William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

He was speaking the truth. The industrialist he mentioned had steadily refused to yield until the judgment went against him. I also know the photograph existed because I have seen it.”
    “That is very frightening indeed,” Brancaster said grimly. “But it does not explain how you come to have these photographs now.”
    “I was still horrified,” Rathbone went on. He knew there was no escape now. It was far too late. “I participated in the closure of the two different clubs involved. The whole situation included the murder of a man who ran one of them, a man named Mickey Parfitt. It was investigated by the police. The man was of the dregs of humanity, but murder is still a crime, no matter who the victim or who the offender.”
    He looked at last at Margaret, and saw her staring back at him. Her face was twisted in anger and so white she seemed bloodless. There was no going back now.
    “Sir Oliver …” Brancaster prompted him again.
    “The man accused of the murder was prosecuted,” Rathbone resumed. He was finding it difficult to speak. His mouth was so dry it was blurring his words. “I was asked to defend him, and to begin with I believed him innocent. Then another person was also murdered, a young woman who was no more than a witness. It soon became clear that her death was planned by this man, in order to keep her from testifying. But I still did all I could to defend him, because that was my duty before the law, no matter what my own feelings. I tried everything I could think of, but I failed. He was found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged.”
    Brancaster did not move or speak. No one in the entire court seemed to do more than breathe.
    “He asked me after the sentence was handed down to visit him,” Rathbone went on. His voice suddenly sounded loud in his own ears. “I did so. That was when he told me of the existence of scores more photographs. He said that if I did not find a way to save him from the rope they would fall into the hands of someone he trusted, and the blackmail would go on. I would have no power to stop it, and the foundations of everything we value would be undermined. He told me there werejudges; government ministers; bishops; leaders of industry, science, and the army and navy; even distant members of the royal family involved, if not captured in the pictures themselves.”
    Rathbone felt again the desperation with which he, Hester, and Monk had searched everywhere they could think of for those damned photographs.
    “And you found them?” Brancaster asked in the total silence that followed.
    “No,” Rathbone replied. “I went back to plead with him, and … and I found him murdered in prison.” The horror of that scene crept over his skin again like an infestation of lice. “It … it made me realize just how wide and how deep this circle of corruption went. The police never found out who killed him.”
    “But you did not find the photographs?” Brancaster’s voice cracked as he spoke.
    “No,” Rathbone answered. “That was the bitter irony. They found me. The man had left them with his solicitor, left them to me in his will, to be delivered to me as a final punishment for not having saved him.”
    Brancaster smiled bitterly. “And this man you refer to—that would be your father-in-law, Arthur Ballinger?”
    “Yes,” Rathbone said huskily. “It would.”
    In her seat in the second row, Margaret sat like stone, as if she would never move again.
    Rathbone would have spared her that. But there was nothing he could do. The reality was there in the courtroom like something alive, unstoppable.
    “Thank you, Sir Oliver,” Brancaster said with a sigh. He turned to Wystan.
    Wystan rose to his feet stiffly.
    “It paints a very clear picture, my lord. I imagine Mr. Brancaster will be calling other witnesses to verify your story. For the sake of many people who may be implicated, I would like to reserve my questions until that has been done.”
    York, his face full of anger, adjourned the court.

CHAPTER
17
    T HE NEXT PERSON TO testify was Monk. He walked across the floor and climbed up the steps, trying to look grave but unconcerned. He certainly did not feel that way. Brancaster was taking an extraordinary gamble, but it was perhaps the only move they had. He had a strong idea of what Brancaster was going to do, but Brancaster had deliberately not prepared him. He said he wanted it to sound unrehearsed, almost as if Monk, too, had been taken by surprise.
    The