The Shifting Tide - Anne Perry [75]
He hurried after Gould along the corridor. Broken windows let in the gray light. He caught up with him going down another stair with iron rails, then through a door into an open patch of ground overgrown with weeds just as Louvain and four of his men emerged from the ruins of a warehouse at the other side. They were wind-burned, brawny men dressed in seamen’s jackets.
Monk and Gould stopped abruptly, five or six yards from them.
“Well?” Louvain said grimly. “What have you got? I don’t see anything!”
“Thirteen tusks of ivory,” Monk replied. He jerked his hand. “Back there. You might have to fight for them.”
“Thirteen?” Louvain questioned, his face darkening. “Do you think you’re keeping one for yourself? That wasn’t the bargain.”
“One for the police, for evidence,” Monk replied. “Or would you rather the thieves got away with it?” He let a slight sneer into his voice. “That’s not good for business. You’ll get the last one back when the case is over. Keep it for a memento. You’ve got away cheaply. A damned sight cheaper than Hodge.”
Louvain looked puzzled for an instant, then realization flooded his face. “Who’s he?” he demanded, indicating Gould with a jerk of his head.
Instinct made Monk lie. “He’s with me. Did you think I’d come here alone?”
Louvain’s face relaxed. He did not ask who had killed Hodge, and the omission angered Monk. “Right. We’ll take the ivory. I want to be gone before the police get here. No questions. Come to my office tonight and I’ll pay you.” It was curt, dismissive. He strode past Monk and into the shadows of the building, leaving his men to follow.
Durban should be here any time now, Monk realized. He glanced at Gould, white-faced, shifting from foot to foot.
“Don’t think of it,” Monk warned. “You’ll be hunted down like a rat.”
“I din’t kill ’im!” Gould’s voice was hoarse with fear, and his eyes begged for belief. “I swear on my life!”
“Very appropriate,” Monk said dryly. “Since it’s with your life you’ll be paying for it.” But he felt a tug of pity he had not expected. Was it even imaginable that one of the crew had killed Hodge? A quarrel of some sort? Perhaps there had even been a traitor in the crew, and Hodge had seen him, and would have told Louvain? Had they stunned him first, and killed him after Gould had gone, perhaps because he would have told Louvain?
There was no point in asking Gould; it would be offering him an obvious avenue of escape, and naturally he would take it. And why should Monk involve himself in looking for the last shreds of truth and untangling them to save a thief?
Because the man might not be a murderer, and no one else would bother to help him.
“Someone beat his head in,” he said aloud. “If it wasn’t you, then it was somebody else on the Maude Idris.”
“I dunno!” Gould was desperate. “Yer can’t . . . oh, geez!” He said nothing more.
They stood on the damp, sour earth and waited. Neither Louvain nor any of his men passed them. They had found another route to take the ivory away, swiftly and unseen, no doubt expecting Durban to come from this side.
Five minutes later Monk heard Gould gasp as if he were choking, and his breath caught in a sob. He looked around and saw Durban’s distinctive walk as he came out of the shadow of the building ahead, Sergeant Orme and a constable behind him.
“Go with him,” Monk said quietly to Gould. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Good day, Mr. Monk,” Durban said curiously, stopping a couple of yards away. “What are you doing here?”
“Stolen goods,” Monk replied. “One very handsome ivory tusk, but the point is that the night watchman on the Maude Idris was killed in the theft.”
Durban’s face was comical with understanding and skepticism. “That why they took only one tusk, is it?”
Monk knew without question that Durban did not believe it. He knew exactly what Monk had done. “I imagine so,” Monk said smoothly. “Maybe there was a bit of double-crossing going on. Gould says he didn’t kill Hodge, but somebody did. I’ll show you where the tusk is.”
Durban signaled for his man to