A Sunless Sea

by Anne Perry

  “Mr. Monk,” he began, his voice hard and clear, “I know you have already testified to finding the body of Zenia Gadney, horribly mutilated, but I must ask again details I did not ask before, because new explanations have become highly possible. Mrs. Gadney’s body was found early in the morning, as was Dr. Lambourn’s. Can you tell us again exactly where that was?”

  “On Limehouse Pier.”

  “On the pier itself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that a place where a prostitute might conduct her business?”

  “No. It would be very easily seen from the river. Any boat going by, unless a certain distance from the shore, would observe you.”

  “Yet the body was not found until you came by at roughly sunrise?”

  “Because it was lying down and motionless.” Monk’s face tightened. “She could easily have been mistaken for a heap of rags, or an old tarpaulin, the way she had been left there.”

  Rathbone felt a slight sickness clench in his stomach. “And your attention was drawn by a woman screaming?”

  “Yes.”

  “Briefly, what did you then, Mr. Monk?”

  “Mr. Orme and I took the boat in to the woman who had attracted our attention. She was screaming because she had discovered the dead and grossly mutilated body of a woman who proved to be Zenia Gadney, a resident of Copenhagen Place, nearly half a mile away.”

  “Mrs. Gadney, she had been murdered?” Rathbone asked.

  “Yes.”

  “In the course of your investigations did you learn why she was out at night, alone, in such a place as Limehouse Pier?”

  “Apparently she liked to walk in that area, in daylight.” Monk hesitated a moment. Was he as aware of the gamble they were taking as Rathbone was?

  “And was she alone then?” Rathbone prompted. He could not afford to slip now.

  “She was seen with another woman at about sunset,” Monk answered quietly.

  “Another woman?” Rathbone repeated it, his voice raised to make sure no one failed to hear.

  “Yes. I have several witnesses who say it was a woman. They did not know who it was, nor were they able to give any detailed description, except that she was a few inches taller than Mrs. Gadney,” Monk answered him.

  “Did they appear to know each other?” Rathbone asked. “According to your witnesses.”

  “That was their impression,” Monk conceded. He looked tense, worried. Rathbone wondered how hard he had had to push for the testimony, but he was convinced it was the truth.

  “So Mrs. Gadney was also out around dusk, with a person she appeared to trust, and was found murdered by morning?” he said aloud. “Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it surprise you to know that Dr. Lambourn also went out alone, just after dark, and seems to have met someone he trusted, possibly a woman, and gone up One Tree Hill where he was dosed with opium and his wrists cut? He also was found alone, the following morning.”

  “It would have surprised me at the time,” Monk replied. “It does not surprise me now.”

  “Had you seen this pattern initially, might you have investigated differently?”

  Coniston stood up. “That is a hypothetical question, my lord, and the answer is meaningless.”

  “I agree. Mr. Monk, you will not answer that question,” Pendock directed.

  Rathbone smiled. The comment was for the jury, not for Monk to answer, and they all knew it, especially Pendock.

  “Thank you,” Rathbone said to Monk. “I have no more to ask you.”

  “I have nothing, my lord,” Coniston said. “We have heard it all before.”

  Rathbone asked for a brief adjournment and was granted it.

  He met Monk out in the hall.

  “Thank you,” Rathbone said quickly.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Monk asked anxiously, falling in step with him as they made their way toward Rathbone’s chambers.

  “No, I’m not sure,” Rathbone answered. “I told you that yesterday evening.” They reached the door and went in, closing it after them. “I’ve got Bawtry coming in a moment. Are you ready?”

  “Before he comes,” Monk said quickly, “I saw him in the hall just before I came into court.” Briefly he described the quarrel between Amity and Herne, and then the total change he had seen in her manner toward Bawtry.

  “Interesting,” Rathbone said thoughtfully. “Very interesting. Perhaps I shall have to amend some of my ideas. Thank you.”

  Before Monk could reply there was a knock on the door and the court usher told Rathbone that Mr. Sinden Bawtry was here to see him.

  Rathbone glanced at Monk, then at the usher. “Ask Mr. Bawtry to come in, please. Then see that we are not interrupted.”

  Bawtry came in looking only slightly concerned. He shook hands with both of them, then accepted the seat Rathbone offered.

  “What can I do for you, Sir Oliver?” he asked.

  Rathbone had been awake half the night thinking of exactly this moment. He had everything to win, or to lose, resting on what he said in the next few minutes.

  “Your advice, Mr. Bawtry,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m sure you would like this case ended as soon as possible, as we all would—but with justice completely served.”

  “Of course,” Bawtry agreed. “What can I advise you regarding? I knew Lambourn, of course, but not his wife.” He made a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, perhaps that is technically incorrect. I mean Dinah Lambourn, whom I took to be his wife. Zenia Gadney I had never even heard of until her tragic death. What is it you wish to know from me?”

