Read William Monk 15 - Dark Assassin for Free Online Page A

irrelevant to their anger and the sense of unfairness that lay behind it. Monk had gone on the same mission, and he was alive. They could not excuse that. They would have chosen Monk to die, every man of them.
    Kelly, a soft-spoken Irishman, small-boned and neat, handed him the reports of crime overnight. “Nothin’ out o’ the usual, sorr,” he said, meeting Monk’s eyes, then looking away. “Barge ran aground at low tide, but they got it off.”
    “Run aground intentionally?” Monk asked.
    “Yes, sorr, I’d say so. No doubt the owners’ll be reportin’ some o’ their cargo missin’.” Kelly gave a bleak smile.
    “Dragging it up through the mud, at low tide?” Monk questioned. “If they worked as hard at something honest, they’d probably make more.”
    “Clever an’ wise was never the same thing, sorr,” Kelly said dryly, turning back to his work.
    Monk took reports from Jones and Clacton as well, and spoke briefly to Butterworth as he came in. Kelly made tea, hot and as dark as mahogany. It would take Monk a long time to drink it with pleasure, but it would set him apart to refuse. Additionally, tea had the virtue of warming the inside and lifting the spirits, even when it was not laced with the frequently added rum.
    When the last patrols had landed and reported, and the next were gone out, Monk told them of his decision.
    “The two people off Waterloo Bridge yesterday,” he began.
    “Suicides,” Clacton said with a pinched expression. “Lovers’ quarrel, I expect. Seems stupid for both of ’em to jump.” He was a slender, strong young man of more than average height, who took himself very seriously and was prone to take offense where it was not intended. He could be helpful or obstructive, depending upon his opinion, which he rarely changed, whatever the circumstances. Monk found him irritating and was aware of his own temper rising. He had caught the other men watching him to see how he would handle Clacton. It was another test.
    “Yes, it does,” he agreed aloud. “Which makes me wonder if that was what happened.”
    “Thought you saw it,” Clacton challenged, moving his weight a little to stand more aggressively. “Sir,” he added as an afterthought.
    “From the river,” Monk replied. “It could have been accidental during a quarrel, or she jumped and he tried to stop her. Or even that he pushed her.”
    Clacton stared at him. “Why would ’e do that? No one else said so!”
    “I thought it could be,” Orme contradicted him. He was visibly irritated by Clacton’s attitude as well. His blunt, weathered face showed a quiet anger.
    “If ’e was goin’ to push ’er in, why wouldn’t ’e wait ’alf an ’our, until dark?” Clacton demanded, his expression tightening. He moved a little closer to the stove, blocking it from Orme. “Don’ make sense. An’ with a police boat right in front of ’im! No, she jumped, and ’e tried to stop ’er and lost ’is own balance. Clear as day.”
    “Don’ suppose ’e saw us,” Jones answered him. “ ’E’d a’ bin lookin’ at ’er, not at us was on the water below.”
    “Still make more sense ter wait until dark,” Clacton retorted.
    “Wot if she weren’t goin’ ter stand there on the bridge waitin’ until it were dark?” Jones countered. “Mebbe she weren’t that obligin’.” He helped himself to more tea, deliberately taking the last of it.
    “If ’e planned to push ’er over, ’e’d ’ave planned to get there at the right time!” Clacton said angrily, looking at the teapot, then moving to block the fire from Jones rather than from Orme.
    “And o’ course plans always go exactly right,” Jones added sarcastically. “I seen ’at!”
    There was a guffaw of laughter, probably occasioned by some failure of Clacton’s in the past. Monk was still trying to learn not only the job itself but, at times even more important, the relationships between the men, their strengths, and their weaknesses. Lives