"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 could well have had a kind of charm. She was certainly fluent enough with words, and there was a cockiness in her walk and the attitude of her head. There was nothing of self-pity in her. She seemed as curious about Monk as he was about her. "W'y dyer wanna know, eh? Wot's 'e done toyer? If 'e broke the law, I in't shoppin' 'im.”
"He didn't hurt you?”
"Urt me? Wo's matter wiv yer? Course 'e din't 'urt me! W'y'd 'e 'urt me?”
"Did he pay you?”
"W'y yer wanna know?" She put her head on one side, looking at him out of wide, dark brown eyes. "Like lookin' at fellas, do yer?" There was the beginning of contempt in her voice. "Cost yer!”
"No, I don't," he said tartly. "A lot of women have been raped and beaten, mostly in Seven Dials, but some here. I'm after whoever did it.”
"Geez!" she said in awe. "Well, nobody 'urt me. "E paid proper an' willin'.”
"When was that? Please try to recall.”
She thought for a moment.
"Was it before or after Christmas?" he prompted. "New Year?”
"It were between," she said with sudden enlightenment. "Then 'e came again arter New Year. W'y? Can't yer tell me wy? Ye don' think as it were 'im, do yer?”
"What do you think?”
"Never!" She tilted her head to one side. "Were it? "Onest?”
"When was the last time you saw him?”
"Dunno. I din' see 'im for a couple o' weeks afore them blokes was done in Water Lane. Rozzers all over the place arter that. In't good for business.”
He took out the picture of Leighton Duff. "Did you ever see this man?”
She studied it. "No.”
"Are you sure?”
"Yeah. I never seen 'im. "Oo is 'e? Is 'e the bloke wot got beat ter death?”
"Yes.”
"Well, I see'd Rhys, that's 'is name, wi' other gents, but this geezer weren't one of 'em. They was young, like 'im. One were real and some Called is self "King", or "Prince" or sum mink like that. The other were Arfur.”
"Duke, perhaps?" Monk felt his pulse beating like a hammer. This was it, this was the three of them seen together, and named.
"Yeah… that's right! Were he a duke, for real?”
"No. It's just short for Marmaduke!”
"Oh… Shame. Like ter fink as I'd 'ad a duke. Still, never mind, eh? All the same wif their pants orff." She laughed with genuine humour at the absurdity of pretension.
"And they all paid you?" he pressed one more time.
"Nah… that Duke were a nasty piece o' work. "E'd a 'it me if I'd 'a pushed, so I din't. Jus' took wot I could.”
"Did he hit you?”
"Nah. I knows well ter push me luck, an' well not ter.”
"Did you see him the night of the murder?”
"Nah.”
"None of them?”
"Nah.”
"I see. Thank you." He produced a shilling, all the change he had left, and gave it to her.
He continued in his search. As he was already aware, the word had spread whom he was seeking and why. For once co-operation was less grudgingly given. Once or twice it was even volunteered. He wanted one more piece, if possible. Had there been a victim that night? Had Leighton Duff caught them before they had attacked, or after? Was there any room at all for denial?
If they had been exultant, intoxicated with the excitement of their victory, dishevelled, perhaps marked with blood, then there was nothing else left to seek. Once Evan knew where to look, whom to question, and had the force of law behind him and the crime of murder, no more rape of women society chose to forget, but a man who was at the heart and core of their own, and the rest could be concerned, proof enough for any court.
It took him another complete day, but at last he found her, a woman in her forties, still pretty in spite of her tiredness and persistent cough. Her cheekbone was broken and she limped badly. She was severely bruised. Yes, they had raped her, but she had not had the strength to fight, and that in itself had seemed to anger them. She was lucky. They had been interrupted.
"Don' tell anyone!" she begged. "I'll lose me job!”
He wished he could promise her that. He said what he could.
"They went on to commit murder, within a few minutes of leaving you,” he said grimly. "You won't need to say you were raped. You can swear you were walking along the street and they fell on you… that will be good enough.”
"Yeah?" she looked doubtful.
"Yes," he said firmly. "Where was it?”
Her voice was husky, her face pale. "Just orff Water Lane.”
"Thank you. That will be enough… I promise.”
It was sufficient. He would have to take it to Evan. He could not conceal it any longer. It was material evidence on the murder of Leighton Duff. If Rhys and his friends had been using prostitutes in St. Giles, which was now unarguable, and it had escalated in violence over the months, then it seemed more than likely that Leighton Duff had found out and had followed him, going to St. Giles just the once. That was borne out by Monk's lack of ability to find anyone who had recognised him. That was ample motive for the quarrel which had followed, the battle which had gone so far it could only end in the death of the one person who knew the truth of what he had done… his father. Whether Arthur and Marmaduke Kynaston had been present or not, what part they had played, would have to be proved.