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, you can ask for it civilly.’
‘Are you Hamilton Rand?’ the man repeated. His colleague glanced at Hester, and then walked round her to stand on the other side of Rand.
‘Yes, of course I am. What of it?’ Rand snapped at him.
The larger policeman replied coldly, and with a bold stare. ‘I am here to arrest you for the murder of Adrienne Radnor. I advise you to come with us without making trouble. It would be best for you not to oblige us to use force, which we will do if you make that necessary.’
Rand stared at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language.
Hester, too, was stunned, but not sufficiently to govern her anger.
‘You haven’t identified yourself,’ she said with a fury that startled them. ‘Who are you?’ From what station? Where is your warrant for this? You can’t just barge in here without even knocking, and arrest anybody.’
‘Ma’am, this is none of your concern,’ the larger man said to her sharply. ‘This man has committed murder. He will be properly charged with it and tried before the courts. Now if you will move out of our way, we can do our duty. You wouldn’t want to stand in the way of the police, would you?’
Hester did not move. ‘I am Hester Monk. My husband is Commander of the Thames River Police. Who are you?’
‘Art, I think she really is,’ the other policeman said a bit nervously. ‘I’ve seen her before.’
But Art was not to be deterred. ‘That may be, ma’am, but I have—’
‘What do you mean, “may be”?’ she demanded. ‘What charge have you against me that you openly suggest I am a liar, even as to my own name?’
This time Art did back away a step. ‘It’s just a manner of speaking, ma’am,’ he said more gently. ‘I didn’t mean to say as you are lying. But this man is charged with the brutal murder of a young woman—’
‘Most murders are brutal,’ she cut across him. ‘I knew Adrienne Radnor. I hope very much that you catch whoever strangled her.’
Art looked at her narrowly. ‘How do you know as she was strangled, ma’am? Didn’t say so in the newspapers. Did he tell you that?’ he gestured towards Rand.
‘No, he didn’t,’ she responded, although she knew it was a losing battle. ‘If you were listening to me at all, you would have heard me tell you that Commander Monk is my husband. He was informed of the crime by officers of the law. Where is your warrant for arresting Mr Rand?’
Art took it out of his pocket and showed her, keeping it far enough away that she could not reach for it.
As soon as she saw it she knew it was genuine. The man may have acted unprofessionally, but perhaps he had children himself, and was thinking of the three that Rand had used, and come close to destroying. Perhaps also he had never lost anyone to disease of the blood, or death from haemorrhage in giving birth, or from a violent injury. It all depended so much on what you felt bone-deep in personal terror or loss, and on what you understood.
Whatever Art had known, or not, he was right to arrest Rand, at least in the law, and that was all he was answerable to.
Rand knew it, too. Like a man moving in his sleep, he held out his wrists for the manacles. He walked away between the policemen with only one glance backwards at Hester. He looked confused, even frightened, as if he did not understand.
Was he guilty of having killed Adrienne Radnor, and had seen it as a necessary act, in order to protect his work? Therefore it was not a crime, in his own opinion.
Or was it not he who had killed her at all, but someone else?
Rathbone heard of Rand’s arrest and charge with a sense of dismay. And yet he had every reason to be pleased. The man was guilty of having kidnapped Hester and imprisoning the three Roberts children, even if the law could not prove it. Rathbone had not for an instant doubted Hester’s word, even if he was aware that she had a respect for Rand’s work, if not for his methods. And in spite of all that had happened, she was back working at the hospital where she would probably see him every day.
That much he realised that he understood perfectly. A lawyer defended people accused of appalling crimes, whatever their own opinion of innocence or guilt. He had been wrong more than once, although had he been right every time that would not alter the principle.
Nevertheless, when Ardal Juster asked him to call at his chambers, Rathbone went only because he owed Juster that courtesy. After their disappointment over the previous prosecution, and the complete shambles in which it had ended, for Juster to call on Rathbone again was more than courteous, it was generous.
‘Looks as if we have a second chance at it,’ Juster said as Rathbone sat down in the comfortable chair opposite the desk in Juster’s chambers. He smiled ruefully. ‘Although I have a feeling you are going to tell me again that you don’t think the case against Rand is a very good one.’
‘I haven’t heard it,’ Rathbone replied. He clearly hoped that he was mistaken in his scepticism.
‘We have motive, means and opportunity.’ Juster leaned forward across the desk in his enthusiasm. ‘He can’t account for his whereabouts for most of the probable time of the murder.’
Rathbone began as devil’s advocate immediately. ‘Seems it was apparently the middle of the night; neither could I. Could you?’
‘What?’ Juster looked startled, as if Rathbone had accused him of something.
