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“Yes, please.” He was hungry but, even more important than that, he was allowing her to do something to help him, which she wanted to, and he would not have to talk while he was eating. He followed her into the kitchen and into the scullery beyond that, to wash his hands and face, get rid of the taste and smell of the river, at least superficially.
He thought of Rathbone and Beata, eating in their elegant dining room. He had let them down. Exeter had trusted Rathbone, and Rathbone had trusted Monk.
And then he thought of Exeter, who was probably not eating at all. Was he sitting in his big house, alone, memories of Kate all around him, and a glass of whisky in his hand? And then another, and another, until at least for a while he could not feel the pain?
The stew was hot and, when he bothered to taste it, delicious. He ate carefully, in silence. He wished Hester would ask him, demand that he tell her what information he had about Kate Exeter. Monk and Hooper planned to begin looking for Lister in the morning. Perhaps it was the first real lead. It was a relief when at last she did, tentatively at first, as if she were afraid of the pain it would cause him. He wanted to share it, say it over again, and believe it would lead somewhere.
* * *
—
MONK LEFT EARLY FOR Wapping. The clean clothes and freshly shaved face and brushed hair only masked the tiredness he felt inside, as he walked stiffly up from the ferry and into the Wapping Police Station. Hooper was a little late in, and he looked no better than Monk felt. His face was pale and it cost him a visible effort to appear interested. Several other of the men were here already, noticeably Walcott, who looked cold, in spite of sitting the closest to the potbellied stove. His attention was entirely on the paper he was writing up at his desk.
Was this what it was going to be like until they found out who had betrayed them? What if they never did? Could they go on with suspicion and a sense of lost fellowship, no one daring to turn his back on the man who was supposed to guard their backs in trouble, catch the error they had missed, believe in them when the public saw only their choices and their omissions?
They could not function like that. Those who could would find other jobs; probably the best of them would go. What would that leave?
Hooper was a good man in every way. Would he be the first to go? Laker was young and ambitious. The Metropolitan Police would be lucky to have him.
Hooper was standing in front of Monk’s desk.
Monk looked up.
“Got a bit of information, sir,” Hooper said. “Could involve this Lister. Lot of money changing hands that can’t easily be explained. Looks like they may be splitting up some of the ransom—people who are not usually in that type of good fortune. Not thieves or fences, or anything of that kind. Talking hundreds, not the odd fifty or so. Sort of proportion you’d expect from real violence. And cash, not sale of stolen goods, unless it was something big, and taken long enough ago for the fuss to have died down.”
Monk’s attention was complete. “Any name? Like Lister, for example?”
“Maybe. Jimmy Patch, one of my informers, says it’s enough to rent a house for the rest of his life.”
“If this is money from the people who took Kate Exeter, the rest of his life could be a couple of weeks,” Monk said sourly. “Do you think it’s a lead?” He wished it too much to trust his own judgment.
“It’s the best lead we’ve got, sir. Questioned everybody up and down the river. Lots of people don’t like Exeter, but can’t f
ind anyone with a real grudge. Most of it’s just because he’s richer than they are, and can make a better deal. He’s failed sometimes, but so has everyone else. Nobody can tie him to anything crooked. Takes a few chances, but most people admire that.”
“And Kate, his wife?”
“Apparently an heiress in her own right. Didn’t marry him for his money. Can’t find anything about her that’s suspicious. And before you ask, she’s not the sort of woman to have had an affair. Whatever she actually felt for Exeter.”
Monk stiffened. “Whatever she felt for him?”
Hooper hesitated only a moment. “I spoke to Miss Darwin again. It’s only an impression, but they were close, more like sisters, and maybe Kate wasn’t as enamored of Exeter as he was of her.”
“Could that just be Miss Darwin’s emotions, projected on a woman who seemed to have everything? Didn’t you say she was the poor cousin, and with a limp into the bargain?”
Hooper’s expression hardened. “I didn’t get that impression, sir. I thought her unusually honest. A practical sort of person.”
Monk’s attention tightened. He was used to Hooper’s choice of words, and his certain way of understating his approval. “You thought well of her?”
There was a faint color in Hooper’s cheeks. “That was my impression, sir.”
“Then we’d better go and find Jimmy Patch.” Monk rose to his feet. “See if he can lead us to Lister.”
Hooper remained where he was in front of the desk.
“What’s the matter?” Monk asked.
“It could be unpleasant, sir. If there’s that much money involved, even if it isn’t our murder, it could turn nasty.”
