William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

expecting—indeed, requiring—a swift and completely decisive conclusion. The sooner it was ended, the sooner the hysteria would die down and the newspapers turn their attention to something else. There must be no doubt as to justice being done, with no unseemly behavior, and above all, absolutely no chance for an appeal.
    The counsel for the prosecution looked grim and full of confidence, as if already spoiling for a fight. Sorley Coniston was in his late forties, taller than Rathbone and heavier, smooth-faced. When he smiled there was a slight gap between his front teeth, which was not unattractive. He was almost handsome. Only a certain arrogance in his manner spoiled the grace with which he rose to call his first witness.
    As expected, it was Sergeant Orme of the Thames River Police. Rathbone had known it would be, but it still puzzled him that Coniston had chosen Orme rather than Monk.
    Then, as he saw Orme’s solid, calm face when he climbed the steps to the witness box and looked down at the floor of the court, he understood the choice. Monk was lean and elegant. He couldn’t help it. The air of command was in him: in the angle of his head, the bones of his face, his remarkable eyes. Orme was ordinary. No one would think him devious or overly clever. He would be believed. Anyone attacking his honesty would do more harm to themselves than to him.
    Coniston walked out into the center of the floor and looked up at Orme, who was already sworn in and had given his name and his rank.
    “Sergeant Orme,” Coniston began courteously, as if they were equals. “Will you please tell the court of your experience on the morning of the twenty-fourth of November, as you approached Limehouse Pier? Describe the scene for those of us who have not been there.”
    Orme had been prepared for this, but he was uncomfortable nonetheless. It was obvious in his face, and the way he leaned forward a little, both hands gripping the rail. Rathbone knew it was the request for a description of something he was not used to putting into words for others, that made him behave so. To the jury it would look like distress at what he had seen. Coniston was already preparing them for the horror.Rathbone was impressed. He could easily have taken less trouble and assumed the mood would follow naturally.
    “Mr. Monk and I were coming back from looking into a robbery farther up the river,” Orme began.
    “Just two of you?” Coniston asked. “Were you rowing?”
    “Both of us,” Orme answered. “One behind the other, sir, an oar each.”
    “I see. Thank you. What time of day was it? What was the light?” Coniston asked.
    “Early sunrise, sir. Lot of color in the sky, and across the water, too.” Orme was clearly unhappy.
    “Were you close in to shore, or out in the current?” Coniston continued.
    “Close in to shore, sir. Out in the stream an’ you’d be in the way of shipping, ferries an’ the like.”
    “In the shadow of the docks and warehouses? Paint the picture for us, Sergeant Orme, if you please.”
    Orme shifted his weight to the other foot. “About twenty yards out, sir. Buildings sort of … looming up, but we were not in their shadow. Water was smoother closer to shore. Out of the wind.”
    “I see. You describe it well,” Coniston said graciously. “So you and Commander Monk were rowing back to Wapping after being called out before dawn. It was cool. The breeze made the river choppy except close to shore, almost in the shadow of the docks and the warehouses, rising sun spilling red light on the smooth, dark water around you?”
    Orme’s face tightened as if the attention to beauty in the circumstances were distasteful to him. “Something like that, sir.”
    “Did anything occur that caused you to stop?”
    There was absolute silence in the courtroom, apart from the slight rustle of a skirt as someone shifted position.
    “Yes, sir. We heard a woman crying out, on Limehouse Pier. She was screaming, and waving her arms. We couldn’t see why until we got right up to the pier and climbed the steps to the top. There was the body of a woman lying crumpled up on her side. Her … the body’d been ripped open and there was blood soaking her clothes …” He could not finish, not only because of his own emotion, but also becauseof the rising sound of gasps and groans from the body of the courtroom. In the gallery a woman was already crying, and there was a murmur of voices trying to offer comfort and telling