state his occupation and describe his relationship with Mickey Parfitt. When that was answered, Winchester asked him about finding Mickey’s body with Tosh Wilkin, calling the police, and later the arrival of Monk and Orme.
    It was all very predictable, and there was nothing for Rathbone to object to, and nothing for him to add.
    Winchester obtained an account from ’Orrie of the entire evening of Parfitt’s death, complete with reasonably accurate times. ’Orrie had an extensive knowledge of tides, and that was included, as well as the skills of rowing and general management of all river craft.
    The jury’s attention might have been lost, were it not for ’Orrie’s remarkable appearance and the occasional wry observation that Winchester put in, which made people laugh.
    “Thank you, Mr. Jones,” he said at length. “You have given us an excellent account.” He invited Rathbone to question the witness.
    Rathbone looked up at ’Orrie. “So you were deeply involved in Parfitt’s affairs? He relied on you for much, especially personally. Yourowed him when he was on the river. Was that necessary because of his withered arm?”
    “Yes, sir,” ’Orrie replied, his tone indicating his contempt for such a foolish question.
    “Was it always you, or did other people row him also?”
    ’Orrie looked indignant, grasping on to the rail till his knuckles gleamed.
    “It were always me. Wot for’d ’e want anyone else?”
    “No reason at all,” Rathbone assured him. He did not care what ’Orrie thought, but he was aware already of antagonizing the jury. Winchester had been scrupulous in avoiding any mention of Parfitt’s occupation, as if ’Orrie could have been unaware of it. If Rathbone raised it now, he would prejudice the jury against ’Orrie, and therefore his testimony.
    “Mr. Jones, in the course of your assistance to Mr. Parfitt, did you ever meet Mr. Arthur Ballinger?”
    “No, I didn’t,” ’Orrie said vigorously.
    “Or hear his name mentioned?” Rathbone suggested. “Perhaps Mr. Parfitt might have had other meetings with him?”
    “No, I didn’t!”
    “Did you ever hear any of your colleagues speak of him?”
    “No! ’Ow many times do I ’ave ter tell yer? I in’t got nothin’ ter do wif ’im at all!” ’Orrie said indignantly.
    “I quite believe you, Mr. Jones,” Rathbone assured him. “I am certain your path and Mr. Ballinger’s never crossed, as neither did Mr. Parfitt’s. Thank you.”
    Winchester next called the police surgeon, who testified to all the more lurid details of the corpse, the injuries, exactly what had caused Parfitt’s death and how it was most likely that it had been accomplished, including the surgeon’s removal of the cravat imbedded