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“Yes, sir. I've heard rumor of it already. But then he may be one of Phillips's customers, or in the pay of one.”
Farnham looked as if Monk had slapped him, but he did not retaliate. It was himself he was furious with, because he had not thought of it. “He even put up the possibility that Durban was a partner in Phillips's trade,” he said bitterly. “And his pursuit of Phillips was in order to take over all of it. That's what he'll write, if we don't find a way of stopping him.” His shoulders hunched tightly, as if every muscle in his body were knotted. “Tell me, Monk, don't leave me defenseless when I talk to this bastard. What did you find out about Durban? We can't afford dignity now, for the living or the dead. I won't tell him, but I need to know, or I can't defend any of us.”
Monk weighed his trust and his loyalties. He needed to trust Farnham, for the sake of the future. “He lied about his family, sir,” he admitted. “Said his father was a schoolmaster in Essex. Actually I don't think he knew who his father was. His mother died in a foundling hospital, giving birth to him. He grew up there. He was put out in the streets to earn his own way when he was eight. That's why he had such compassion for mudlarks and other children, or women on their own, the hungry, the frightened, the abused. It was fellow feeling. He'd known it himself.”
“Oh, God!” Farnham ran his hands through his sparse hair. “Any crime known against him? And tell me the truth, Monk. If I get caught in a lie just once they'll never believe me again.”
“Not known, sir,” Monk said reluctantly. “But friends of his robbed a bank. Bad associates. Growing up in the streets, that's unavoidable. It was just after that that he joined the River Police.”
“Thank God. Now who is this Mary Webber he was hell bent on finding? Childhood sweetheart? Common-law wife? What?”
“Sister, sir. Older sister. She was adopted, but the family who took her, the woman was crippled and couldn't cope with a baby, so he was left behind. Mary used to save up pennies and send them to him. They lost touch when she married and later discovered her husband was a thief. She was too ashamed to let Durban know that. The hospital gave him the name of Durban, after one of their benefactors who happened to be from Africa. She changed her name when she married, and then again when her husband's creditors came after her.”
“Where is she now?”
“I know, but it's irrelevant, sir. She's safe, for the time being.”
Farnham blasphemed gently. “I apologize, Monk. You did a superb job finding out about Durban. I hope nobody but me ever has to know about it. I'll put a flea in this newspaperman's ear that will keep him busy, and far away from us for as long as possible. If he speaks to you, tell him you are under orders, on pain of losing your job, to say nothing. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“You'll keep me informed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Monk told Orme briefly what Farnham had said, and was only just outside the station walking towards the stairs down to where the police boat was waiting when a man approached him. He was ordinary, slightly shambling, impossible to describe so he would be known again. He wore an old seaman's jacket, shapeless enough to hide his build, and a cap on his head, which hid his hair. His eyes were narrowed against the bright light off the water.
“Commander Monk?” he said politely.
Monk stopped. “Yes?”
“Got a message fer yer, sir.”
“From whom?”
“Din't give me no more, sir. Said as yer'd know.” The man's voice was innocent, even courteous, but there was something knowing in his manner, and the creases that almost concealed his eyes suggested a sneer.
“What's the message?” Monk asked, then half wished he had refus
ed to listen. “Never mind. If you can't tell me who it's from, maybe it doesn't matter.”
“Gotta deliver it, sir,” the man insisted. “Paid ter do it. Wouldn't reckon my chances if I mess wi’ this gentleman. Nasty, he would be, real nasty … if yer get my meanin’?” He looked up at Monk and he was definitely smiling now. “Glad ter see yer listenin’, sir. Save my neck maybe. Gentleman said ter tell yer ter back off the Durban case, whatever that is? D'you know?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see yer do. ‘E said it would be best people think like they do, ‘cause Durban did wot ‘e did. Otherwise, this gentleman said ‘e'd make the ‘ole thing public. Said ‘e ‘as all the evidence that yer took on this Durban's job wi’ the police, wi’ all ‘is papers and things. An’ yer took over ‘is other interests an’ all, the business o’ getting little boys, that is. Yer got one special trained up fer yerself, an’ all. Clean and bright, ‘e is. Go down a treat wi’ certain gentlemen wi’ special tastes. Scuff, I think ‘e called ‘im. That sound right to yer, sir?”
Monk felt sick to his stomach, his body cold. It was obscene, as if a filthy hand had reached out and touched everything that was decent and precious, staining them with its own dirt. He wanted to lash out at the man, hit him so hard he broke that leering face and left it a bloody pulp so he would never smile again, never speak clearly enough to say words anyone could distinguish.
But that would be exactly what he wanted. And he was probably not unarmed. An attack would be the perfect excuse to knife him in the stomach. It would be self-defense. Another example of River Police brutality. He could say honestly that he had accused Monk of procuring a small boy for Phillips's use. Who could prove otherwise?
Was this what Durban had faced, threats of blackmail? Do what I want, or I'll paint every decent act of compassion as an obscenity. The accusation will stain your name. Because of their own filth, there will be those who believe it. You will be unable to do your job. I'll cripple you.
Or do what I say, turn a blind eye to the cases I tell you to, and I'll keep quiet. And when you've turned away from some, out of fear of me, I'll have another unbreakable thread to bind you with, and this one will be true. You will have denied your duty, corrupted yourself to stay safe.
“I hear you,” Monk replied. “Tell your paymaster to go to hell.”
“Oh, very unwise, Mr. Monk, sir. Very unwise.” The man shook his head, still smiling. “I'd think again on that, if I were yer.”
“You probably would,” Monk agreed. “But then you are obviously for sale. I am not. Tell him to go to hell.”
The man hesitated only seconds, then realized that he would gain nothing by remaining, and turned and went away at a surprisingly rapid pace.
