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On the other side of the table Hester stiffened.
“But this is too urgent,” Monk went on, scrambling for an idea. “First I’m going to see Warne, the lawyer Sir Oliver gave the photograph to. Hester says that Mrs. Taft probably spent a lot of the missing money on clothes for herself and her daughters. I think that’s true, but I need to know for certain. The money doesn’t seem to have gone to the charities they named. In fact, we can’t find anyone at even the main charity who admits to getting more than a few pounds from them.” He kept his expression one of concentration, without the shadow of a smile. “Hester, can you see what is known of the Brothers of the Poor? But be careful. On the slight chance they took the money and put it to their own purpose, they won’t welcome inquiries.” He turned a little. “Scuff, Taft’s daughters were a little older than you are. See if you can learn anything about them, or the family. But you also must be very careful! We can’t afford to warn anyone off. Taft is dead, but Drew is very much alive, and he may be dangerous and have some dangerous friends.”
Scuff’s eyes were bright, his face flushed with excitement. “Yeah,” he said with elaborate casualness. “ ’Course I can.”
Warne had no hesitation in seeing Monk; in fact he seemed relieved that he had the opportunity. His office looked chaotic, piles of books and papers on every surface, even one of the chairs. Clearly he had been researching something with a degree of desperation. Monk wondered if Warne, privately, was just as worried as he, Hester, and Rathbone were.
He forced his mind to focus; these piles of law books and references might be related to a completely different case. The law did not stop because Rathbone was in trouble. Hundreds of people were, all over England.
“Sit down, Mr. Monk,” Warne said quickly, picking up a pile of papers to make the best chair available. “I am rather taking it for granted that you are here regarding the Taft case.”
“Thank you.” Monk sat down as Warne took his own seat on the other side of the desk, which was also piled with papers. “Yes. I need to find as much information as I can. There seem to be one or two things that don’t entirely make sense.”
Warne bit his lip. “I wi
sh it didn’t make sense to me. Of course the police have already spoken to me. I couldn’t lie to them. They know perfectly well I didn’t find the photograph myself, nor could I say it had been sent to me anonymously. If it had, I doubt I would have used it.” He sighed. “Added to which, Sir Oliver didn’t lie.”
“Who reported the issue to the Lord Chancellor?” Monk asked bluntly.
Warne was pale and clearly unhappy. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered that myself. Not that it makes a great deal of difference. Even if we could prove that it was done entirely maliciously, it wouldn’t alter the facts. It might make whoever did it look pretty grubby, and spiteful, but it wouldn’t help Rathbone.”
Monk acknowledged that. He wanted to know out of anger rather than for any practical purpose. However, one never knew what information might turn out to be of value. He smiled bleakly. “I understand that, but I’m desperate. I’ll try any avenue.”
“Rathbone has been one of the best lawyers in the country,” Warne said ruefully. “Kind of the standard we all measure ourselves against. But some people don’t take it well when they’re beaten, especially if they thought they were definitely going to win. Punctured arrogance hurts pretty badly.” He shook his head. “Honestly, it would be hard to find out, and almost certainly a waste of time.”
“I don’t have time to waste, that’s true,” Monk admitted. “I need to know the full extent of your case against Taft. I could read through all the court transcripts and try to assess it myself, but it would more efficient if you told me. I’m not asking for confidential information, it’s just that I would prefer to have your opinion, the outline of the case.”
“Of course …” Warne hesitated.
“What is it? Am I asking you to betray anyone else’s interest?” Monk asked him. “Or your own?”
“No,” Warne’s response was instant. “I’d … I’d like to help, as I was the one who used the photograph. Rathbone gave it to me openly and honestly. He left it up to me what I did with it. And yet they are not doing anything more to me than giving me a fairly sharp slap on the wrist for not having shown Gavinton the photograph immediately.”
“Don’t you have to use it, once you’ve seen it?” Monk asked.
“No, not legally. Morally I believe I did. But morally I’m not impartial,” Warne explained. “And really, I’m not even legally impartial, nor am I meant to be. Rathbone is. He should have recused himself, not kept on with the case, even though I’m pretty sure charges wouldn’t have been brought again. Taft was nine-tenths of the way to being acquitted. Personally I think he was one of the most despicable criminals I’ve ever prosecuted.”
There was anger and hurt in Warne’s face that made Monk think of him in a new light. Perhaps in his own way he was as much a crusader as Rathbone had been. He was now seeing the downfall of a man he had spent years trying to emulate. Perhaps he also had known people like the victims of Taft: simple, ordinary people who went to church every Sunday and gave what they could to the charities that helped others, people whose faith was central to their lives. It was trust in those who led them that made the losses and injustices of life bearable.
“It was a just case,” Monk agreed. “Was it a good one legally?”
Warne sighed. “I thought it was, to begin with. I had no doubt that for all his smoothness, Taft was guilty. But as it went on, and Robertson Drew made my witnesses look pathetic and then ridiculous, I felt it slip out of my grasp. I think without the photograph Taft would have been acquitted. Somehow I didn’t even consider not using it. The only question in my mind was how to get it in without putting Rathbone in a place where he had to grant a mistrial. I couldn’t risk that; they might not have brought the case again. It wasn’t as if anyone had died, at that time.”
“But now they have,” Monk pointed out. “That makes it different, in the public perception, if not in law.”
Warne gritted his teeth. “The jury is drawn from the public,” he pointed out. “And that will play into the hands of whoever tries the case against Rathbone. There isn’t going to be much mercy for him among their lordships on the bench. He’s brought them into public disrepute. They’ll all be watched a good deal closer from now on.” He gave his head a little shake, a sharp jerky movement. “What can I do to help?”
Monk was surprised at Warne’s eagerness. He was beginning to realize how deeply Warne felt, not only because of his past admiration for Rathbone. Warne’s feelings were also fueled by his contempt for Taft and perhaps a certain conviction that emotion, as much as legal knowledge, was an integral part of prosecution.
“Tell me as much as you can about the evidence,” Monk replied. “Including your opinions of the people.”
“With pleasure,” Warne replied. “Please heaven you can see something in it that will provide a way out. With all the people Rathbone has convicted in his career, I’d be surprised if he lasted more than a few months in prison.”
Monk caught his breath. For a moment he was not certain what Warne meant, then he saw the fear in his eyes, and he understood. It was his own worst dread put into words. He did not reply, simply took out his notebook ready to write down anything he might forget. He knew the violence in prison, the accidents, the deaths that no one saw happen. There was never proof, only tragedy.
Scuff also knew violence, and how suddenly and easily it could occur. He knew what could happen to Oliver Rathbone, and he had no belief at all that he could be protected if he went to prison. He knew, too, that if they were to help him, they needed to be very careful.
Nevertheless he left Paradise Place with a spring in his step. He did not have to go to school. Not that he didn’t like it. It could even be interesting, but it was a bit cramping at times. Do as everybody else does, listen, and remember. We’ll question you on it later. You can’t just answer. You’ll have to write it down, and spell properly. There is only one right way.
