William Monk 19 - Blind Justice

seems to be both repetitive and irrelevant. If you have anything of use to ask Mrs. Monk, please do so. If not, then release her and prepare to present your closing argument.” The case was lost. Warne was not going to use the photograph. Perhaps in a way that was a relief. This attempt to humiliate Rathbone was Warne’s way of expressing his revulsion at the fact that he had been shown the photograph at all.
    “Yes, my lord,” Warne said dutifully. “I shall come more immediately to the point. I apologize if I appeared to be … meandering.” He looked at Hester. “Mrs. Monk, my learned friend has made more than one reference to the unfortunate case of Jericho Phillips, in which you gave evidence that was less than sufficient for the jury to find him guilty. Mr. Gavinton seems to feel that it somehow detracts from the value of your testimony now. Mr. Drew has spoken at length of the moral and emotional”—he hesitated, looking for the right word—“fragilityof the witnesses against Mr. Taft. He has as much as said that they are lightly balanced, prone to misunderstanding and exaggeration, and therefore not to be trusted. He has included you in that category. I feel it is only right that you should have the opportunity to give any testimony that would refute that, and restore your good name—and of course your reliability as a witness.”
    Rathbone stiffened. What on earth was Warne trying to do? It was too late for this.
    Hester said nothing. From her expression she had no idea what she could say or do that would matter now. She had been here a couple of times, but she probably knew from Josephine Raleigh, who had been here every day, that the case had already been lost. Reputations were destroyed beyond rebuilding.
    Warne smiled at her, but it was sadly, as if he were apologizing for something.
    “Mrs. Monk, I regret having to remind you of what can only be a painful memory for you, but much has been made of your failure to testify against Jericho Phillips with sufficient clarity of thought to secure his conviction. Sir Oliver Rathbone appeared for Phillips at that time and pretty well destroyed you on the stand.”
    “I remember,” Hester said a little huskily. She was very pale.
    Rathbone racked his mind for anything he could say to stop this.
    Gavinton sat with a slow smile spreading across his face, unctuous and satisfied.
    “Why were you so … careless in your preparation to testify? Surely you wished Phillips to be found guilty?”
    “Of course I did.” Her voice was charged with emotion now, and her shoulders were high and awkward.
    There was nothing Rathbone could do to help her.
    “I was careless,” she went on suddenly. “I was so certain he was guilty that—”
    “Guilty of what, Mrs. Monk?” Warne interrupted her.
    “Guilty of using children,” she said sharply. “Boys unwanted bytheir families, orphans or ones whose parents couldn’t look after them, all of them between five years and eleven or twelve years old. He imprisoned them on his riverboat and had the men who frequented the boat pose for pornographic photographs, which he later used to blackmail them—”
    Warne held his hand up again to stop her.
    “I find it highly unbelievable that anyone would allow themselves to be photographed if they were engaging in such horrible acts, Mrs. Monk. You are stretching the limits of credibility.”
    “Phillips ran a club for wealthy and influential men,” she told him, her voice now sharp with distress. “Men whose ordinary lives no longer gave them the thrill of danger they hungered for. The price of membership in the club was to have the photographs taken. It also ensured that none of the other members would betray the club or one another—they were all in the same situation.”
    “Very clever,” Warne said bitterly. “I can see why the whole matter angered you to the point that you lost your sense of judgment. But in order to obtain a conviction you had to prove that a crime had taken place and that the person accused was responsible. Where did you slip up in this?”
    Gavinton stood up again. “My lord, that is irrelevant.” He sounded weary, as if his patience had been tried to the utmost. “We all know that Mrs. Monk did indeed fail in that endeavor. I do not contest it. There is nothing to be gained by repeating the miserable affair, and Mrs. Monk herself can only be embarrassed by it. Mr. Warne is wasting our time.”
    Rathbone felt the sweat trickling down