Monk followed Hester out as the maid led them to the door and helped them into their coats again. Outside was raw, with wind driving the rain. As soon as they were beyond the shelter of the steps he felt the chill of it through him, but it was only on the periphery of his awareness. Far deeper, as he watched Hester move into the arc of the lamplight ahead of him, and the gusting rain in the glare it shed, was the realization of how deeply Callandra cared. It was immeasurably more than admiration, loyalty or friendship, for all that that was worth. This was a wound which might not heal, a pain within her heart neither he nor Hester could reach to give any ease.
He caught up and put his arm in Hester’s, felt her respond, matching her step to his. He knew that she had known this all along, and he understood why she had not told him.
In the morning they ate breakfast early, and Monk went out as far as the corner to buy the morning edition of the newspapers. He scanned the front page, and then the second and third. The North had gained a considerable success in the Civil War. General Butler had taken the Confederate forces on the Hatteras Inlet. Forty-five officers and six hundred men were prisoners of war.
There was no word of Kristian’s arrest-in fact, no mention of the case at all. He returned home uncertain whether he was really relieved or if it only pushed ahead the inevitable. Did the silence bring them any time, any chance to find refuting evidence before the press destroyed all innocence or doubt?
It seemed a wasted age of time until there was a polite tap on the door, and Monk strode over to open it and found Callandra’s coachman on the step to say they had an appointment with Fuller Pendreigh in his office in Lincoln’s Inn, and would they please come.
The journey took some time in the early-morning traffic, the wet streets glistening in fitful sun breaking through the clouds, gutters awash from the night’s rain. The air was damp and milder, full of the odors of smoke, manure, leather and wet horseflesh. No doubt, unless the wind rose considerably, there would be fog again by dusk.
They were there only a few minutes early, but Pendreigh received them immediately. He had obviously expected both women, from whatever Callandra had written to him, but it was Monk to whom he addressed his attention. It was apparent that he was unaware of Kristian’s arrest, and he was visibly shaken when he was told. His face was already colorless, and he seemed to sway a little on his feet as if the shock was so profound it had robbed him of balance.
“I’m sorry,” Monk said sincerely. “I wish I could have prevented it, but there really is no other reasonable person to suspect.”
“There must be,” Pendreigh said in a quiet, intensely controlled voice. “We just haven’t thought of him yet. Whatever the provocation, or the despair, I do not believe Kristian would have killed Elissa. He loved her. .” He stopped, his voice wavering a little. He turned half away from them, shielding his face. It was the nearest to privacy he could come. “If you had ever known her, you would understand that.”
Monk was compelled by reason. All the passion and idealism in the world, the most devoted love possible, could not alter the truth, and only the truth would serve now. There was a cleanness in it, no matter how terrible, a relief in the mind from the struggle of denial. But it took a fearful courage. He did not know, in Pendreigh’s place, if he could have done it. He could not afford to think of Callandra, or how she would feel, nor of Hester beside him.
“Fear can drive us all to thoughts and acts we could not imagine when we are safe,” Monk said clearly. “We don’t know each other when that last boundary has been crossed. We don’t even know ourselves. I used to imagine that no one would act against their own interests or do things that are going to result in something they passionately don’t want. But that isn’t true. Sometimes we just react to the moment, and don’t look even to the very next thing after it. We lash out in terror or outrage. Something seems so monstrously unjust we seek reparation, or revenge, without looking further to think what that does to us, or to anyone else.”
“Oh, no. .” Callandra protested, turning to him with an ashen face. “Some people, perhaps, but. .”
