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“Maybe,” Monk agreed. “He could look respectable enough. We’ll never know.”
“Miss Darwin might recognize him,” Hooper suggested.
Monk stared at him. “With his throat cut? You can’t expect her to look at that, Hooper. Look at a dead man in the morgue, and say whether it was the man who kidnapped her friend and slaughtered her? According to Exeter, she’s a quiet sort of woman, shy and not…not reliable. Why upset her for a testimony we couldn’t rely on, even if it came to the worst?”
“It would be useful to us to know.” Hooper found his reply a little sharper than he had intended. His resentment of the characterization was palpable.
Monk looked at him with more attention. “Is Exeter wrong about her?”
“Yes, sir,” Hooper replied without hesitation. “She’s quiet. That doesn’t mean she’s unreliable, just…just a more serious person.” That sounded heavy, stolid, and she wasn’t, just badly hurt. There was light inside her, and delicacy…
Monk smiled very slightly. “Then go and see if she can tell you. But be careful, Hooper. This man kidnapped her cousin and may be the one who murdered her. And now he’s been killed himself. They’ll make him look as decent as possible, but he’s still a man who died violently. She may never have seen a dead body before, let alone a murdered one.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
Hooper set out straightaway. He had no idea if Celia Darwin would be at home. He had no idea of the pattern of her life at all. He felt as if they k
new each other, which was ridiculous. They had talked like comfortable friends, but beyond her relationship with Kate Exeter, he knew nothing of her daily life, her wishes and dreams, what she did that mattered to her. And she knew nothing of him at all, except that he was with the River Police. She had probably not given him a thought between the time he stepped out of the front door and the time when he would knock on that door again.
He stood in the sunlit street and knocked. He would be almost relieved if she did not answer.
It seemed like no time at all before the maid was there and he had to explain himself.
“Oh, yes, sir. If you’ll come in, sir?” She stepped back and invited him inside.
He wondered for a moment if he had misrepresented himself as more important than he was. This was going to be difficult.
Celia was in the sitting room at an old mahogany desk, writing letters. She looked up as soon as he came in, and the maid announced him.
Celia rose to her feet, looking a little flushed. Was she wondering what had brought him back so soon? “Good morning, Mr. Hooper,” she said quickly. “Do you have news?”
He had rehearsed, and yet the words seemed inadequate now, so formal as to be a rebuff. “Yes, Miss Darwin, we have found a man we believe to have been involved. Unfortunately, he was killed by two other men who may also have been involved. It looks likely it was over the money.”
Her face was impossible to read. “The money might once have been important to Harry. I believe there was a great deal of it. Even so, I think he now hardly cares. And if, as you say, this man is dead, then he cannot tell us anything.”
There was a downward fall of disappointment in her voice, and also in her face.
“We don’t know for certain that he was involved.” He sounded to himself as if he was making excuses, and he hated that. “But he could have been the man who actually took Kate from beside the riverbank.” He realized he had used her name as if he had known her, and had a right to. It was too late to take it back now, and he would be drawing attention to it if he apologized.
She stared at him, her eyes very steady. “You want me to tell you if it is the same man, if I recognize him?” she asked.
“If you’d be willing to?”
“Yes.” She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, of course I will. I don’t know if I will be certain…but I shall try.”
“Thank you, Miss Darwin.” Now he had the responsibility of taking her to look at Lister. It was even more his responsibility than she knew, as it was he who had suggested they ask her to do this, not Monk. The last thing he wanted was to cause her pain or embarrassment, if she were to faint. But she also knew a ghastly experience was coming, and she did not shrink from it. He wished there was some way he could protect her.
She collected a heavy cloak from the cupboard in the hall and went to the front door. She gave instructions to the maid and estimated what time she would return. She sounded so normal, as if she was taking a usual walk, maybe to post a letter, but Hooper could see the stiffness in her. He admired her composure. He thought again how graceful she was. Pleasing to look at, calm like a summer dawn, not all full of froth and need for attention, like the wind in daffodils.
Then he blocked out his own stupidity and followed her along the street, catching up in a few steps because his legs were so much longer than hers.
They walked toward the main road. He did not want to ask her to wait for an omnibus, and he did not know the routes in this area.
“Have you always lived here?” he asked, then thought how foolish that was. He was a policeman, taking her to see if she could recognize a corpse! This was not a social occasion.
“Here, or in Kent, much further to the south,” she replied. “It’s so rich, the countryside. I miss it sometimes.” She glanced sideways at him. “But you’re not Kentish, are you.” It was a statement.
“No. Essex, further down the estuary toward the sea. Flat coast. Some people think that’s boring.” As he spoke, he thought of the wide skies he had loved as a boy. They had set him dreaming of horizons, and what marvels might lie beyond them.
