Read William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin for Free Online

the ways that mattered.
    “Who was she?” Hester asked.
    “Mary Havilland,” he replied. “Her father took his own life a couple of months ago.” He saw the shadow of grief in Hester’s eyes, and the tightening of her mouth. “Her sister believes that she did not recover from it,” he added. “I’m sorry.”
    She looked away. “It’s over,” she said quietly. She was referring to her own father, not Havilland’s. “Why did he do it?” she asked. “Was it debt, too?”
    “Apparently not,” he replied. “He believed there was some danger of an accident in the tunnels. They’re building some of the new sewers.”
    “And not before time!” she said fervently. “What sort of an accident?”
    “I don’t know.” He explained the family relationships briefly. “Argyll says his father-in-law had a terror of landslips, cave-ins and so on. He became obsessed, lost his senses a bit.”
    “And is that true?” she pressed, clearly still forcing herself to think only of the present case.
    “I don’t know.” He went on to tell her about Mary’s proposed engagement to Toby Argyll, and that she had broken it off, but no reason had been given, except her distress over her father’s death and that she refused to believe that he had caused it himself. She could not let the matter go.
    “What was it, then?” Hester asked. “Accident? Or murder?” She was being severely practical, but he saw the stiffness in her, the deliberate control, and the effort.
    “I don’t know. But the police investigated it. It was Runcorn’s patch.” He looked at her steadily with a bleak smile.
    She understood why that added irony and pain to the case. More than he wished, she had seen his ambition for authority, the way he had fought with, crushed, and infuriated Runcorn in the past. She did not know the flashes of memory and shame that Monk had had since then, the realization of how he had used Runcorn in his own climb to success, before the accident that had taken his memory. There were things that it was kind for forgetfulness to cleanse from the mind.
    “But you’re going to find out,” she said, watching him.
    “Yes, I have to. She’ll be buried in unhallowed ground if she meant to do it.”
    “I know.” Tears filled Hester’s eyes.
    Instantly he wished he had not uttered this bit of truth. He should have lied if necessary.
    Hester saw that too. “There’s no such thing as unhallowed ground, really.” She swallowed. “All the earth is hallowed, isn’t it? It’s just what people think. But some people care very much about being buried with their own, belonging even in death. See what you can find. Her sister may need to know the truth, poor woman.”

TWO
    T he tide was high the next morning and the river, with its smells of mud and salt, dead fish and rotting wood, seemed to be lapping right at the door as Monk walked across the dockside. The wind had fallen and it was calm, the surface of the water barely rippled as it seeped higher around the pier stakes and up the stone steps that led to the quaysides and embankments. The rime of ice overnight had melted in places, but there were still patches as slippery as oiled glass.
    “Morning, sir,” Orme said briskly as Monk came into the station. The stove had been burning all night and the room was warm.
    “Good morning, Orme,” Monk replied, closing the door behind him. There were three other men there: Jones and Kelly, busily sorting through papers of one kind or another, and Clacton, standing by the stove, his clothes steaming gently.
    Monk greeted them and received dutiful acknowledgment, but no more. He was still a stranger, a usurper of Durban’s place. They all knew that it was in helping Monk that Durban had contracted the terrible disease that had brought about his death, and they blamed Monk for it. That Durban had gone on the mission both because he wished to, understanding the enormity of the danger, and because he considered it his duty, was