Read Online Blood on the Water by Anne Perry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Perry
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Sir Oliver,” Scuff said immediately. “He weren’t guilty! They still punished him. He can’t do the law anymore. It would’ve bin too late for ever if they’d ’ave hanged him, wouldn’t it!”
“He was guilty, Scuff,” Monk said quietly.
“That man in court was wrong!” Scuff said angrily, challenging Monk, believing he was mistaken now, yet needing him to be right.
Monk was struck by how much of Scuff’s precious, fragile new world depended upon his belief in Monk and Hester: that they were right, and that they loved him. Those two things would never change, even if food, shelter, and acceptance by others were all destroyed.
“I know he was wrong,” Monk said as calmly as he could. Scuff should not hear anger or uncertainty in his voice. “And he paid for that. The one who killed those people was hanged for it. But Sir Oliver was wrong too.”
“He had to do that!” Scuff protested.
“He thought so,” Monk agreed. “And perhaps that was the truth. But what he did was against the law, and he knew he would have to pay for it.”
“But he isn’t doing law now.” Scuff clung to his point. “That in’t right. ’E was really, really good at it.” There was desperation in his voice. “They shouldn’t have put him out!”
“He’s only out for a while,” Monk assured him. “He’s taking a holiday in Europe, going with his father, whom he loves very much.” He made himself smile. “He’ll come back. Then you can ask him if he thinks it was fair or not. I believe he’ll say it was.”
Scuff stared at him levelly for several seconds. Then he turned to Hester, his eyes demanding, waiting.
“Sometimes there isn’t any good choice,” she said gently, movingher shoulders a little in a gesture of acceptance. “You have to pick the one you think is least bad, and hope you’re right. I think he was. But not everything comes with an easy answer, or without a price.”
Scuff turned that over in his mind for a few more moments, and then he seemed satisfied. He looked at Monk again. “So what are they going to do about the boat and all those people what drowned?”
“Those people
who
drowned,” Hester corrected him automatically. Scuff’s grammar still tended to slip when he was upset.
“They’re going to catch who did it, possibly this Egyptian man, and try him. And then if he’s guilty they’ll hang him,” Monk replied.
“An’ if he isn’t?” Scuff persisted.
“Then they’ll let him go, and start again,” Monk said firmly.
Scuff looked a little doubtful. “They’ll look stupid then, as they got it wrong. You think they’ll own up to it? People’ll be red-hot angry. They’re bad enough now, ’cos it’s taking weeks to catch him. If I was them, I’d be scared, and I wouldn’t want to own up I got it wrong.”
Monk drew in a quick breath, and then let it out again.
“Of course you would be scared,” Hester said before he could find the words. “But I hope you’d be a lot more scared of how you would feel if you deliberately hanged the wrong person, and let the real one go free.”
“ ’Course I would!” Scuff said angrily, his skin flushed.
Hester took a step closer and put her hand on his arm. It was not a caress, but it might as well have been, given the tenderness in it.
His face brightened immediately.
Hester kept on walking over to the stove without glancing back to see Monk’s smile. She knew it would be there.
I T WAS STILL OVER another week and well into June before the police arrested Habib Beshara, an Egyptian currently living in London. They charged him with the murder of one hundred and seventy-nine people by laying and detonating the explosive that blew up and sank the pleasure boat the
Princess Mary
.
There was jubilation throughout the city. Newspapers praised the police and looked forward to a speedy trial. Justice would be served. Order and faith in the rule of law returned. Many people even held parties.
Monk felt a wave of
“He was guilty, Scuff,” Monk said quietly.
“That man in court was wrong!” Scuff said angrily, challenging Monk, believing he was mistaken now, yet needing him to be right.
Monk was struck by how much of Scuff’s precious, fragile new world depended upon his belief in Monk and Hester: that they were right, and that they loved him. Those two things would never change, even if food, shelter, and acceptance by others were all destroyed.
“I know he was wrong,” Monk said as calmly as he could. Scuff should not hear anger or uncertainty in his voice. “And he paid for that. The one who killed those people was hanged for it. But Sir Oliver was wrong too.”
“He had to do that!” Scuff protested.
“He thought so,” Monk agreed. “And perhaps that was the truth. But what he did was against the law, and he knew he would have to pay for it.”
“But he isn’t doing law now.” Scuff clung to his point. “That in’t right. ’E was really, really good at it.” There was desperation in his voice. “They shouldn’t have put him out!”
“He’s only out for a while,” Monk assured him. “He’s taking a holiday in Europe, going with his father, whom he loves very much.” He made himself smile. “He’ll come back. Then you can ask him if he thinks it was fair or not. I believe he’ll say it was.”
Scuff stared at him levelly for several seconds. Then he turned to Hester, his eyes demanding, waiting.
“Sometimes there isn’t any good choice,” she said gently, movingher shoulders a little in a gesture of acceptance. “You have to pick the one you think is least bad, and hope you’re right. I think he was. But not everything comes with an easy answer, or without a price.”
Scuff turned that over in his mind for a few more moments, and then he seemed satisfied. He looked at Monk again. “So what are they going to do about the boat and all those people what drowned?”
“Those people
who
drowned,” Hester corrected him automatically. Scuff’s grammar still tended to slip when he was upset.
“They’re going to catch who did it, possibly this Egyptian man, and try him. And then if he’s guilty they’ll hang him,” Monk replied.
“An’ if he isn’t?” Scuff persisted.
“Then they’ll let him go, and start again,” Monk said firmly.
Scuff looked a little doubtful. “They’ll look stupid then, as they got it wrong. You think they’ll own up to it? People’ll be red-hot angry. They’re bad enough now, ’cos it’s taking weeks to catch him. If I was them, I’d be scared, and I wouldn’t want to own up I got it wrong.”
Monk drew in a quick breath, and then let it out again.
“Of course you would be scared,” Hester said before he could find the words. “But I hope you’d be a lot more scared of how you would feel if you deliberately hanged the wrong person, and let the real one go free.”
“ ’Course I would!” Scuff said angrily, his skin flushed.
Hester took a step closer and put her hand on his arm. It was not a caress, but it might as well have been, given the tenderness in it.
His face brightened immediately.
Hester kept on walking over to the stove without glancing back to see Monk’s smile. She knew it would be there.
I T WAS STILL OVER another week and well into June before the police arrested Habib Beshara, an Egyptian currently living in London. They charged him with the murder of one hundred and seventy-nine people by laying and detonating the explosive that blew up and sank the pleasure boat the
Princess Mary
.
There was jubilation throughout the city. Newspapers praised the police and looked forward to a speedy trial. Justice would be served. Order and faith in the rule of law returned. Many people even held parties.
Monk felt a wave of
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