He was walking up the long hall when he recognized ahead of him the figures of Barclay and Amity Herne. They were standing fairly close to each other, but there was no ease in either of them. Barclay was facing a doorway to one side of the hall, as if expecting someone to emerge out of it. There was anxiety in every line and angle of his body, and the side of his face that Monk could see was sharp with fear.
Amity was facing him, half facing Monk, but she was oblivious to everyone else aside from her husband. She was speaking to him urgently and-to judge by her expression-with both anger and contempt.
Monk stopped, pretending to search his pockets for something, and watched them discreetly.
Amity appeared to repeat something she had said and took Herne by the arm. He shook her off as though her touch soiled his clothes. Then, with a single word of dismissal, he walked briskly away, disappearing around the first corner.
Amity stood still. Her back was to Monk now, so he could not read her expression, but the rigidity of her body, the stiff, high shoulders, were expressive enough.
He was about to move forward himself when the door Herne had been watching opened and Sinden Bawtry came out. Immediately, as if by the simple drawing of a curtain, Amity Herne changed completely. She turned toward him and Monk could see most of her face. It was lit with joy, her eyes soft and bright, a slight smile parting her lips.
Could she be so good an actress? Surely this was an unguarded moment no one was meant to see, perhaps least of all her husband?
Bawtry came toward her, smiling. Was there more warmth in it than courtesy required, or was Monk imagining it because of the sudden fire in her? Bawtry touched her, just one hand on her arm, but the gesture was clearly gentle. His hand lingered. Her smile became even softer.
Then they remembered themselves and the moment vanished. He spoke. She answered, and formality was restored again.
Monk stepped forward from the place where he had stopped and walked briskly on toward the court where he knew he would soon be called.
Rathbone was relieved when Monk climbed the steps to the witness stand and was sworn in again. Rathbone knew that Coniston’s patience and Pendock’s strength were both wearing out. He must hold the jury’s attention. They must begin to believe him soon and see a totally different pattern emerging. All he had asked of Pendock, all he could or would ask, was a fair hearing.
“Mr. Monk,” he began, his voice hard and clear, “I know you have already testified to finding the body of Zenia Gadney, horribly mutilated, but I must ask again details I did not ask before, because new explanations have become highly possible. Mrs. Gadney’s body was found early in the morning, as was Dr. Lambourn’s. Can you tell us again exactly where that was?”
“On Limehouse Pier.”
“On the pier itself?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a place where a prostitute might conduct her business?”
“No. It would be very easily seen from the river. Any boat going by, unless a certain distance from the shore, would observe you.”
“Yet the body was not found until you came by at roughly sunrise?”
“Because it was lying down and motionless.” Monk’s face tightened. “She could easily have been mistaken for a heap of rags, or an old tarpaulin, the way she had been left there.”
Rathbone felt a slight sickness clench in his stomach. “And your attention was drawn by a woman screaming?”
“Yes.”
“Briefly, what did you then, Mr. Monk?”
“Mr. Orme and I took the boat in to the woman who had attracted our attention. She was screaming because she had discovered the dead and grossly mutilated body of a woman who proved to be Zenia Gadney, a resident of Copenhagen Place, nearly half a mile away.”
“Mrs. Gadney, she had been murdered?” Rathbone asked.
“Yes.”
“In the course of your investigations did you learn why she was out at night, alone, in such a place as Limehouse Pier?”
“Apparently she liked to walk in that area, in daylight.” Monk hesitated a moment. Was he as aware of the gamble they were taking as Rathbone was?
“And was she alone then?” Rathbone prompted. He could not afford to slip now.
“She was seen with another woman at about sunset,” Monk answered quietly.
“Another woman?” Rathbone repeated it, his voice raised to make sure no one failed to hear.
“Yes. I have several witnesses who say it was a woman. They did not know who it was, nor were they able to give any detailed description, except that she was a few inches taller than Mrs. Gadney,” Monk answered him.
“Did they appear to know each other?” Rathbone asked. “According to your witnesses.”
“That was their impression,” Monk conceded. He looked tense, worried. Rathbone wondered how hard he had had to push for the testimony, but he was convinced it was the truth.
“So Mrs. Gadney was also out around dusk, with a person she appeared to trust, and was found murdered by morning?” he said aloud. “Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Would it surprise you to know that Dr. Lambourn also went out alone, just after dark, and seems to have met someone he trusted, possibly a woman, and gone up One Tree Hill where he was dosed with opium and his wrists cut? He also was found alone, the following morning.”
“It would have surprised me at the time,” Monk replied. “It does not surprise me now.”
“Had you seen this pattern initially, might you have investigated differently?”
Coniston stood up. “That is a hypothetical question, my lord, and the answer is meaningless.”
“I agree. Mr. Monk, you will not answer that question,” Pendock directed.
Rathbone smiled. The comment was for the jury, not for Monk to answer, and they all knew it, especially Pendock.
“Thank you,” Rathbone said to Monk. “I have no more to ask you.”
“I have nothing, my lord,” Coniston said. “We have heard it all before.”
Rathbone asked for a brief adjournment and was granted it.
He met Monk out in the hall.
“Thank you,” Rathbone said quickly.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Monk asked anxiously, falling in step with him as they made their way toward Rathbone’s chambers.
“No, I’m not sure,” Rathbone answered. “I told you that yesterday evening.” They reached the door and went in, closing it after them. “I’ve got Bawtry coming in a moment. Are you ready?”
“Before he comes,” Monk said quickly, “I saw him in the hall just before I came into court.” Briefly he described the quarrel between Amity and Herne, and then the total change he had seen in her manner toward Bawtry.
“Interesting,” Rathbone said thoughtfully. “Very interesting. Perhaps I shall have to amend some of my ideas. Thank you.”
Before Monk could reply there was a knock on the door and the court usher told Rathbone that Mr. Sinden Bawtry was here to see him.
Rathbone glanced at Monk, then at the usher. “Ask Mr. Bawtry to come in, please. Then see that we are not interrupted.”
Bawtry came in looking only slightly concerned. He shook hands with both of them, then accepted the seat Rathbone offered.
“What can I do for you, Sir Oliver?” he asked.
Rathbone had been awake half the night thinking of exactly this moment. He had everything to win, or to lose, resting on what he said in the next few minutes.
“Your advice, Mr. Bawtry,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m sure you would like this case ended as soon as possible, as we all would-but with justice completely served.”
“Of course,” Bawtry agreed. “What can I advise you regarding? I knew Lambourn, of course, but not his wife.” He made a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, perhaps that is technically incorrect. I mean Dinah Lambourn, whom I took to be his wife. Zenia Gadney I had never even heard of until her tragic death. What is it you wish to know from me?”