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“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you separate during this journey into Jacob’s Island?” Ravenswood repeated.
“Yes. But I stayed with Mr. Exeter. That was the purpose of going with him, to see that he did not get lost.”
“He kept hold of the money?”
“Yes. Then we were attacked. I don’t know by whom, because it was getting darker and the only light inside the place came from bull’s-eye lanterns we carried. We both managed to fight our assailants off, keep the money, and make our way to the place where we were to meet the kidnappers.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
“You could see Mr. Exeter at all times?”
Monk tried to visualize it in his mind: the rising tide, the thickening darkness, what he had actually seen, rather than heard or imagined. “Yes. Right until he went alone the last few yards to meet the kidnappers.”
“Yes. The last few yards. He was out of your sight then?”
“It was getting darker, and I was attacked myself. From behind. I had no idea who it was, but I wasn’t badly injured…just…out of it for a few moments.” It was a humiliating memory.
“Was Mr. Exeter also attacked, do you know?”
It sounded a harmless question, but Monk was beginning to see that Ravenswood was not as innocent as he seemed, merely well mannered.
“When I saw him again, he was filthy and badly bruised.”
“He was gone a long time?”
“No. It was getting dusk and very difficult to see anyone clearly, unless one of the lanterns was close to him. He went to give the money to the kidnappers and—and get his wife back. He was willing to part with the money! All he wanted was to get her back—safe…”
“That is what he told you? And you believed him, because you put yourself in his place, and remembered how you felt when your own wife was taken.” Ravenswood made it a conclusion, not a question.
“Any decent man…” Monk began. Then he checked himself and made his voice softer. “He had given me no reason at all to believe it was not exactly as he said, then or since. He had acquired the money, I believe, with some difficulty. It was an extraordinary amount. He took it to hand over, but they had already killed her. They took it and fled. I believed at the time that that was what had happened, and I have had no reason since then to change my opinion.”
“If they had the money and were in no danger of imminent arrest, why would they kill her?” Ravenswood looked sad and puzzled.
Monk had wondered that himself. But he knew that Exeter’s defense relied on
there being some credible answer. “I assume she recognized one of them,” he said.
“Kidnappers? Really?” Ravenswood looked mildly puzzled. “You think she had acquaintance with such people? Where would she have been likely to encounter them? Hardly in her social circle.” He shook his head very slightly. “I imagine you did look into this, as a matter of course.”
“Yes. There was no one who was sufficiently in debt or otherwise vulnerable, and we looked carefully. We also asked Mr. Exeter, and he knew of no one at all.”
“You’ll forgive me if I do not find him as believable as you do,” Ravenswood said drily.
“We narrowed it down to the bank manager, Roger Doyle,” Monk carried on. “He knew about the situation, and he knew Mr. Exeter’s financial circumstances: that he had the means to raise exactly that amount of money, at the highest end of possibilities. He also knew Mrs. Exeter by sight and could be certain that Mr. Exeter would turn to him for help, so he would always be aware of exactly how the case was proceeding.”
“And yet you did not arrest Mr. Doyle?”
“I would have, within the next couple of days.” That sounded like an excuse, and Monk could hear it in his own voice.
“What persuaded you, Mr. Monk?” Ravenswood sounded interested more than critical.
“The desire to have sufficient evidence to charge him also with the murder of Bella Franken, his ledger clerk, whose body—”
He was interrupted by a swelling murmur of horror and general disturbance in the gallery. For the first time, Monk looked across at the dock and saw an instant of surprise in Exeter’s white face. Then it was gone again.