  “So much I had surmised,” Rathbone replied with the ghost of a smile. He must judge this perfectly. Bawtry was a brilliant man, a star very much in the ascendant, even considered a possible future prime minister by some. He had the background, as well as what appeared to be a blemishless record, and he was fast gaining a formidable political reputation. No doubt within the next few years he would make a fortunate marriage. He had no need to seek money, so he could afford to marry a woman who would be a grace to his social ambitions, and of personal pleasure to him, with wit and charm, perhaps beauty. Rathbone would be a fool to underestimate him. Facing the clever, unflinching eyes he was acutely aware of that.

  “Then how can I help you?” Bawtry prompted him.

  “Did you see this report of Lambourn’s personally, sir?” Rathbone asked, keeping his voice light, stopping the trembling of it with an effort. “Or did you perhaps take Herne’s word that it was unacceptable?”

  Bawtry looked slightly taken aback, as if this were something he had not even considered. “Actually I saw very little of it,” he replied. “He showed me a few pages, and they did seem a bit … haphazard, conclusions drawn without sufficient evidence. He told me the rest was even worse. Since the man was his brother-in-law, he quite naturally wished to protect him from being publicly made a fool of. He wanted to destroy the report without having any more of its weaknesses being known. I could understand that, and frankly I admired it in him. Whether it was for his wife’s sake, or for Lambourn’s was irrelevant to me.”

  “But you never saw the rest of it?” Rathbone pressed.

  “No. No, I didn’t.” Bawtry stared at him. “What are you suggesting? You wouldn’t be asking me this now unless you believed that it had some relevance to this trial.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Herne didn’t kill Lambourn, if that’s what you’re thinking. He was unquestionably at the dinner in the Atheneum. Aside from personally seeing him there, I could name at least twenty members who were there also and will swear to it.”

  Rathbone smiled sadly. “I know that, Mr. Bawtry. Mr. Monk already made absolutely certain of it.”

  Bawtry glanced at Monk, then back at Rathbone. “Then I don’t understand what it is you are asking me. I did not read more than a few pages of Lambourn’s report. Incidentally, I believe he was factually right. The use of opium has to be labeled, and its sale
in patent medicines restricted to people who have some medical or pharmaceutical knowledge at the least. It was never his conclusions that were in doubt, only the quality of his research, and the way he presented it. He allowed his own anger and pity to destroy his objectivity. To use it in argument for a bill could only have allowed the opponents of it—and they are many and powerful—to have fuel against us.”

  “We don’t think the labeling of patent medicines was the issue for which Dr. Lambourn was murdered.” Rathbone cleared his throat. He realized with surprise that his hands—which he was keeping carefully at his sides, out of sight—were clenched so hard that they ached.

  Bawtry frowned. “Then what was? And if not that report, then why are you so interested in Herne?”

  “If we can be certain that it was not the report on patent medicines for which Lambourn died,” Rathbone replied, and was forced to clear his throat again before he could go on, “that proves that the explanation about the report being a failure and destroying Lambourn was an excuse, a reason to misdirect the investigation. We believe that during the course of his research Lambourn learned something else, something he could not let go of, concerning the sale of pure opium for use in syringes and needles that inject it directly into the blood. The addiction to opium given this way is agonizing and lethal. It was for attempting to have that particular practice made illegal that he was murdered, and Zenia Gadney also.”

  Bawtry was pale-faced, his eyes wide. “That’s dreadful! Appalling!” He moved a little in his chair, a slight leaning forward as if he could no longer relax. “Are you suggesting that Herne had something to do with it? How? And for God’s sake …” He trailed off, his eyes filled with dawning horror.

  “What is it?” Rathbone demanded urgently.

  Bawtry licked his lips, hesitating. He looked profoundly unhappy.

  “What is it?” Rathbone repeated, his voice sharpening.

  Bawtry looked up and met his eyes. “I’ve noticed rather erratic behavior in Herne,” he said quietly. “One day he’s full of energy and ideas, the next time I see him he looks nervous, can’t concentrate, skin clammy. Is it … is it possible …?” He did not finish the question, but it was not necessary. The idea was already fully understood between them.

  Rathbone met his gaze and held it. “You think he may be addicted to opium himself, and either he is the one who is selling it, or else he is the tool of the man who is?”

  Bawtry looked wretched. “I hate even to think it of a man I know, but I suppose anyone can fall victim to such a drug, commonly used as it is. Is it possible?” His face already showed that he knew it was.

  “That he paid someone to kill Lambourn?” Rathbone asked. “Someone who could do it quietly, easily, making it look like suicide, and who would never be suspected? Yes, of course it is.”

  Bawtry was now as tense as Rathbone. Rathbone was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that Monk was in the room. He had wanted him here as a witness to the conversation, but now he also needed him here for his physical safety.

