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‘Yes, sir. And a few other interesting things.’ Laker’s smile was bright with satisfaction.
‘Don’t make me pull your teeth, Laker,’ Monk said impatiently.
Laker gave a little shrug and his mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I think he’s got at least one of the Excise men in his pocket, sir.’
Monk felt a chill inside himself. It was one of the ugly pieces of corruption he knew existed and one day he would have to deal with, but it still worried him more than it might another man who was more certain of his own past.
The carriage accident just before he had first met Hester, over a decade ago now, had injured his body, but that had healed quickly. The loss of his memory, however, had never been made up, except in snatches here and there, and as his detection had uncovered things about himself, by no means all pleasant. He did not know who all his friends or enemies were, not by a long way. He had once worked in the regular Metropolitan Police. He knew the docks. Unexpected flashes of familiarity told him that: a corner turned and the scene known to him, a smell that brought back powerful feelings.
The worst fear was that a man he did not know, knew and remembered him. Old debts sometimes waited a long time. Monk had solved a lot of cases. If he could look back on those now, would he still be happy to own the methods he had used in all of them?
He met Laker’s eyes. ‘I assume you have hard evidence of this, not just whispers in the dark?’
‘Yes, sir. Facts and figures, things that don’t add up. I’m just not sure which of two or three men it is. I suppose it could be all of them.’
‘Good. Write it all down.’
‘I’ll remember, sir . . .’
‘You’ll also write it down,’ Monk told him levelly. ‘I’m not trusting this to any one man’s recollection. Thank you. That’s all.’
Laker turned to leave.
‘Laker!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘You’ll go up the river, opposite direction, for the next few days.’
‘But I might learn something more, sir. I’ve got—’
‘One fact that will be recognised and remembered,’ Monk said. ‘If you want to remain in the River Police, you’ll do as you’re told.’
Laker winced. ‘Yes, sir.’
Monk went back to his paperwork and completed it before putting it away and going outside into the dock in the late summer afternoon. He was just in time to see Hooper coming up the steps from the water. In the past the matter of the Excise men was something he would have discussed with Orme first, but it was time he allowed Hooper to step forward. When Orme retired, he would have to. Hooper would fight beside him, watch his neck, and risk his own life to save him.
But he would not coddle his superior officer as far as Orme had. His critical judgement was sharper. He would hate doing it, and think less of Monk if he had to be told too often. He had not Orme’s gentleness – or perhaps he had, but it was not authorised by age and an awareness of times changing and his own strength slipping away from him. Hooper did not expect a commander who was flawless, but he certainly required one who learned from his mistakes and did not repeat them, and one who never put himself before his men.
One day he would have to tell Hooper about his lost memory, the things in the dark he could not recall. He knew that without Hester’s belief in him, when they had just met, he would not have had the courage to fight for his own innocence of the hideous murder of which circumstances had implicated his guilt so powerfully that he had even to accept it himself. It was she who had fought for another answer, not he.
But did Hooper sense the darker self that lay in his past? One day they might talk about it, but not now. The satisfaction, the respect
apparent in Hooper’s face was something not to be risked yet, unless it became necessary.
‘Laker’s given a pretty clear report,’ Monk said to Hooper, quietly, although there was no one else in earshot. ‘Derby has a sample of a particularly good gun. I’ve looked at the paper that makes it pretty clear he’s bringing them upriver soon.’
Hooper studied Monk’s face, seeing something in it deeper than these words.
‘But he thinks there’s someone in Customs and Excise involved. It isn’t going to be as simple as we thought.’
Hooper nodded slowly, no surprise in his face. ‘Have you told Mr Orme yet, sir?’
‘No.’ Monk did not know how to explain his reluctance to involve Orme, without robbing him of some of his dignity in Hooper’s eyes. ‘Not certain yet,’ he went on. ‘Don’t like the thought of someone in Customs tipping them off.’
‘You’ll have to tell him, sir.’ Hooper kept his own voice down, although he was softly spoken anyway. ‘He may have some ideas.’
‘I know,’ Monk admitted. He stared out across the river where the sun was still bright, although it was late afternoon. It stayed light until nearly ten in the evening this time of the year, especially over the water where everything was reflected back.
