William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss

them. If he did, he would draw the jury’s attention, and he might regret that later. Even one fleeting expression that looked like arrogance or indifference could be interpreted as guilt, however little it actually meant. Better that they watch Monk.
    “Yes,” Monk answered. “We boarded it with very little difficulty. It was just a matter of coming alongside, tying our boat, and climbing up the ropes. The main hatch was locked, so we broke it open and went down the steps—”
    “You mean the ladder?” Winchester interrupted. “Would you describe it for us, please?”
    Rathbone hated this, but he must keep it from showing in his face. The jury would watch him too. From the way in which Winchester had asked the question, and the horror in Monk’s face, it was clear that the answer to the question mattered.
    Monk was standing stiffly, his hands now on the railing in front of him, holding on to it as if for balance. His face was pale, eyes hard, lips drawn back a little. From his manner he was in some pain that he could barely control.
    “The boat was about fifty feet long, as near as I could judge,” he began quietly. “I did not measure it. There appeared to be three decks including the open deck on top. This later proved to be the case. There was one mast, and a wheelhouse. We went down the first hatch, which was wide and gave easy access. The way down was not a ladder. It was strong and comfortable steps, which led into a large room fitted out rather like the bar of a gentleman’s club. We found alcohol in the cupboards, and several dozens of glasses.”
    Rathbone saw the jury staring at Monk, puzzled as to why this very ordinary-sounding account was of any importance at all, let alone should stir the emotions of horror that were so clearly in Monk’s face and his voice, even in the attitude of his body.
    Rathbone felt his stomach twist. He knew exactly what Monk was doing.
    “Please continue,” Winchester prompted, his voice grave. He was an unconsciously elegant man with his height, good shoulders, and unusually handsome hair.
    “The other half of that deck was a second room roughly the same size,” Monk went on. “But it was arranged rather like a theatre, with a stage at the far end—just a bare platform, and lights.”
    “A curtain?” Winchester asked. “Room for musical players?”
    Monk winced. “No curtain, no music.”
    Winchester nodded.
    The judge grew more impatient. “Mr. Winchester, is this leading somewhere?”
    “Yes, my lord, I am afraid it is. Mr. Monk?”
    “We went down to the deck below that.” Monk’s voice dropped and he spoke more rapidly, as if he wanted to get it over with. “There were several small cabins, no more than cubicles, each big enough to hold a bed. In the room at the back we found a locked door, which we forced open. Inside the space were four small boys, aged from four to seven years old …”
    There was a gasp from the body of the courtroom. A woman in a brown dress and bonnet gave a cry and instantly put her hand over her mouth to stifle it.
    One of the jurors let out his breath in a low sigh.
    “They were white-faced, crouched together”—Monk’s voice cracked—“and terrified. We had to convince them that we did not intend to hurt them. They were cold, starved, and half-naked.”
    Winchester glanced at the judge and frowned at Monk, as though he would ask Monk if he was exaggerating. Then after several seconds of meeting Monk’s eyes, he rubbed his hand over his own face and shook his head.
    “I see. What did you do then, Mr. Monk?”
    “Made every arrangement I could to get the children evacuated, fed, clothed, and safe for the night,” Monk replied. “There were fourteen in all. We got in touch with a foundling hospital that would take them until they could be identified and, if they had homes, returned to them.”
    “Where did they come from?” Winchester asked, making no attempt to hide his own distress.
    If you had dropped a pin in the room, the sound of it would have been heard.
    “Up and down the river,” Monk said. “Orphans, unwanted children, ones whose own parents couldn’t feed them.”
    Winchester shivered. “When did they get to this boat? What were they doing there?”
    “They were found and picked up at different times. They were used to participate in various sexual acts with older boys or men, for the entertainment of Mr. Parfitt’s clients. These acts were—”
    Rathbone rose to his feet.
    The judge