“Elemental emotions can override reason in even the most rational of us,” he insisted, holding her eyes and forcing her to meet his. He wanted to find the right words, but there were none. All he could do was be gentle in his tone. “Reasonable men can be passionate as well,” he said softly. “You know that as profoundly as I do. I have seen the mildest and most intelligent of men change utterly if, for example, his wife is violated.” He saw Hester wince, but ignored it. “Does he stay at home and comfort her, assure her of his love?” he went on. “Or does he go storming off to kill the man he believes responsible-leaving her alone, terrified and ashamed and hurt when she needs him the most?” Pendreigh was staring at him. Callandra tried to interrupt him, but he overrode her. “In his own rage and guilt that he was not there to protect her, he can attack someone who may or may not be responsible, and risk injustice and his own catastrophic blame, almost certainly arrest, and possibly prison or the rope for himself. All of which makes his poor wife’s situation unimaginably worse. Is that reasonable or intelligent? Is it going to produce good for anyone at all?” His voice softened suddenly. “Judges know that, even juries. It won’t help to pretend it couldn’t be, because we believe that Kristian’s innocent.”
“But no one has been violated!” Callandra protested at last. “And it is Elissa who is dead.” Her voice was full of argument, but he could see in her face that she understood what he meant. The parallel was not irrelevant.
“We shall go on searching for some other answer,” Monk agreed, still facing Callandra and ignoring Pendreigh and Hester. “But we must accept the fact that Kristian will stand trial.”
Callandra closed her eyes. He saw courage and defeat struggling in her face. The daylight in the room was hard and cold; the clear, pale, autumn sun did nothing to disguise the marks of age in her. There was no kindness in it.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. For a moment even Pendreigh’s loss did not mean anything to him. He had known Callandra since shortly after his accident, and that was six years now, all the life he could remember. She had always been loyal, brave, funny and kind. He would have done anything within his power to have saved her from this, but the only way he could offer his love was not to make the ordeal harder by drawing it out with lies. “We have to think who we can ask to defend him when the case opens. At the moment that is the most urgent thing.” As he spoke he turned to Pendreigh. “That is the principal reason we have come to you, sir.”
“I’ll do it,” Pendreigh answered without hesitation. Obviously he had been thinking of it while they were speaking. It was not a question he was asking, but a statement of intent. “I’ll defend him myself. I don’t believe he’s guilty, and that fact will be apparent to the jury. As Elissa’s father, I’ll make the best character witness he could have.”
Callandra’s face filled with relief, and for the first time the tears spilled over her cheeks. She turned to him and was about to speak, perhaps to thank him, when she must have realized how inappropriate that would be, and stopped.
Hester hastened into the silence, perhaps to distract Pendreigh’s eye from Callandra’s emotion. “That would be excellent! We will do everything we can to find more evidence, seek everything you want, talk to anyone.”
Pendreigh looked thoughtful. Now that he had made a decision, his manner changed. Some kind of strength returned. “Thank you.” He looked from one to another of them. “I shall do all I can to raise doubt as to the evidence and any conclusions that can be drawn from it, but we need more than that. Someone is responsible for the deaths of these two women. We need to raise at least one other believable alternative in the minds of the jurors.” He looked questioningly to Monk. “Is it true that witnesses preclude Allardyce from the possibility of having been there?”
“Yes. They are willing to swear he was in a tavern on the other side of the river all evening.”
“And I assume you have thoroughly investigated the people who own the gambling houses?” His distaste was hard in his voice, but he did not flinch from asking.
“Yes. Apart from their wish to draw the attention of the police as little as possible, and to not frighten away their custom, Mrs. Beck did not owe them any significant amount of money. They say all her debts were paid to date. People like her are the main source of their profit. It would make no sense to harm her.”
Pendreigh’s face tightened. “Then we must look further. We may not be able to prove anyone else’s guilt.” His voice was strained, and he did not quite meet Monk’s eyes. “But we must raise a very believable possibility. We must create so much doubt that they cannot convict Kristian.”
Monk wondered how much that was spoken from the desire to protect not only Kristian, but Elissa’s reputation as well, which was going to be almost impossible. He felt an intense pity for the man, and a grave respect for his strength that he could even contemplate going into court and keeping his composure sufficiently to fight the case when his only child was the victim. But Fuller Pendreigh had not risen to the position he held without great resources of inner power and remarkable self-discipline. Perhaps his very appearance in court would be the
