Blood on the Water by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

timber.
    Could the tragedy have to do with smuggling? The
Princess Mary
had been to Gravesend. Could it have met a coastal freighter there? The possibilities filled his mind. Smuggled goods deliberately sunk, to be plundered afterward? By whom? Pirates? Salvagers? Corrupt laborers, or even police?
    Would Lydiate even think of that? Should Monk suggest it?
    Or did Lydiate already know what or who was behind the explosion, but was keeping it quiet because it
was
political?
    Whatever the reason, it had to be overwhelming for anyone to have committed such a horrific crime.
    Years ago Monk had been in the regular Metropolitan Police himself. Whether he had resigned or been dismissed was an arguable point. Early in his career he had worked alongside a man named Runcorn, and they had trusted each other. Then Monk’s darker nature hadbrought out the worst in Runcorn. Friendship had turned first to rivalry, later into something close to hatred.
    The final straw came when Runcorn had been promoted, becoming Monk’s superior. Runcorn was by nature obedient, loyal, unimaginative, and often pompous. All these things considered, it was surprising how long it had taken him to dismiss Monk. It had occurred at precisely the same moment when Monk had completely lost his temper and resigned.
    For some time Monk had worked as a private agent of inquiry, but the living was dangerous and irregular. When he had been offered the position of commanding the Thames River Police, little as he liked either the responsibility or the discipline, he had accepted it. Commanding men had taught him much, humbled some of his arrogance and given him an unexpected sense of loyalty to his work and the people he worked with. He had even found, to his amazement, a kind of friendship with Runcorn, who had mellowed much since his unexpected marriage to a woman he had imagined hopelessly beyond his reach.
    Now, at the end of the day on the river, Monk found he had finished his work a little earlier than expected. On impulse, he took a hansom to Runcorn’s police station in Blackheath and asked to see him.
    He had to wait about a quarter of an hour until Runcorn returned from some errand, but he did so with patience. He recognized Runcorn’s rather heavy step ascending the stairs and found himself anticipating the meeting with pleasure, something he could not have imagined a few years ago.
    Runcorn came into the room smiling and with his hand held out. He was a big man, tall and solid with a long face and thick gray curling hair.
    Monk stood and gripped Runcorn’s hand. The pressure expressed eloquently the strange mixture of memory and understanding that bound them.
    Without asking Monk’s preference, Runcorn called over his shoulderfor two mugs of tea. Then he waved at the chair for Monk to resume his seat. He took off his jacket and sat down himself, crossing his legs comfortably, waiting for Monk to state his reason for having come.
    “I expected to have to wait longer,” Monk remarked. “Or have you got something else on at the moment?” He knew he would not have to tell Runcorn what case he was interested in.
    Runcorn sighed. “Something else,” he agreed. “Damn stupid knife fight in an alley. Lucky he isn’t up for murder. Seems idiotic, doesn’t it? Words! Man with the vocabulary of a pig insults you, and you risk spending the rest of your life in prison breaking rocks just to get back at him. And we’ve got a hundred corpses being hauled out of the river—and for what?”
    “No idea yet, then?” Monk asked.
    Runcorn sighed and answered the door as a constable arrived with the tea. He took it from him, thanked him, and then shut the door again. He passed one of the mugs over to Monk. “Take your pick. Theft, but there’s nothing to steal that wouldn’t have been taken a lot more effectively by half a dozen pickpockets, and sold on without anyone the wiser. Some sort of fraud?” He pursed his lips. “Can’t see how. Extortion? ‘Pay, or