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He ate his usual breakfast of thick, hot porridge and drank two mugs of tea as he pondered.
Kidnapping seemed to be increasing lately. This was the third one this year, but both the others had involved men. The money had been paid and the hostages recovered. One of the victims had been badly beaten, but he would heal. This case was infinitely worse. Compared with Kate’s death, the money, although a huge amount, was almost trivial.
Who had betrayed them? Hooper had fought with that half the night. He had considered every man, and at first cast them all aside. But dreams came even through the exhaustion of sleep, dreams of shifting faces, people not being who they seemed, altering all the time. Even as he pursued and fought them, they changed into someone else, strangers he thought he knew but didn’t. That was why he woke so cold; the feeling was inside him.
Hooper knew that he himself was not who he seemed. He had faced that fact all of the twenty years since the mutiny that had caused him to leave the Merchant Navy, to seek a new career and a new identity ashore. He had told no one. He had almost told Monk, on occasions when they had been close. There was a rare bond between them, and he admired and trusted Monk. He did not want to break that trust by telling him the truth about himself. He would never break Monk’s trust by telling anyone of Monk’s secret vulnerability and the past he could not remember, yet Hooper could not trust Monk with his own past, which he could remember only too well.
Why not? Did he think Monk would betray him? Not unless Hester’s life depended on it. It was because Monk would think so much less of him, and that would cut more deeply than he could overcome. Hooper had very few people in his life whose opinions could wound him. In fact, Monk’s was the only one.
He cleared away his breakfast dish and put the porridge pan to soak, then collected his coat and went out. He lived not far from the Wapping Police Station. It was easier to walk than to look for a hansom, and it was always cheaper. He turned up his collar and walked briskly. The light on the water was glittering. The wind had drawn all the staleness from it and the water was choppy, a touch of white foam curling here and there. It would be hard work rowing against it. The gulls were crying, searching for food. They were noisy, greedy beggars, but he loved to see the light on their wings and the easy, seemingly careless way they rode the currents. At first, he had liked being at sea; there was a freedom to it, always moving, the sense of infinite possibilities.
But you were also marooned with the men of your crew. Fate chose your companions for you. You had no say in that at all. Your needs and your safety depended upon them, and theirs upon you. There was no escaping that. Even now when he closed his eyes, he could see the white faces of the other men, the fear they could not find words for. The sea was capricious, beautiful, merciless like some primitive god that was never appeased. You could make no bargains with the sea. It was all-powerful. And yet from it came the breath of the world. He was born to an island race. It was in his blood.
He was almost at Wapping. It was time to put past loyalties out of his mind and face new tests. One of the more bitter ones was starting today, in a matter of minutes. Who had betrayed them? Why? It was going to be painful; it always was. But was it going to be a surprise, or something they always should have seen?
Hooper reached the Wapping dock, crossed over the open space to the police station door, and went inside. He hung up his coat and immediately knocked on Monk’s office door.
“Come in,” Monk called from inside.
Hooper pushed the door open. “Good morning, sir.” He entered and closed the door behind him. One glance at Monk’s lean face, the lines of tiredness, the strain about his stance, and Hooper understood exactly how he felt.
“Not very,” Monk said in a flat voice. “It’s in the press. They got on to Exeter first thing this morning, and there are flyers out already. I expect the midday editions will have all the details. At the moment, it’s just kidnap and murder, but the rest will come.”
Hooper gritted his teeth. He thought of suggesting that the papers might help them, but even if not until the evening editions, blame would be placed on the River Police quickly enough, and they would be accused of incompetence. Then the betrayal would be exposed, even if no particular man was blamed. It was only a matter of time. “We better start looking into what happened.”
“If you’re going to tell me it was one of our own men who betrayed us, I know. For God’s sake why, Hooper? Why would any of us do that?” He looked dazed, as if getting up slowly after a bad fall, still uncertain of his balance. “Is any man that desperate for money? How much? Half the ransom? More?” He shook his head. “Or is it a threat? Next time you are alone on the river at night, you’d better watch every shadow, listen for each footfall? Have we come to that: We’re more afraid of them than they are of us?”
“No, sir,” Hooper replied, although it was not so difficult to imagine. “But there have been one or two kidnappings lately. What would you have paid for Mrs. Monk?” It was a harsh thing to ask, but appropriate.
“I’ve no money to pay…” Monk began, but then, as the realization came to him, he stopped. It didn’t have to be money; the motivation could be anything. “God, Hooper, where does it end? The only man who’s safe is the man who has nobody he cares for. And who wants such a man on the force? Who would want to be such a person?”
Then an even bleaker look came into his face, a pain Hooper had not seen in him before.
“I don’t know enough about my own men,” Monk began. “Just facts, details, things one says lightly. Not the depth behind it.”
So, it was regret. Perhaps even shame. “You’re the commander, sir,” Hooper said. “There’s a distance—”
Monk gave him a glare. Hooper stopped. It was true, even if Monk did not want to hear it. He was in command. It was necessary a captain’s men did not see him as an equal. It may be painful to be alone, but to a degree it was necessary. Hooper remembered his own captain that last voyage. Ledburn had certainly been alone, unapproachable, unreachable. Hooper had wiped from his mind the last time he had seen him. He did not want to face it at all, and certainly not now.
Monk seemed frozen.
“I can tell you a little about them,” Hooper said, his own voice sounding strange in his ears. He knew the men were shy in front of Monk, afraid their personal remarks would leave them vulnerable.
Monk was waiting. Perhaps it was time for a measure of truth.
“Laker has a brother,” Hooper began. “Don’t know whether he’s older or younger, but they’re not close. Yet a bit of a rivalry there. I think the brother’s more…orthodox. Never considered Laker quite good enough. Don’t think they keep in touch, but he’s always there in the background.”
“Does Laker need his approval?” Monk said with surprise.
“Probably. Although he’d never admit it.” Hooper smiled very slightly. “And he’d certainly not make the changes in his own way of living that would earn it. But family loyalty is a hard thing to deny, when it comes to the point.”
“You mean that if the brother was in trouble, Laker wouldn’t let him down?”
“I think if his brother was in trouble, Laker would be the last person he would ask for help,” Hooper said, remembering the expression on Laker’s face when mentioning his brother’s name, the mixture of anger and pain in it. “Which is a pity,” he went on, “because Laker would be the best person to help him—in most things anyway—maybe the only person who would be brave enough, and imaginative enough.”
Monk winced.
“Bathurst comes from a big family,” Hooper said. “Lost his father a while back.”
