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“And then?” Monk prompted.
“She couldn’t tell them anything more. They sent her home.”
Monk nodded and returned to the subject of the kidnappers and the demand for ransom.
“And then they sent me a lock of Kate’s hair, and a piece of her dress, and a demand for money. They were all in an envelope that was pushed through my letter box.” For a moment, Exeter lost control of his emotions and buried his face in his hands.
Monk was not sure whether to stop, or if that would only draw attention to Exeter’s momentary breakdown. He decided to continue. “Did you answer them? Was it required?” he asked.
“No,” Exeter replied after a moment. “There was no way to answer them. They told me how much money they wanted, or they would…kill her. And how and when I was to meet them and make the exchange.” He lifted his face up. “Jacob’s Island, for God’s sake! It’s a hellhole!”
“Do you know it?” Monk was surprised. As far as he knew, Exeter developed expensive land, and built even more expensive houses on it.
“By repute. I haven’t been there. Why on earth would I? That’s another reason I need help. I imagine you have to know it?”
Monk gritted his teeth. “Yes. What instructions did they give you? Any particular time?”
“They drew a sort of map. I gather there are tunnels and passages when you get across the bridge and into the worst part of it.”
“Do you have the map with you?”
“Yes,” said Exeter. He fished in his inside jacket pocket and passed Monk an extremely scruffy piece of paper. It was dog-eared, partly torn, but when it was opened out, it was drawn clearly enough to show directions for access by way of the river, through a couple of very old, collapsing houses, and into a tunnel that divided. An arrow was drawn one way. There was some wreckage to be climbed over and around, and more cellars, stairs, and tunnels.
“What time?” Monk asked, his stomach knotting up because he was already certain of the answer.
“What?” Exeter looked at him.
“Let me guess…about half-past three…four…?”
“Four o’clock. How did you know?” Exeter was incredulous. He glanced at Rathbone, who also looked startled.
“Dusk at this time of year,” Monk answered. “And low tide. By five the tide will already be rising again, cutting off some of these tunnels.” He took a long, deep breath. “We’ll do it, Mr. Exeter. But there is no room for error. None at all.”
“Oh God!” Exeter buried his face in his hands.
Monk waited a few moments for Exeter to recover himself, then continued, “I will speak to my men, choose which to bring, and we will meet at the Wapping Police Station at quarter-past three—”
“That’s early,” Exeter interrupted.
“We have to go by water to get to the place marked on your…map. If we are early we can stand off, a hundred yards away. We can’t afford to be late.”
“No…no, of course not. I’m sorry.”
“So meet us at the station. You know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“At quarter-past three. With the money…or as much as you have.”
“I’ll have it all.” Exeter said it without hesitation, but his voice was hoarse.
“Good. We’ll get her back.” Monk held out his hand, and Exeter grasped it.
CHAPTER
2
MONK WAS UP WELL before dawn the following morning, and by daylight he was already on the water. It was going to be a long day, and he had to get all other business out of the way, plus make plans about meeting the kidnappers, long before three o’clock. The wind had risen in the night and the fog was almost gone. Just a few gray veils of it hung over the center of the river, and even those shredded when the slack tide turned and came back up on the flood. The swell of the water carried the ferry Monk was on, and he felt it with misgiving. In a few hours they would be on Jacob’s Island, aware that time was short, the water deepening, making the mud softer, hungrier, moving the planks and loosening the rotting boards. Half an hour, and it would be enough to knock a man off balance. An hour, and it would suck him down and drown him.
