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He was stunned by how much it all mattered. Friendship was a common cause that was truly worth fighting for. There were so many people who mattered: Hester, Will (now no longer Scuff in his mind), Rathbone, Hooper, even the peripheral ones on the edges of his life, like Squeaky Robinson, the bookkeeper at Hester’s clinic who had kept a brothel there until Rathbone had tricked him into deeding the property and staying on to run it as a refuge for the sick. They were all parts of a whole that was immeasurably precious to him. Was the price of it finding who had betrayed them? And even as he asked, he knew the answer.
“So, you think it could be this bank manager, Doyle?” Runcorn broke into his thoughts.
“Yes. Hooper’s gone to see where he was at the times of the murders—”
Runcorn winced.
“What?” Monk asked. “They’re tied together: Kate Exeter; Lister, the one kidnapper we know; and Bella Franken.”
“Other suspects?” Runcorn asked.
“No one, except possibly Maurice Latham. Unless it’s one of us.”
“Who the hell is Maurice Latham?”
Briefly Monk told him.
“Or else what? Lister was working for one of your own? Come on, Monk! You don’t believe that any more than I do. There’s somebody behind this with a real power and intelligence, using the others. If you were thinking straight, you’d know it, too. If you get no other ideas, then either it’s Doyle, or you’ve got to find your own man who’s in debt or being pressured by someone, maybe got an old grudge against you,” Runcorn said. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Some issue dug up from the past?”
For once, Monk had not even thought of his own past in this.
“No, I hadn’t thought it had anything to do with me.”
Runcorn stared at Monk steadily, and it was as if a parade of ghosts had walked between them. “If it is,” Runcorn said, “I’ll help you catch the bastard. I’m not afraid.”
From another man, it might have seemed pompous, self-praising. From Runcorn it was simply a statement of fact, and of friendship.
Monk found himself absurdly choked with emotion. He looked away in order to shield himself. “Thank you. I’m going to work on my own men. See what they’re each afraid of. I’ve got to get rid of this…doubt.”
* * *
—
MONK TOOK LAKER WITH him to try to learn more about Bella Franken’s death. He went by boat to begin with, because it gave him the chance to be alone with Laker and not be overheard. He hated this, but Runcorn was
right. Until it was resolved, they would have suspicion like an unwelcome guest between them all the time.
It was a cold, damp day on the river, but the fog was holding off and there was no wind. It was an excellent day for rowing and they were going downriver with the ebb tide.
“Do you think we’ll really learn anything about Bella Franken, sir?” Laker asked. “Wasn’t she killed by Doyle because she found where he fiddled the books, probably because he was stealing, along with getting the money for Exeter to pay the ransom?”
“You think he took the chance to take something for himself while he was at it?” Monk asked. Actually, it was what he thought himself. Either him or Latham. It was what the figures suggested, as much as he could understand the bookkeeping. It certainly made sense, and although she had not said so, he was almost certain that was what Bella had thought. “And Doyle knew he’d been found out, so he killed her?”
“Wasn’t that what she said?” Laker’s voice was sharp with disgust.
“More or less,” Monk agreed. “She explained something of the ledgers to me. It wasn’t obvious. He’d been very careful about it. Lots of small discrepancies, as if someone had been bad at arithmetic, or done it late at night, with quite a lot of corrections. Once you knew what to look for, it seemed clear enough.”
They rowed in silence for a minute or two.
“What do we expect to find out downriver, then?” Laker asked.
“How do you suppose Doyle got in touch with Lister, or any of the kidnappers?”
“Did he? You think he actually had a hand in it, rather than just…I don’t know…” Laker stopped, sounding uncertain.
“You don’t?” Monk affected surprise. He hated this game of cat and mouse, but he had to go through with it. If Laker knew something he did not, then this long time alone with him, when conversation came naturally, was the only way to find out. “The kidnappers got in touch with Exeter,” he went on. “And someone who betrayed him—and us. Someone knew our plans exactly. Knew which way we were going in, which buildings we’d go through, which passages we’d use, what time.”
Laker did not answer immediately.
