Acceptable Loss - Anne Perry [102]
“I believe that I do,” Monk contradicted him. “But the proof is what I came here to present.”
The jurors looked stunned. There was a buzz of excitement in the public gallery, rustles of movement and indrawn breath.
Winchester himself played it for all it was worth.
“Are you suggesting, Mr. Monk, that it was this … this investor who murdered Mickey Parfitt? Why, for heaven’s sake? Was the boat not making him a fortune?”
Rathbone stood up at last. “My lord, this is the wildest speculation!”
“It is indeed,” the judge answered tartly. “Mr. Winchester, you know better than this!”
“I apologize, my lord,” Winchester said humbly. “I’m sorry.”
It was only at that moment that Rathbone realized that Winchester had had nothing more to add anyway. Rathbone’s intervention had saved him from the jury’s realizing it.
“Have you anything else pertinent to say, Mr. Winchester?” the judge asked with evident impatience. “For example, something tangible, such as either of the weapons used in the attack of Mr. Parfitt, or a timetable of his movements? Or for that matter, a witness to anything at all? You have so far only a handful of obscene and repulsive photographs and a web of speculation, none of which you have connected to the accused.”
Winchester looked suitably chastened and once again addressed Monk. “Sir, his lordship has excellent points, and has graciously reminded me that I have yet to mention the weapons used to take the life of this repulsive man. Did you seek them, and did you find them?”
“I did not find the weapon with which his head was struck,” Monk replied. “It is difficult to know what that would have been, but any strong length of branch from a tree would have served, or a broken plank of wood, or an oar. There were many such lying on the bank, or floating in the water.”
Winchester looked faintly disconcerted, but he did not interrupt.
“However, we did find the weapon with which he was strangled,” Monk continued. “It was a dark blue cravat with an unusual pattern on it of leopards, very small and in threes, one above the other, in gold. It was made of silk, and there were six very tight knots in it, at slightly irregular distances matching the bruises perfectly.”
Winchester allowed the jury a few moments to absorb this information. “Really! And where did you find the cravat, Mr. Monk?”
“The police surgeon cut it from around Parfitt’s neck,” Monk answered.
There was a sigh of breath and a buzz of movement around the court.
“And did you trace its owner?” Winchester asked.
“Yes, sir. It belonged to a Mr. Rupert Cardew …” Monk could not continue because of the uproar.
When the judge had regained control, Winchester thanked him and invited Monk to proceed.
“Mr. Cardew said that the item had been stolen from him the previous afternoon, and we later found evidence that that was indeed so.”
“Did this evidence implicate Arthur Ballinger?”
“No, sir.”
“So what did, Mr. Monk? So far, as I’m sure Sir Oliver would be quick to point out, there is nothing in the course of your investigation to suggest his name to you, much less to imply his guilt in the matter at all!”
“A short handwritten note inviting Parfitt to meet the accused at the boat, on the evening of his death,” Monk replied.
Again there were gasps and cries in the body of the court, and it was several moments before the judge managed to restore order.
“And where did you find this extraordinary document?” Winchester inquired.
“Written above another note given to me, presumably without appreciating its importance, by Mr. Jones, one of Mr. Parfitt’s employees,” Monk told him. “Parfitt wrote down the time he wanted Jones to ferry him to his boat.”
“Indeed. And was this note signed by the accused?”
“No. It was written on the back of a piece of paper, on the front of which was a list of medicines to be purchased for the use of patients in the Portpool Lane Clinic.”
Winchester’s black eyebrows shot up. “Good heavens! Are you certain?”
“Yes. We took it to the clinic and asked those who work there to identify