William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

bruised, suddenly tired. “How many weeks?”
    “I don’t know. Four, maybe five. Why? It hardly matters,” Claudine replied.
    “You’re sure you gave it to Margaret?” Hester insisted.
    “Yes, of course I am.”
    “She actually got all those things for you?”
    “Yes. If she hadn’t, I would have written it out again. But I didn’t have to. What is this about, Hester? Is something missing?”
    “No. Nothing at all. It doesn’t have to do with the clinic.”
    “I don’t understand.” Claudine looked thoroughly puzzled.
    Hester shook her head a little. “You don’t want to,” she said gently. “It’s the message on the other side that’s important, not this. What happened to the list after she brought you the items on it?”
    “I’ve no idea. I didn’t see it again after I gave it to her.”
    “You didn’t check off the items against it?” Hester suggested.
    “I had the receipts from the apothecary. Those are all I need for the ledger.”
    “Are you quite sure you didn’t ever see the list again?”
    “Not until now. Why?”
    “Thank you.” Hester gave her a tiny smile, almost more of a grimace, and went out of the room, closing the door softly.
    She gave the list back to Monk.
    He waited.
    “It’s Claudine’s list for Margaret to shop from,” she told him. “Margaret never gave it back, because Claudine took the prices from the apothecary’s receipts.” She swallowed hard. “I wish it weren’t.”
    “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave it. If it’s Ballinger, I must still find him, not for Parfitt’s sake but because of the children.”
    She nodded. “Oliver will defend him. He can’t refuse.” She watched Monk’s face. “We’ll have to have irrefutable proof.”
    R UPERT C ARDEW CLOSED THE door of the morning room behind him and stared at Monk. He still looked tired, as if the shock of arrest had not completely left him, even though he was now free. However, he was composed and courteous, and, as always, beautifully dressed.
    “What can I do for you, Mr. Monk?” he asked.
    Monk felt churlish, and it put him at a disadvantage.
    “I apologize. What I have to ask you is extremely unpleasant, but this is a case I cannot afford to leave.”
    Rupert looked surprised. “Really? You care so much that Parfitt is dead?”
    “On the contrary. If that were all, I would be delighted to turn my time to something more important,” Monk admitted. “But I want to find the man behind the blackmail.”
    Rupert smiled very slightly, not in amusement but in self-criticism. “Are you going to warn me that I am still vulnerable? I assure you, I know that.”
    “I assumed you were aware of it, Mr. Cardew,” Monk told him. “That is not why I came.”
    “Oh?” Rupert looked surprised, but not worried.
    “I need to know a great deal more from you than you have told me so far,” Monk replied. “I’m sorry.” He meant the apology more than Cardew would understand, or believe.
    “I don’t know anything more,” Rupert said simply. “I really have no idea who killed Parfitt. For God’s sake, man, don’t you think I’d have told you already if I did?”
    “Of course, if you had realized, or thought for a moment that I would believe you. I think it was Arthur Ballinger who did it; if not personally, then by using one of Parfitt’s own men.” He saw Cardew start with surprise, and ignored it. “But I have to prove it beyond any doubt,” he continued. “If Ballinger is charged, he will be defended by Oliver Rathbone, and I know from experience that Rathbone could get even Jericho Phillips off. How hard do you imagine he is going to fight for his father-in-law?”
    Rupert’s mouth tightened, and the corners went down. “I see. But I still don’t know anything.”
    “You know about the trade,” Monk said grimly.
    Rupert blushed. “I don’t know about his side of it.”
    “I didn’t expect you to. I can deduce a good deal of that. I need to know his clients, how the blackmail was paid, the sort of amounts, and exactly what the performances were like and who attended.”
    Rupert went white.
    Monk ignored that also. “And I need to know about the suicide a few months ago. What led up to it?”
    “I can’t tell you that!” Rupert was appalled. “That would be a … betrayal.”
    “I knew you would see it that way,” Monk said quietly. “Yes. You would, in a sense, be betraying the other men who used the abuse of children for their