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"No—no, it is an observation," he said sharply. "You found this gruesome relic somewhere on Hampstead Heath in an unspecified tree. All we know is that it is within walking distance of Green Man Hill. Is there anything to indicate how long it had been there—except that it is obviously more than ten or eleven years? Could it have been twenty-five? Or, say, thirty? Or even fifty years, Mrs. Monk?"
She stared back at him without flinching. "I am not qualified to say, Mr. Tobias. You will have to ask Sergeant Robb, or even the police surgeon. However, my husband is examining the boots and has an idea that they may be able to prove something. Buttons have a design, you know."
"Your husband is an expert in buttons for ladies’ boots?" he asked.
"He is an expert in detection of facts from the evidence," she answered coolly. "He will know whom to ask."
"No doubt. And he may be willing to pursue ladies’ boot buttons with tirel
ess endeavor," Tobias said sarcastically. "But we have to deal with the evidence we have, and deduce from it reasonable conclusions. Is there anything in your knowledge, Mrs. Monk, to prove that this unfortunate woman whose body you found has anything to do with the murders of James Treadwell and of Mrs. Verona Stourbridge?"
"Yes! You said Miriam Gardiner was talking nonsense because no body of a woman was ever found on Hampstead Heath such as she described. Well, now it has. She was not lying, nor was she out of her wits. There was a murder. Since she described it, it is the most reasonable thing to suppose that she witnessed it, exactly as she said."
"There is the body of a woman," Tobias corrected her. "We do not know if it was murder, although I accept that it may very well have been. But we do not know who she was, what happened to her, and still less do we know when it happened. Much as you would like to believe it is some support to the past virtue of Miriam Gardiner, Mrs. Monk—and your charity does you credit, and indeed your loyalty—it does not clear her of this charge." He spread his hands in a gesture of finality, smiled at the jury, and returned to his seat.
Rathbone stood up and looked at Hester.
"Mrs. Monk, you were at this tree on the Heath and made this gruesome discovery; therefore you know the place, whereas we can only imagine. Tell us, is there any way whatever that this unfortunate woman could have sustained this appalling blow to her head and then placed herself inside the tree?"
"No, of course not." Her voice derided the idea.
"She was murdered and her body was afterwards hidden, and it happened long enough ago that the flesh has decomposed and most of the fabric of her clothes has rotted?" Rathbone made absolutely certain.
"Yes."
"And she was killed by a violent blow to the head, in apparently exactly the same manner as James Treadwell and poor Mrs. Stourbridge?"
"Yes."
"Thank you, Mrs. Monk." He turned to the judge. "I believe, my lord, that this evidence lends a great deal more credibility to Mrs. Gardiner’s original account, and that in the interest of justice we need to know who that woman was and if her death is connected with those murders of which Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Anderson presently stand charged."
The judge looked across at Tobias.
Tobias was already on his feet. "Yes, my lord, of course. Mr. Campbell has informed me that he is willing to testify again and explain all that he can, if it will assist the court. Indeed, since what has been said may leave in certain people’s minds suspicion as to his own role, he wishes to have the opportunity to speak."
"That would be most desirable," the judge agreed. "Please have Mr. Campbell return to the stand."
Aiden Campbell looked tired and strained as he climbed the steps again, but Rathbone, watching, could see no fear in him. He faced the court with sadness but confidence, and his voice was quite steady when he answered Tobias’s questions.
"No, I have no idea who the woman is, poor creature, nor how long she has been there. It would seem from the state of the body, and the clothes, that it was at least ten years."
"Have you any idea how she came by her death, Mr. Campbell?" Tobias pressed.
"None at all, except that from Mrs. Monk’s description of the wound, it sounds distressingly like those inflicted on Treadwell, and"—he hesitated, and this time his composure nearly cracked—"upon my sister..."
"Please," Tobias said gently. "Allow yourself a few moments, Mr. Campbell. Would you like a glass of water?"
"No—no thank you." Campbell straightened up. "I beg your pardon. I was going to say that this woman’s death may be connected. Possibly she also was a nurse, and may have become aware of the thefts of medicine from the hospital. Perhaps she either threatened to tell the authorities or maybe she tried her hand at blackmail..." He did not need to finish the sentence, his meaning was only too apparent.
"Just so." Tobias inclined his head in thanks, turned to the jury with a little smile, then went back to his table.
There was silence in the gallery. Everyone was looking towards Rathbone, waiting to see what he would do.
He glanced around, playing for time, hoping some shred of an idea would come to him and not look too transparently desperate. He saw Harry Stourbridge’s face, colorless and earnest, watching him with hope in his eyes. Beside him, Lucius looked like a ghost.
There was a stir as the outside doors opened, and everyone craned to see who it was.
Monk came in. He nodded very slightly.
