Page 85 of Revenge in a Cold River (William Monk 21)

“But the smaller man could survive, and instead of rescuing the drowning man, he struck out across the river toward you?”

“That’s right.”

“And when he reached you, you helped him out of the water into your boat?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do that, Mr. Gillander?”

Gillander’s eyes widened. “What did you expect me to do? Leave him there to drown? I wouldn’t do that, whoever he’d been.”

Wingfield shrugged. “But you didn’t take him prisoner and hold him for the police? Why not?”

“He told me his name was Pettifer, and he was from Customs. He’d been after an escaped prisoner, very violent man. Tried to kill him. But it looked like the River Police had him by then, so he asked me if I’d put him off at the next steps down, and he’d get help.”

“And you believed him?”

“No reason not to. The other fellow was the one who fought against the River Police. I thought he was going to kill the man who pulled him out. Lashing out at him like he meant to.”

Wingfield suppressed his irritation with difficulty. “He was drowning, Mr. Gillander. He panicked. The man you helped out and took down the river, and so obligingly let off at the next steps, was the escaped prisoner—whom no one has ever seen again!”

Gillander struggled to conceal a smile, and almost succeeded. “Yes…I learned that afterward.”

“Did you see anyone strike the man who drowned, Mr. Gillander?”

“Saw a lot of arms flailing around. No idea who struck whom. Sorry.”

Wingfield moved a step forward.

“Did you subsequently become acquainted with Commander Monk?” he asked with an edge to his voice. “In fact, did you become friends with him, after the incident, and before you were called to testify here as to what you saw?”

Gillander hesitated.

Monk knew exactly the trap he was in. They had known each other on the Californian coast, t

wenty years ago. Was that what Wingfield was trying to force him into saying? His only way to be honest about it was to admit the earlier knowledge openly. Wingfield was clever. One would be a fool to forget that.

“Mr. Gillander?” Wingfield prompted. “It does not seem a very difficult question. Did you become friends with Commander Monk, only after you pulled the escaped prisoner out of the water? Yes or no?”

Gillander gave a slight shrug. “I renewed an acquaintance.”

Wingfield’s eyes opened wide. He made the most of the dramatic moment.

There was total silence in the room.

“Did you say you ‘renewed’ it?” Wingfield asked, emphasizing every word.

Now the gallery was so quiet that when one woman moved position slightly, the creak of whalebone could be heard even by the jury. One man gave a nervous cough.

“Yes,” Gillander agreed. “I had known him some twenty years earlier.”

“Indeed? And where was that?” Wingfield asked.

“On the Barbary Coast,” Gillander answered. “California, not North Africa. Gold rush days.”

“And yet William Monk is part of the Thames River Police. Their reach hardly extends so far!” Wingfield now had the smile.

Gillander’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a question?”