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The air was clear. He could see riding lights from anchored ships all around him, and lights on both shores. The patterns were long familiar. That must be Wapping ahead of them now.
Half an hour later they were in the station. The potbellied stove had been refueled, and heat spread throughout the open room. Hot tea was made for everyone, the wettest clothes changed. It was just after seven, and pitch-dark outside. It had all happened in less than four hours, and yet instead of being the end, they had barely passed the beginning.
Monk looked around the other men, filthy, exhausted, four of them injured to some degree or another. Now began the dissection, piece by piece.
“Walcott?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Did anyone pass you at the river going toward Jacob’s Island? Anyone at all?”
“No, sir. The water was flat and I would have seen all of it. Not a soul.” His voice was firm, without hesitation, and he looked Monk straight in the eye.
“Bathurst?”
“No, sir. A boat passed within about thirty feet, but kept right on going. They must have seen me, unless they were half asleep, but no one came back. And I watched for it.”
“Then either they got there before us and were waiting, or they came in from the landward side,” Monk concluded. “How many do you reckon there were? Start with you, Laker.”
“Just one man, sir, but he took me by surprise. He came out of the darkness and I didn’t hear him above the general creaking and dripping. He hit me pretty hard from behind, and I went down, but I managed to get up when he came closer, and we fought, but he got away.”
“Which direction?” Monk asked. He was not sure if the answer would be of any use, but he must give them the feeling that he had ideas, even solutions. They all looked utterly defeated. And that was how Monk felt. “Marbury?”
“I saw only one man, sir. We had a stiff battle, but when I hit him with a really good blow, he went down. I think it was after he had attacked Laker, sir, because he was already filthy and battered-looking, mud on his clothes as if he had lain on his back in it. And it was near dark by then.”
“Thank you. Hooper?”
“Came from a side passage, sir. Hit me with a plank of wood. It was rotten, but it was very heavy, because it was wet. Broke across my back. I went down sideways, but I got up again. Sort of rolled over. We fought hard and I was pretty well beaten. Couldn’t get my breath.”
Monk nodded and looked around at each man. “Same thing happened to me. They ambushed us. Which means they were expecting us.”
“They got four of us, sir, and Exeter, and they had someone to hold Kate—” Laker began.
“Unless she was already dead,” Monk cut across him. It had to be said. “And they never intended to hand her over.” It still suggested three men, at the very least. “And they had come from the landward side, or escaped that way anyway. Walcott? Bathurst? You sure you saw nobody?” he asked again.
Both men thought for a moment, then shook their heads. “No, sir,” they said almost together. “And one of us had to have seen anyone leaving by the river. You can’t miss a boat in the water, even at dusk. Your eyes get used to the shadows,” Bathurst added.
“So, they left by land. With the money.”
“Could have left it there,” Laker argued. “Go back for it later.”
“And expect to find it?” Monk asked incredulously. “The damn place is moving, sinking, rearranging itself every ten minutes. Not to mention the tides rising and falling twice every day.”
“Then they took it,” Walcott said flatly. “And left us nothing but the body of that poor woman.”
That was greeted with silence.
It was Hooper who broke it. He looked up, his face a confused mask of pain. “Why did they do that? They didn’t even do it…quickly! You don’t slaughter an animal like that.” His voice cracked and he struggled to control it. It was Monk he was looking at.
Monk felt it acutely. It had seemed a good plan, as good as could be involving so much uncertainty. He had told Exeter it would be all right, and Exeter had done exactly as he was told, and lost everything.
Monk looked from one man to another. They looked like a bunch of stray, whipped dogs, bruised, bloody, most of them wet through with the pungent river mud. But above all, they looked beaten. They had trusted his plan, and it had failed in every way.
Bathurst blinked. “But he was going to give them the money!” he exclaimed, his face tight with anger. “Why kill her?”
“Perhaps she recognized them,” Walcott said, with a cadence in his voice that implied it was an obvious answer.
“Then why wouldn’t Exeter know them, too?” Bathurst shot back. “He said he didn’t.”
