Read William Monk 17 - Acceptable Loss for Free Online

this Mr. ’Orrible Jones,” Monk observed.
    “Oh, yes, sir.” Tosh blinked and smiled, showing very white and curiously pointed teeth.
    T HEY FOUND ’O RRIE J ONES sweeping the sawdust on the floor of a pub just off one of the alleys leading down to the riverfront. Coburn pointed him out, although there was no need. He was stout and of less than average height. He was an unusually ugly man. His brown hair grew at all angles from his head, rather like the spines of a hedgehog. His nose was broad, but it was his eyes that were his most unnerving feature.
    “Mornin’ ’Orrie,” Coburn said cheerfully, stopping in front of him.
    ’Orrie grasped the broom handle, his knuckles white. One large, dark eye was fixed balefully on the constable; the other wandered toward the far corner. Monk had no idea whether ’Orrie could see him or not.
    “Yer found ’oo done that ter Mickey?” ’Orrie demanded.
    “Done what?” Monk inquired, wanting to know if ’Orrie was aware of the strangulation, before Coburn mentioned it.
    “Pushed ’im in the water.” ’Orrie shifted his gaze, or at least half of it.
    “Could he swim?” Monk asked.
    “Not with ’is ’ead stove in,” ’Orrie replied. His face was so vacant, Monk was not sure if he felt anger, pity, or even disinterest. It set Monk at an unexpected disadvantage.
    “It doesn’t surprise you that he is dead?” Monk asked.
    ’Orrie’s gaze wandered round the room. “Don’t surprise me when nobody’s dead,” he replied.
    Monk found himself irritated. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, and yet it sidestepped the real question. Was that intentional?
    “How long did you look for him last night when you went back to the boat and discovered he had gone?” he persisted.
    “Till I couldn’t find ’im,” ’Orrie said patiently. “Dunno ’ow long it were. In’t no use looking after that.”
    Monk thought he saw ’Orrie smile, but decided to pretend he hadn’t. “Were you late going back for him?” he said sharply.
    This time it was ’Orrie who looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Yeah. I got ’eld up. Some fool wouldn’t pay, an’ we ’ad ter ask ’im a bit ’arder. Crumble’ll tell yer.”
    Monk looked at Coburn.
    “Crumble is one of Parfitt’s pimps,” Coburn replied.
    ’Orrie looked at him with disapproval. “Yer shouldn’t say things like that, Mr. Coburn. Crumble just looks after things.”
    Coburn shrugged.
    Monk did not pursue it. ’Orrie was probably telling the truth, and it was quite possible that none of them had a very clear idea of time. Monk would have to look further into the various sources of money to see whether ’Orrible Jones had any apparent motive either to kill Parfitt himself or to shield anyone else who had.
    They questioned ’Orrie further, but he had nothing to add to the simple fact that he had rowed Mickey Parfitt out to his boat, which was moored upstream from the local island, Chiswick Eyot, shortly after eleven o’clock. He had waited until midnight to go back for him, and then had been delayed by trouble in one of the taverns, where a customer had refused to pay for several drinks. Monk had no doubt it was actually a brothel, but for the purpose of accounting for ’Orrie’s time, it came to the same thing. When ’Orrie had rowed back just before one, Mickey Parfitt was nowhere to be seen. He said he had looked for him until he believed it was pointless, and then he had gone back home and gone to bed.
    In the morning, when ’Orrie had called on Mickey and found he was still not around, he had been sufficiently concerned to go and waken Tosh. Tosh had told him to go back to bed, but instead ’Orrie had begun to search for Mickey. In little more than an hour, he had found the body.
    Monk excused ’Orrie, for the time being, and went to find Crumble, who appeared to have no other name. He was in the cellar of the pub, moving kegs around with more ease than Monk would have