The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [7]
“And no one came on deck before eight in the morning, when you found Hodge?” Monk let his surprise show, and a degree of contempt, as if he considered Newbolt incompetent.
“ ’Course they was on deck!” Newbolt growled. “Nobody went down the ’old, so they din’t find ’Odge’s body.” His eyes were level and angry, the way a man’s eyes are if he has been unjustly accused—or is lying.
Monk smiled, showing his teeth a little. “What time?”
“Just arter six,” Newbolt replied, but his face betrayed his understanding. “Yeah . . . the thieves came arter four an’ afore six, an’ that’s cuttin’ it fine.”
“Why wouldn’t they come between midnight and four?” Monk asked him, temporarily ignoring Louvain. “Wouldn’t you . . . if you were a thief?”
Newbolt stiffened, his big body motionless. “What are you sayin’, mister? Exact!”
Monk did not flinch or move his eyes even a fraction. “That either we have the facts wrong or we have a most unusual thief who either chooses, or is obliged, to carry out his robberies on the river in the last couple of hours before dawn, rather than the middle of the night watch. Do you disagree with that?”
“No . . .” Newbolt admitted reluctantly. “Mebbe ’e’d tried other ships an’ either the watch were too spry or they din’t ’ave nothin’ as ’e wanted or could move easy. We was ’is last chance for the night.”
“Perhaps,” Monk agreed. “Or could he have picked Hodge’s watch for some reason?”
Newbolt understood immediately. “Yer sayin’ as ’Odge were in on it? Yer wrong, mister. ’Odge were a good man. I know’d ’im fer years. An’ if ’e were in on it, ’ow come the poor sod got ’is ’ead bashed? Don’t sound ter me like a bargain even a fool’d make!” He sneered at Monk, showing strong, yellowish teeth.
“No, it wouldn’t be Hodge’s arrangement,” Monk agreed.
The dull color rose up Newbolt’s face. “Well it bloody in’t mine, yer son of a bitch! ’Odge is family ter me! I know’d ’im twenty years, an’ ’e’s married ter me sister!”
Monk felt a stab of regret. He had not even thought of personal loss until this moment. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
Newbolt nodded.
Monk considered the information. It was possible all of it was true, some of it, or very little. Atkinson might have been in collusion with the thieves, and been caught by Hodge at any time from midnight until four, or possibly even later. Monk turned to Louvain. “Get me Atkinson,” he requested.
Atkinson was a tall, lean man. The scar that ran from his brow across his cheek to his chin showed livid through the stubble of his beard. He moved easily with a feline sort of grace and he regarded Monk with faint suspicion. He looked to Louvain for orders.
Louvain nodded to him.
“What time did Hodge come to relieve you from watch?” Monk asked, although he knew the answer was of little use because he would have no idea if it was the truth or not.
“ ’Bout ’alf past three,” Atkinson replied. “ ’e couldn’t sleep, an’ I were ’appy enough ter let ’im do my last ’alf hour. I went away ter me bed.”
“Describe the scene you left,” Monk requested.
Atkinson was surprised. “Nothin’ ter tell. All quiet. Weren’t nob’dy on deck but me an’ ’Odge. Nob’dy near on the water neither, least not that I could see. ’Course anyone could be there wi’out ridin’ lights, if they was daft enough.”
“Did Hodge say anything to you? How did he look, sound?”
Newbolt was watching him, his eyes angry.
“Same as any time,” Atkinson answered. “Much as you’d be if yer’d come out o’ yer bed at ’alf past three in the mornin’ ter stand on a freezin’ deck an’ watch the tide rise and fall.”
“Sleepy? Angry? Bored?” Monk pressed.
“ ’e weren’t angry, but yeah, ’e looked rough, poor sod.”
“Thank you.” Monk turned to Louvain. “May I see Hodge’s body now, please?”
“Of course, if you think there’s any point,” Louvain said with frayed patience. He walked over to the rail and shouted for the lighter to come back, and waited while it did so. He swung over the rail, grasped the ropes of the ladder, nodded at Newbolt, then disappeared down.
Monk went after him, a great deal more carefully,