Slaves of Obsession - Anne Perry [103]
That was sufficient to make Bert move with alacrity. Whether they knew Judith personally or not, mention of her name ensured complete cooperation.
“Wot yer reckon ter Shearer, then?” Sandy prompted. “ ’Ow would yer describe ’im fer someone as ’ad never met ’im an’ knew nuffink?”
Bert considered carefully before he answered. “Clever,” he said at last. “Clever as a rat.”
“Eye ter the best chance,” the first man added, nodding sagely.
“Ambitious?” Monk asked.
They all three nodded.
“Greedy?” Monk ventured.
“Gonna get ’is share,” Bert agreed. “Never knowed ’im ter cheat, though, ter be fair.”
“Don’t do ter cheat, not if yer get caught at it,” Sandy added. “This sort o’ business yer’ll be lucky ter land in the clink. More like facedown in the river. But I never knowed ’im ter cheat, neither. Can’t say as I ever ’eard ’e did.”
“Had ambitions, but not dishonest as far as you know,” Monk summed up.
“S’right, guv. There’s another five ’undred guns was ’ere, an’ they’re gorn too. But we reckoned as ’ooever was ’ere took ’em all. You think as Shearer ’ad summink to do wif doin’ in the gaffer?” the first man asked, squinting a little at Monk. “Papers says as it were that Yankee.”
“I’m not sure,” Monk said honestly. “Breeland got the guns, no doubt about that, but I’m not sure he actually killed Mr. Alberton.”
“Then ’ow’d ’e get ’em?” Sandy said reasonably. “An’ if it weren’t for them guns, why’d anyone do ’im like that? That ain’t even a decent way ter kill anyone. That’s …” He searched in vain for a word.
“Barbaric,” Monk supplied.
“Yeah … that an’ all.”
Bert nodded vigorously.
“Yer reckon as Shearer ’ad summink ter do wif it?” Sandy persisted. “An’ then he scarpered, like? ’Cos nobody ’round ’ere’s seen ’im since then.”
“Does it fit in with what you know of him?” Monk asked.
They looked at each other, then back again. “Yeah, near enough,” Sandy agreed. “Don’ it?”
“Yeah. If the money were right,” Bert added. “ ’Ave ter be. ’E wouldn’t do it fer nuffink. Sort o’ liked the gaffer, in ’is own way. ’Ave ter be a lot.” He bit his lip. “Still an’ all, the way it were done. I don’t see Shearer doin’ it like that. That ’ad ter be the Yankee.”
“What about for the price of six thousand first-class rifled muskets?” Monk persisted.
“Well—s’pose so. That’s a lot o’ money in any man’s reckonin’,” Sandy acknowledged.
“Could he have sympathized with the Union cause?” Monk tried a last question on the subject.
They all looked mystified.
“Against slaving,” Monk explained. “To keep all the states of America as one country.”
“We don’t ’ave no slaving in England,” Sandy pointed out. “Least not black slaving,” he added wryly. “There’s some as thinks they got it ’ard. an’ as for the states o’ America, why should we care? Let ’em do whatever they likes, I says.”
Bert shook his head. “I’d be agin slavery. In’t right.”
“Me too,” the first man added. “Can’t say as Shearer gave a toss, though, not so as ter kill anyone over it, like.”
“Do you know where Shearer lives?” Monk asked them.
“New Church Street, just off Bermondsey Low Road,” Bert replied. “Dunno the number, but ends in a three, as I recall. About ’alfway along.”
“Was he married?”
“Shearer? Not likely!”
Monk thanked them and left the yard to try New Church Street.
It took him nearly half an hour to find where Shearer had lived, and an irate landlady who had waited three weeks with an empty property.
“Bin ’ere near on nine year, ’e ’ad!” she said belligerently. “Then ups and goes Gawd knows where, an’ without a by-your-leave! Says nothing to nobody, an’ left all ’is rubbish ’ere fer me ter clear out. Lorst three weeks o’ rent money, I did.” Her eyes glared stonily at Monk. “You a friend o’ ’is, then?”
“No,” Monk lied quickly. “He owes me money too.”
She laughed abruptly. “Well, yer got no chance ’ere, ’cos I got nuffink an’ I ain’t partin’ wif the li’l I got from sellin’ ’is clothes ter the rag an’ bone, an’ I tell yer that fer nothin’.”
“Do you think something could have happened to him?”
Her thin eyebrows shot up.