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Had he spoken more angrily Monk would have been less moved by his words. He had no memory of his own father and wondered with a rush of nostalgia, even grief, if he had been a man anything like Henry Rathbone. If he had, and Monk could remember it, would he himself be a better man?
Hester was standing also, regarding Henry with the same emotion in her eyes as Monk felt. She was a gift Monk had been given and Oliver Rathbone had not. One makes oneself a better man, in part by the example of those you love, and in part by the act of loving them. He was well aware of how lucky he was.
“We will have no mercy for them at all if they enter into this case,” he said. “We have adopted one of those boys, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he has adopted us. One day, when this is over, I would like to bring him to meet you, if you would agree?”
Henry’s face lit with a smile that made him momentarily almost beautiful.
“I should be delighted. Please don’t forget to do that.”
Monk had not even looked at Hester to see if she approved. He did now, and saw her eyes bright with tears.
The following evening they visited Henry Rathbone again. He had the photographs, and they spent a grim hour going through them. It was a sick and wretched exercise, but they were able to identify all the men in them, mostly from the coded notes on the back written in Ballinger’s hand.
Henry made a note of the names. They did not include Rufus Brancaster, or anyone who might reasonably be assumed to be connected with him. Monk had made inquiries and now knew the names of most of Brancaster’s associates, including, as much as possible, anyone to whom he might owe a favor or who might be related to him.
They celebrated the relief with a bottle of red wine, a plate of oatmeal biscuits, and very fine Brie, following it with plum pie and thick cream.
The morning after that they went to see Rufus Brancaster. Because of the importance of the case, and although he was busy, he did not keep them waiting for more than fifteen minutes.
Monk was surprised. He had expected a much older man, and for the first few moments he was worried that Henry’s choice was not a good one. But then it was possible that older and more established lawyers might have declined the case. It would take a degree of courage, even recklessness, to defend Rathbone. As this thought was in his mind, Monk realized that although he could understand Rathbone’s actions, and might even have done the same thing himself, he most certainly believed Rathbone was at least legally guilty. It settled inside him with an ugly coldness.
Brancaster wasted no time in niceties.
“Tell me about the Jericho Phillips case, and how Ballinger was involved in the whole mess,” he said, nodding toward Hester out of courtesy but directing his attention to Monk. “Briefly, but don’t leave out anything important.”
He did not interrupt while Monk spoke, but he did look at Hester once or twice, and with a new respect.
“And where are these photographs now?” he said finally.
“Henry Rathbone has them. I left them in his keeping. Yesterday we studied them, to see whom we recognized-for obvious reasons.”
Brancaster looked anxious. “And you’re sure he still has them?”
“Yes. He promised me he would not store them in his home, or anywhere else where they could be destroyed. He also swore no one else would have access to them. But I don’t know exactly where he put them.”
“Good. Did looking at the prints tell you anything of value?”
“Yes,” Monk said with a grim smile. “You’re not in them.”
The pen Brancaster had been holding slid out of his hands. “God in heaven!” he gasped. “Did you bloody well think I was?” He did not even think to apologize to Hester for his language.
It was she who replied to him. “No. But thinking is not enough. And it is not only a question of if you were in them, it’s whether you might care about, or owe some favor to, someone who was.” She smiled very slightly.
“I was going to tell you how bad it is,” Brancaster said bleakly, this time to Hester, “but it seems you know already, maybe even better than I do. We are going to have to dig in for a long battle, and I can’t promise that we’ll win. We would need a great deal of goodwill for that. Technically Sir Oliver crossed the line. He did go behind the defense’s back and give seriously prejudicial information to the defense only, when in fact he should have recused himself. It would be absurd to say that he didn’t foresee how Warne would use it, or even that he didn’t intend it. Clearly he did. And while most decent men would say he did the right thing morally, legally they could punish him quite severely. And after you’ve told me what I already feared about the photographs, it’s clear a lot of people will be nervous and probably overreact.”
“So what are we going to do?” Hester asked him without hesitation.
Although Brancaster’s smile was rueful, even twisted, it gave a new life to his face, a vitality and softness that had not been there before.
“I’m glad you didn’t ask me if I was looking for a way to back out of the case,” he said with a slight gesture of his hands. “I’m going to ask you for a list of the names of those in the photographs, so I also know whom not to trust. Are there any acting judges?”
“Yes,” Monk said immediately. “And whether you are prepared to or not, I am perfectly willing to use that information should one of them be called to preside in Rathbone’s trial.” He smiled bleakly, more of a grimace. “In a legal manner, and well before the trial, of course.”
Brancaster bit his lip. “I believe you. But that won’t alter the fact that many members of the judiciary will be against Sir Oliver, in spite of the fact that they won’t take much to Drew, I’m sure.”
He pulled a very slight grimace. “If you turn over a very large, very wet stone, you are going to find a lot of slugs underneath it, plus a few creeping things with too many legs, that you weren’t prepared for. Are you ready for that?”
Hester answered him. “Of course not. But if you mean would we prefer to let it go, then, no, we wouldn’t. If we try, at least we have a chance of success.”
