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“When I was going over it again, thinking about it one evening as I crossed the river from Wapping back home, I remembered a moment before the explosion. I saw a figure leaping off the Princess Mary into the water. He was there against the light only for an instant, then the whole bow went up in flames and I forgot about him.”
Lydiate leaned forward a little. “A figure. A man jumping before the explosion?”
“Yes.”
“Why would anyone leap off before? Are you certain you are not transposing the events in your memory?”
“Yes, because I saw him against the evening sky, not against flames. If he was responsible for the explosion, then he was escaping—”
“Into the water? Hardly!” Lydiate interrupted.
“There was a small boat in the water, near the ship,” Monk explained. “Later, I was interviewing a survivor, one of the first off. He was picked up by a ferry, near the ship, and there was another passenger in it already, soaking wet, but dressed as a waiter or servant, not a guest.”
Lydiate sat back with a long sigh. “Not Beshara,” he said softly. “He was caught having been at the dockside, and not dressed as you describe. He only went into the ship at Westminster when they boarded. He got off again somewhere around Limehouse, judging by the longest possible time for a fuse.”
“Eyewitness’s testimony,” Monk pointed out. “Which we now know might not be entirely accurate. Did you find anything that could be considered a decent motive since we last spoke?” Monk pressed.
“No,” Lydiate shrugged as if it were an old wound aching again.
Monk would like to have let him off the hook, but he could not afford to. “I saw a lot of direction from government ministers,” he said. “Do they normally interfere with police investigation this much?”
“It was a spectacular case,” Lydiate pointed out, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “It was imperative we clear it as swiftly as possible, for several reasons. Justice demanded it. Public safety was at issue. And for reasons of international diplomacy we needed to be seen to have solved the whole thing and dealt with the perpetrators.”
“Because there were important people on board?” Monk said. “Some of them foreign?”
“Precisely.”
“And constant interference was considered the best course of action?” He allowed his disbelief to ring sharply in his voice.
“They were distressed,” Lydiate protested. “Everyone was.”
“All the more reason to keep a cool head. I presume you told him as much?”
“Lord Ossett?” Lydiate’s eyebrows rose sharply.
“You’re in command of the police.” Monk made no allowances.
“I don’t think you quite grasp the situation—” Lydiate began.
“Then help me!” Monk cut across him. “Whoever sank the Princess Mary and drowned nearly two hundred people is still out there and, for all we know, ready and willing to do it again! Unless you know something about who it was that you are not telling me?”
Lydiate went white.
Monk moved forward instinctively, to catch him were he to faint.
Lydiate righted himself with an effort. He did not apologize, but the shame of it was in his face.
“I had little choice in the course of my investigation. These were powerful suggestions—”
“Pressure!” Monk said for him.
“Yes, I suppose so.” He looked down. “I thought it was just a judgment call, an encouragement to guide me, make me aware of the desperate importance of dealing with the tragedy quickly and firmly.”
“Did you need pressure to do that?” Monk could not afford to let him off the hook.
“I would have done it differently, left to myself,” Lydiate said quietly.
“What pressure did they bring to bear?” Monk replied. “Your job? Your home? Your fitness for leadership?”
