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“Lister was already dead by the time Bella Franken was killed,” Monk pointed out.
“But we already knew this whole affair involved more than one person,” Rathbone said patiently. “Don’t dismiss Latham so easily. Who did you work out must have known Jacob’s Island for the kidnapping?”
“Four of them, at least. And that is if they came by land and didn’t need to have someone in a boat for their escape,” Monk replied. “And we knew Doyle wasn’t one of them.”
“He doesn’t sound like a man for violent adventures,” Rathbone said. “He’s a bank manager! But he could well be the brains behind it. Sounds like a very careful planner, good with figures and access to money to move it, and at least four ruffians to carry it out. One of them, Lister, is already dead. The other three we seem to have no lead on…yet…but one of them killed this poor girl. Are we any closer to finding the others?” Rathbone’s voice dropped a little, as if he feared a negative answer.
“No,” Monk said flatly. “Not at all. I haven’t spoken to Runcorn about them yet. I went straight to Exeter. We’ve got to prove his innocence, whether we ever get the guilty ones or not. What that man has endured…”
Rathbone’s face softened. “I know. We’ll get him out of this. I just haven’t thought how yet. Getting the right person is the best way, but it’s not the only way. Do you know which of your men betrayed you yet? I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but there isn’t time for delicacy.”
“No.” Monk realized what a weight it had been on him when he feared it was Hooper. And yet it would still hurt, whoever it was. “It looks as if it might have been Walcott. I can’t even narrow it down to when it can have happened. He must have told the kidnappers on that day, because we didn’t finalize the plans until then. But how he got the information to them, I have no idea. Unless he did it somehow after we arrived? We were all alone then, at least for a few minutes. It was getting dark, and it’s like a maze in those old rooms. Passages where one can walk have collapsed, physically. Anyone could have been anywhere.”
“Then we have to find the answer another way.” Rathbone was silent for a few moments.
“I’m trying to find Exeter’s enemies,” Monk digressed. “I’ve got a list, and I’ll put my men on it and ask if Runcorn can spare any of his. If there’s another client at Doyle’s bank, someone Exeter outbid on a big building or anything else, it would help to know who.”
“Good,” Rathbone acknowledged. “Reasonable doubt doesn’t save a man’s reputation, but it will save his life. That may be the best we can do—in the meantime.”
Monk sipped his tea. It was hot and tasted rich because of the whisky, but it certainly made him feel warmer, and more awake.
“Exeter was with you in the original attempt to pay the ransom and get Kate back,” Rathbone said slowly. “He was at home, though we’ve no proof of this, when Lister was killed, but we could presume Lister definitely was the man who originally snatched her? Yes? One thing proved, more or less. Presumably he was killed by his fellow kidnappers, and you saw him before and after, so you can pin down that time? And anyway, why would Exeter kill him? Revenge? Without catching the rest of the killers or getting his money back?”
“He’s not charged with killing Lister. But if he was, there would certainly be mitigating circumstances. And he could always put up an argument for self-defense,” Monk pointed out. “Tie all the murders together, and guilty of one has to be guilty of all! Or innocent?”
Rathbone’s face was very somber. “Not if he hired Lister in the first place.”
“To take his money and kill his wife!” Monk took a deep breath. “What happened to the money? Anyway, that’s not what they’re charging him with.”
“What are they charging him with?” Rathbone asked.
“Exeter said with the murder of Kate.”
“Well, surely you and your men can prove where he was, between all of you? Put your evidence together.”
“Difficult,” Monk pointed out bitterly, “if one of my men was actually betraying us! And for God’s sake, don’t say that one of my men actually killed her!”
Rathbone’s jaw dropped. “I…I hadn’t even thought of that! But I suppose it’s not impossible.”
Monk gulped, his mind filled with horror.
“Damn it, Monk! I don’t mean one of them did!” Rathbone exploded. “I mean they might charge one of them! That wasn’t up to Runcorn. Once the prosecutor gets hold of it—and feelings are running pretty high over this—if they think of it, they could do it!”
Monk said nothing. His mind was whirling, as if he were in the center of a storm, buffeted from every direction, almost off his feet.
Rathbone’s voice reached him from far away. “We had better start working on this straightaway. Put down all the evidence we are certain of, and why and how we are certain. Then all the stuff that’s ambiguous. And start clarifying what we need to know, what all the possibilities are, however remote or unpleasant, and see what we have left. Who killed Kate? Who has the money, if it even existed? Who killed Lister? Who killed that poor girl Bella Franken? And who’s trying to kill Exeter, through judicial execution!”
“And if one of my men is involved, what man—and why?” Monk finished.
“It’s going to be a long night and an early morning,” Rathbone said, taking a sip of his tea and adding more whisky.
CHAPTER
18
“I DON’T KNOW,” RUNCORN SAID, his voice rising in exasperation as he sat late the following evening in his office, Monk in the chair opposite him. “I don’t know why Exeter did it. I don’t even know for certain, in my own mind, that he did. But I can’t ignore the evidence.”
“What evidence?” Monk demanded. “He certainly didn’t kill Kate. He was with us. He was attacked, too, and he doesn’t know Jacob’s Island any better than any ordinary, well-to-do man in London would.”
