William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

dropped it. But there was no trail of blood leading to where he lay. And why on earth would you throw a knife away after you’ve cut your wrists? Would you even have the strength to hold it, let alone hurl it far enough so no one would find it?”
    Monk tried to imagine it, and could not.
    “What time was it?” Monk asked.
    “Early morning, about nine when I got there.”
    “Then whoever found him must have found him very early,” Monkobserved. “About seven or so. What were they doing in the park on One Tree Hill at seven on an October morning?”
    “Out walking,” Runcorn answered. “Exercise. Hadn’t slept well and went out to clear his head before the day, so he told us.”
    “Could he have taken the knife?”
    “Not unless he’s a lunatic,” Runcorn said drily. “Come on, Monk! What sane man steals the knife a suicide has just slashed his wrists with? He was a respectable middle-aged man. Worked for the government at something, I don’t remember what, but he told us.”
    “For the government?” Monk said quickly.
    Runcorn caught his meaning. “I looked for blood leading to the place. There wasn’t any. And the knife wasn’t ever found. I looked for it everywhere within a hundred yards of where he was. It’s open ground. If it had been there we’d have seen it.”
    “An animal carried it away?” Monk suggested without conviction.
    Runcorn curved his lips down. “Taking the knife but not disturbing the blood on the corpse? You’re slipping, Monk!”
    “So who took the knife, and why? What were they doing there? Was it at the time of this death, or afterward?” Monk gave words to what he knew they were both thinking. “That’s where we begin. There’s a lot to follow.”
    “I’ll go back over the witnesses,” Runcorn offered, his face bleak. “We’ll have to be discreet, as if we’re trying to close any door in the face of this new trial. The government men were …” He shrugged. “I assumed they were strong-arming me out of compassion for the Lambourns, but now it’s beginning to look as if that was their guise for keeping me out.”
    Monk nodded. “I’m taking some time off. It’s overdue. Give me the names and addresses of witnesses, and I’ll say exactly that: I’m trying to make certain that Dinah Lambourn’s defense doesn’t open anything up.” He was not certain if the excuse would be believed, or if he would be fobbed off with the same stories, but he could think of no better way to start their investigation.
    He bade Runcorn farewell, and thanked Melisande. Then he went out into the darkness of the quiet street, prepared to walk until he couldfind a hansom to take him home, although in truth it was not so very far.
    M ONK BEGAN THE NEXT morning by telling Orme what he was about to do. Then he went back to Greenwich determined to speak directly to the people who had seen Lambourn’s body. He had not previously been given the name of the man who had discovered Lambourn, but now he had it from Runcorn. This time he would also persist until he found Constable Watkins, the first policeman on the scene, wherever he was on duty, or off.
    He would also go back to Dr. Wembley. He could say it was to protect his own case against any accusations Dinah might make. He half acknowledged to himself that he hoped to find that Lambourn had not committed suicide, either over his failure to produce a report that the government would be obliged to accept, or because his personal life had crumbled to pieces around him. But that acknowledgment annoyed him—he was made of better fiber than to be so sentimental.
    He walked briskly in the pale sun, but it was nearly ten o’clock when he reached the quiet, well-ordered office of Mr. Edgar Petherton, just off Trafalgar Road. This was the man who had found Lambourn’s body, and Monk introduced himself and explained to him immediately who he was.
    Petherton was in his fifties, but already silver-haired. His eyes were unexpectedly dark, his features showing both humor and intelligence. He invited Monk to sit down in one of the two handsome, leather-upholstered chairs by the fire, while he took the other.
    “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked. His voice was quiet and full of curiosity. “Are you sure it is me you wish to speak to, and not my brother? He works in the Naval College. His name is Eustace. We are occasionally confused.”
    “I might be in error,” Monk admitted. “Was it you or your brother who was walking