away afterwards.”
'Wot fer?' She was genuinely puzzled, it was plain in her face. 'Yer know 'oo it were, don't yer?”
'I think so, but I need to prove it…”
'Wot fer?' she said again. 'If yer think as the law'll take any notice, yer daft! An' yer in't daft, not yer worst enemy'd say that oyer Other things mebbe.”
'Do you want them caught?' he asked. 'You imagine after what happened to one of them, they'll come back to St. Giles, for you to knife them and dump them on some midden? It'll be Limehouse, or the Devil's Acre, or Bluegate Fields next time. If we want justice, it will have to be in their territory, and that means with better weapons than yours. It means evidence, proof, not for the law, which as you say, doesn't care, but for society, which does.”
'Abaht prostitutes getting' raped or beat?' she said, her voice cracking high with disbelief. 'Yer've lorst your wits, Monk! It's finally got toyer!”
'Society ladies know their men use prostitutes, Minnie,' he explained patiently. 'They don't like to think other people know it. They certainly don't like to marry their daughters to young men who frequent places like St. Giles to pick up stray women, who could have diseases, and who practise violence against women, extreme violence. What society knows, and what it acknowledges, can be very difficult. There are things which privately can be overlooked, but publicly are never forgiven or forgotten.' He looked at her wrinkled face. 'You have loyalties to your own. You understand that. You don't betray the tribe with someone else. Neither do they. These young men have let the side down, they will not be forgiven for that.”
'Yer get 'em, Monk,' she said slowly, and for the first time her fingers stopped moving on the needles. 'Ye're a clever sod, you are.
Yer get 'em for us. We'll not ferget yer.”
'Where did they happen, the two in St. Giles?”
'Fisher's Walk, the first one, an' Ellicitt's Yard the second.”
'Time?”
'Jus' arter midnight, both times.”
'Dates?”
'Three nights afore the murder in Water Lane, night afore Christmas Eve.”
'Thank you, Minnie. You have been a great help. Are you sure you won't give me the names? It would help to talk to the victims themselves.”
'Yeah, I'm sure.”
The following day he went to Evan and aft era little persuasion obtained from him copies of the pictures of Rhys Duff and his father.
He looked at the faces with curiosity. It was the first time he had seen them, and they were neither as he had pictured them. Leighton Duff had powerful features, a strong, broad nose, clear eyes that were blue or grey from the light in them, and the appearance of keen intelligence. Rhys was utterly different, and it was his face which troubled him. It was the face of a dreamer. He should have been a poet or an explorer of ideas. His eyes were dark under winged brows, his nose good, if a trifle long, his mouth sensitive, even vulnerable.
But it was only a drawing, probably made after the incident, and perhaps the artist had allowed his sense of pity to influence his hand.
Monk put them in his pocket, thanked Evan, and set out through a light drizzle towards St. Giles again.
In Fisher's Walk he began asking street traders, pedlars, beggars, anyone who would answer him, if they recognised either of the two men.
It did not take long to find someone who identified Rhys.
'Yeah,' he said, scratching his finger at the side of his head and knocking his cap askew. 'Yeah, I seen 'im 'angin' around once or twice, mebbe more. Tall, eh? Nice-lookin' gent. Spoke proper, like them up west. Dressed rough, though. Down on 'is luck, I reckon.”
'Dressed rough?' Monk said quickly. 'What do you mean, exactly?' Was it Rhys, or only someone who looked a little like him?
'Well, not like a gent,' the man replied, looking at Monk earnestly as if he doubted his intelligence. 'I know wot gents look like. Overcoat, 'e 'ad, but nuthink special, no fur on the collar, no 'igh 'at, no stick. In fact no 'at at all, co meter think on it.”
'But it was this man? You are sure?”
'Course I'm sure! Yer fink I dunno wot I sees, or yer fink I'm a liar, eh?”
'I think it's important you are sure,' Monk said carefully. 'Someone's life might hang on it.”
The man laughed uproariously, his breath coming in gasps between rich, rolling gurgles of merriment.
'Yer a caution, you are! I never 'card yer was a wit afore. On'y 'card yer was clever, an' never ter cross yer. Mean bastard, but fair, most o' the time, but one ter give a bloke enough rope ter 'ang is self an' then watch wile 'e does it. Pull the trap fer 'im, if 'e'd done yer wrong.”
Monk felt the cold close in on him, penetrating his skin. 'I wasn't being funny,' he said in a voice that caught in his throat. 'I meant depend on it, not hang with a rope.”
'Well, if you ain't gonna 'ang them bastards wot raped those women over in Seven Dials, wot yer want 'em for? Ye gonna get 'em orff 'cos they're gents? That in't like yer. I never 'card from nobody, even yer worst enemy, as yer feared nor favoured no one, not for nuffink at all.”
'Well, that's something, I suppose. I'm not going to hang them because I can't. I'd be perfectly happy to.' He was not sure of that being true. 'Happy' might not be the right word, but he could certainly accede to it. He knew Hester would not, but that was irrelevant…
well, almost.
'It were 'im,' the man said, shivering a little as he grew colder standing still on the street corner. 'I seen 'im 'ere three, mebbe four times. Always at night.”
'Alone, or with others?”
'Wif others, twice. Once by is self 'Who were the others? Describe them! Did you ever see him with women, and what were they like?”
'Ang on! 'Ang on! Once 'e were wif an older man, 'cavy set, dressed very smart, like a gent. 'E were real angry, shouting at 'im…”
'Who was shouting at whom?' Monk interrupted.
'They was shouting at each other, o' course.”
Monk produced the picture of Leighton Duff. 'Was this him, or could it have been?”
The man studied it for several moments, then shook his head. 'I dunno.
I don' fink so. W'y? 'Oo is 'e?”
'That doesn't matter. Have you ever seen him, the older man?”
'Not as I knows of. Looks like a few as I seen.”
'And the other time? Who was the young man with then?”
'Woman. Young, mebbe sixteen or so. They went together inter an alley. Dunno after that, but I can guess.”
'Thank you. I don't suppose you know the name of the woman, or where I can find her?”
'Looked like Fanny Waterman terme, but that don't mean it were!”
Monk could scarcely believe his good fortune. He tried not to let his sense of victory show too much in his voice.
'Where can I find her?”
'Black 'Orse Yard.”
Monk knew better than to try for a number. He would have to go there and simply start asking. He paid the man half a crown, a magnificent reward he feared he would regret later, and then set out for Black Horse Yard.
It took him two hours to find Fanny Waterman, and her answers left him totally puzzled. She recognised Rhys without hesitation.
'Yeah. So wot?”
'When?”
'I dunno. Mebbe free or four times. Wot's it toyer?' She was a slight, skinny girl, hardly handsome, but she had a face which reflected intelligence and some humour behind the belligerence, and in different circumstances she
