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ted his disgust.
“If you think about it, there aren’t so many men, however wealthy, that could come up with that sort of money in ready cash, at short notice.” He looked up and saw the understanding in Runcorn’s face.
“Selected out of enmity, but access to the cash,” Runcorn summed it up. “And this girl knew it?”
“Looks like it.” Suddenly Monk was overwhelmed again with the thought of Bella’s death. The coldness of the river ached in his bones, and he could see her dead face in the water, whether his eyes were open or closed. “I have made a hell of a mess of it so far. I should at the very least have met her somewhere safer!”
“Who suggested Greenwich Pier?” Runcorn asked.
“She did, but I could have said somewhere different!” Monk was sharp. Guilt and sorrow cut deeply; she’d been a young woman full of character.
“How did she tell you where and when?” Runcorn asked.
“When I was at the bank seeing Doyle. Damn him! Why had I not insisted she meet me somewhere safe, with people around?” He could have found a way to send her a note, if he had tried.
“Like where?” Runcorn asked, the corners of his mouth pulled down.
“I don’t know! Any main street near wherever she lives! A public house. Even my house. It’s not far from the pier.”
“She didn’t even make it to the pier,” Runcorn pointed out. “Monk, Doyle or whoever has done this was going to get her somewhere. He’s desperate. If she really has proof of embezzlement, or straight-out theft, he couldn’t afford to let her give it to you. Kate Exeter’s was one of the worst murders in London in ages. Whoever did it will swing for it. No mercy, no excuses. And precious little gentleness on the way.”
“Double murder,” Monk pointed out. “Kate Exeter, then one of the kidnappers. He’s not such a great loss, but he was still a human being.”
“And now three, with that poor girl,” Runcorn added. “Does it matter who gets him, as long as we do? And I hate to remind you, but it’s the truth, and one we can’t ignore: I’ve been following this case with interest and I’m aware somebody betrayed you and took the money at Jacob’s Island. You won’t be all right until you’ve found him, too.”
“I know.” Monk said it in a tight, husky voice. “Here, give me my mug of tea. You don’t have to hold it for me, I’m steady now.”
“You’re not,” Runcorn argued, but he let Monk have the mug. “Then you’re going home. You’re only a damn nuisance here, and we need you alive—and not with pneumonia or croup tomorrow morning. Sanders will walk with you up the hill to be sure you make it.”
“The ferryman—” Monk began.
“Yes, I’ll question him, see if he saw her or anything else. And I’ll thank him for fishing you out. Do you take me for a barbarian?”
Monk did not bother to answer that. In the past, he had made exactly that hasty and mistaken judgment. “I’ve got to see if she had any papers,” he said quietly. “That’s what she said she was bringing.”
“I’ll go look,” Runcorn stood up slowly. “I didn’t know her. It won’t be so hard for me. You stay here.”
Monk wanted to argue with him, but it was a kindness, another healing of an old wound, and he didn’t want to reject it. And he didn’t want to look at Bella’s dead face. He nodded and watched Runcorn go out the door.
Runcorn came back in about fifteen minutes. He had a package in his hand. “Wrapped in oiled silk,” he said. “Still wet, but it’s India ink. Waterproof…enough to read, anyway. Clever girl…it’s…” He gave up looking for the right thing to say. “I’ll hold on to these and get an accountant to look at them properly. This murder is on my patch and I think maybe you need a helping hand with finding how it all fits together.”
Monk could only agree.
CHAPTER
14
HOOPER LOOKED UP FROM the desk he shared with Laker and saw Monk standing in front of him. In the hard morning light, he looked terrible. He was wearing his standby coat, not his good one, and he had a gray muffler round his neck, up to his chin. He had not shaved with his usual punctiliousness and his skin appeared colorless. It would be foolish to ask him if there was anything wrong; clearly there was.
“I went to Greenwich to meet Bella Franken last night,” Monk said before Hooper could ask. “She had more to say about Doyle.”
Hooper’s first thought was that she had told Monk which of his men had betrayed them. Of course, they had to find out, but as long as they did not, they could hold each man independently innocent. Hooper felt the misery grip hard inside him. For the moment, he could not think of anything in the world more painful than betrayal. “What did she say?” He heard his own voice as if it were someone else’s, unconnected with his thoughts.
“Nothing,” Monk answered. “She was dead. In the river. I tried to pull her out, but it was too late…far too late.” Monk looked as if he was apologizing. His face was filled with sorrow and a degree of guilt. “A ferryman helped pull us both out of the river.”
“Us?” Hooper demanded. Already he was beginning to feel the coldness that Monk carried with him.
“I saw the body there,” Monk was saying, “floating. I had nothing to pull her out with except my arms. Otherwise, she’d have gone with the tide, maybe got caught up in rubbish, and eventually mangled to bits, unrecognizable, even gone out to sea.”
