William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

cheeks.
    This time she did put her arms around him and hug him. At first he merely let her, then quite suddenly he hugged her back, hard, hanging on to her and burying his face in her shoulder, where the hair that had slipped out of its pins was loose.
    I N THE MORNING M ONK went back to the court, and Hester and Scuff went to the clinic.
    “You don’t have to be here,” Squeaky said as soon as she was through the door and into the room where he was working at a table spread with receipts. “Nor you neither,” he added to Scuff.
    “Yes, I do,” Hester responded. “And Scuff can help me.” There was no allowance for argument in her voice, and no prevarication. “I want to find out exactly what happened to Hattie Benson, why she left here and who said something to her that prompted her to go.”
    Squeaky regarded her dismally. “Won’t do no good. Maybe she lied to you. Have you thought of that?”
    “Yes, and I don’t believe it. It came out in court yesterday, Squeaky. She was murdered, exactly the same way as Mickey Parfitt—strangled and put in the river, up at Chiswick.”
    “Gawd Almighty, woman!” Squeaky exploded. “What d’you want to go and say that for, in front of the boy? Sometimes you’re a cold-hearted mare, and that’s the truth!”
    Scuff charged forward, fists clenched, glaring at Squeaky across the table. “Don’t yer dare talk to ’er like that, yer bleedin’ worm! Yer in’t fit ter clean ’er boots …”
    Hester thought of pulling him back, and then decided not to. She could not rob him of the right to defend them both, but she had to bite her lip to hide a weak smile.
    Squeaky backed off a little, only a matter of leaning away while still in his chair.
    “Y’in’t fit ter …” Scuff went on. Then he drew in his breath andregarded Squeaky with disgust. “D’yer think I’m some kind o’ baby, then, that you can’t tell me the truth? Yer gotta pretend, as if yer think I can ’ear yer?”
    Squeaky considered for a moment. “I grant that, pound for pound, you’re worse than a wild cat,” he opined. “Never mind defending you, I should be looking after myself from the pair of you.” He turned to Hester, his eyes bright with a strange, almost embarrassed amusement, as if he were pleased but did not want them to know. “And how are you going to find out who took poor Hattie to the door and pushed her out, then?”
    “I’m going to ask,” Hester replied. “We will begin with a full account of who was here, when they arrived, and what they did, exactly.”
    “Like the bleeding police,” Squeaky said with disgust.
    Hester caught Scuff just as he was about to launch forward at Squeaky again, his fists clenched.
    “Yes,” she agreed. “What did you expect? That I would first ask everyone nicely if they’d set Hattie up to be murdered?”
    “I s’pose you want me to write it all down?” he said accusingly. “Don’t blame me if they all walk out in a huff.”
    Hester thought of several retorts, and bit them all off before she said them. She needed his help.
    “Who was in that day?”
    “You think I can remember?” he countered.
    “I think you will know exactly who was here, what they did that was useful, and how much they ate,” she replied. “I shall be disappointed in my judgment of your skills if you don’t.”
    He considered that a moment or two, weighing up her precise meaning. Then he decided to take it as a compliment, and dug his books out of the desk drawer, finding the appropriate pages for the day of Hattie’s disappearance.
    Scuff watched him, fascinated.
    “Does ’e ’ave it all there, in them little squiggles o’ writing?” Scuff whispered to her.
    “Yes. Marvelous, isn’t it?” she replied.
    Scuff gave her a sideways look. She had not yet persuaded him of the necessity of learning to read. He could count. He considered that to be enough.
    Squeaky read out who was resident and who had arrived that morning and at what time. He also listed what duties they had performed, and if, in his opinion, they had been requisitely appreciated for their efforts.
    Hester made a couple of notes on a piece of paper, borrowing his pencil for the task, then set out to question each person in turn.
    To begin with the people were defensive, imagining their work was under attack, and frightened of losing the safety of food and a place to sleep.
    Scuff followed Hester most of the time, as if he were protecting her, although he had no idea from