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Monk looked up at him, the papers sliding out of his hands. Suddenly his mouth was dry. He took a breath, and then did not ask.
“Got him,” Hooper said, his face lighting with a rare smile. “Feller called Gamal Sabri. Egyptian. Been over here for several years, but still got strong connections to the places along the new canal route.”
“For hire?” Monk asked, sitting upright again. “Or for himself?”
“For hire.” Hooper sat down in the seat opposite Monk’s desk, sprawling a little as if he were too tired to sit up straight. “Nasty little bastard. Got a few other marks against his name, but nothing we could prove before.”
“Can we prove this?” Monk felt his muscles tighten. He could not bear the thought that they might actually know who had sunk the Princess Mary and not be able to convict him of it. It was only an idea on the edge of his imagination, yet already he was thinking of ways to get around a lack of proof and still get a legal verdict against Sabri that would withstand any appeal. He despised himself for it. It was frightening that he could entertain the thought so easily. “Are you sure?” he asked Hooper.
Hooper nodded. “Yes, sir. Found the boat. Called the Seahorse. Got the painting on the back just like your drawing, but more than that: the bow’s been smashed in and repaired within the last few days. Good job done, but the paint’s still different, and you can see it. It’s for show. Took a good look inside, and it’s been hit pretty hard. Can’t tell at a glance, but you can if you look.”
“How is this Sabri connected to the boat?” Monk was almost afraid to ask. They were all too keen to succeed, he most of all.
“He owns it,” Hooper said. “Lots of witnesses that he was out on the night of the Princess Mary sinking, well before anyone was called to the rescue. He was on the water when it happened. And we did check to make sure no one reported the boat stolen.”
“And on the night it rammed us?” Monk asked, beginning to feel the weight lift from his mind, and a warmth inside him as if he had had a shot of brandy.
“Sabri was out again,” Hooper replied. “And again
, no report of the boat being missing or anyone borrowing it. Got statements from people who saw him go out in it, about an hour before you were hit.”
Monk found he was smiling too. “Why? Any idea why Sabri would sink the Princess Mary?”
“Because somebody paid him to,” Hooper said sourly. “He’s settled up a good few of his debts since then. Quietly. No flashing nothing around. But a few collectors that were after him aren’t anymore.”
Monk allowed himself to relax. “And where is he, this Gamal Sabri? Don’t tell me we don’t know …”
“Yes, we do. Left a man watching it, but it’s like a rabbit warren down there. Best to take him at night.” Hooper glanced up at the clock on the mantel. It said half past seven. “Tonight, sir. Before he gets wind of it tomorrow. We should take half a dozen men. He won’t be alone and he has to know that the rope’s waiting for him.”
Monk rose to his feet. “Pick your men. Well done, Hooper. Any idea when Orme’ll be back? He went upriver. I dare say he won’t have found anything …”
“You can tell him when he comes.” Hooper stood as well. “I’d best be starting. Dusk is a good time …”
“We’ll take Mercer and—”
Hooper stopped still. “No, sir. I need your permission to go get him, but you’re not coming …”
“Who the hell do you—” Monk began.
“You’re injured, sir, and you’ll get in the way. Somebody’ll be too busy looking out for you to do his own job. I may not be able to stop you, but I’ll try.” He stood squarely in front of Monk, unmoving as a wall, his eyes hard.
Monk faced him.
“They’re my men too,” Hooper said quietly. “I owe them to look out for them. Not run them into danger they don’t need. We’ll get him to the police jail. Break his legs if we have to. He won’t get away.” He did not add, “Unless you move too slowly and give him a hostage to take,” but it was in his face.
Monk could give in either with grace, or without it. Or he could make a really bad command decision and lose the confidence of his men, and insist on coming. It might even be a fatal mistake for the case.
“Right,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait here. I want to know when you’ve got him.”
“You should still be at home, sick,” Hooper told him. “Go back there now. I know where Paradise Place is. I’ll come and tell you.”
“Stop treating me like a child!” Monk snapped at him.
Hooper grinned. Even his eyes were bright. The retort was in his face, but he did not make it. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and went to the door.
Monk tidied up his papers, left a note for Orme, then took his jacket off the hook and went out.
AN HOUR LATER HE was sitting in the parlor in his own house. He was so tired he longed to sleep, but he felt compelled to stay up until Hooper should come.