  “Paid someone?” Bawtry affected confusion, but not total disbelief. “Who? Have you discovered something totally new that might attest to this? I have only just arrived in court.”

  “A woman,” Rathbone said. “The obvious person who makes complete sense would be Zenia Gadney.”

  “Gadney?” Now Bawtry was completely incredulous. “From all accounts I’ve heard, she was a slight, very ordinary middle-aged woman, unremarkable in every way. Indeed, she appears totally a victim, a pawn in the game.” He frowned. “Are you saying she was actually greedy, desperate, and passionate enough to have murdered her husband, the man who had supported her financially, and with some kindness, over the last fifteen years? You must have compelling evidence! It’s frankly preposterous.”

  “There is evidence.” Rathbone again chose his words delicately. “It is not compelling, but the more I weigh it, the more it seems to make sense. Consider the possibility that Herne needed desperately to silence Lambourn, indeed, to discredit him so that no whispers of what he found would ever be believed, in case he spoke of it to others. He dare not kill Lambourn himself. Lambourn may even have been aware of the danger and would have taken care not to be alone with Herne. And of course Herne had to have a way of protecting himself from suspicion.”

  “I see,” Bawtry said cautiously.

  “So he promises to pay Zenia Gadney what would be a moderate sum to him, but a fortune to her, in exchange for this favor.”

  “But … murder? Of her husband?” Bawtry was still far from convinced.

  “A gentle murder,” Rathbone explained. “She asks Lambourn to meet her alone, when Dinah will not know. There are many ways she could justify such a request. She takes a knife, or a blade of some sort, possibly an open razor. And of course she also takes a strong opium solution, possibly mixed in something palatable, to disguise it. Or it is conceivable Herne gave her a syringe with a solution in it.”

  Bawtry nodded, as if he were beginning to believe.

  “She arranges a suitable place to meet, possibly in the park,” Rathbone continued. “They walk together up One Tree Hill. On the top the view over the river is worth seeing. She offers him a drink. They have climbed a bit, and he is glad of it. Quite soon he is drowsy and they sit down. He passes out. She then slits his wrists and leaves him to bleed to death. She takes the knife or razor with her, because possibly it can be traced to her. Similarly she takes the container in which she brought the opium. It may well have been quite large. She will have pretended to drink from it herself, in case he found it odd that she didn’t, when she too had walked up the hill.”

  Bawtry gave a slight shiver. “You paint a terrible picture, Sir Oliver. However, it is believable. But surely you cannot possibly find any way whatsoever to suggest that she then killed herself? Whatever her remorse afterward, to have inflicted those mutilations upon herself would surely have been impossible? And in that case, how do you explain her death?”

  “Of course,” Rathbone agreed. “Anyway, the surgeon is of the opinion that the mutilation happened after she was already dead, thank God. No, I think she may have tried to blackmail Herne for more money, and he realized that he had to kill her, not only for financial reasons, but because if he did not, he would never be safe from her. Possibly he always intended to finish her off.”

  Bawtry’s lips were tight, but he nodded his head very slightly. “It is hideous, but I admit I can see how it might be true. What is it that you wish from me?”

  “Do you know anything at all that would disprove the outline I have just given?” Rathbone asked. “Anything about Lambourn, or more probably, about Barclay Herne?”

  Bawtry sat silently for some time, concentrating intently. Finally he looked up at Monk, then at Rathbone.

  “No, Sir Oliver, I know of nothing. I don’t know whether your theory is true or not, but there is nothing within my knowledge that makes it impossible. You have created more than reasonable doubt as to Dinah Lambourn’s guilt. I think both judge and jury will be obliged to grant as much.”

  Rathbone felt the ease come through him at last.

  “Thank you, Mr. Bawtry. I am most grateful for your time, sir.”

  Bawtry inclined his head in acknowledgment, then rose to his feet and left the room.

  Monk looked across at Rathbone. “Ready for the next step?” he said softly.

  Rathbone took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  WHEN THE COURT RESUMED in the early afternoon, Rathbone called his final witness, Amity Herne. She took the stand with dignity and remarkable composure. She was wearing a very elegant dark dress, which was not quite black, the color of wine in shadow. It became her, a dramatic contrast with her fair hair and skin. She gave her name, as before, and was reminded that she was still under oath.

  Rathbone apologized for recalling her. Coniston objected and Pendock overruled him, directing Rathbone to proceed.

  “Thank you, my lord.” He turned to Amity. “Mrs. Herne,
you testified earlier that you and your brother, Joel Lambourn, did not know each other well in your early adulthood, because you lived some distance apart. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she said calmly.

  “But in the last ten years or so you both lived in London, and therefore were able to visit far more frequently?”

  “Yes. Perhaps once a month or so,” she agreed.

  “And of course you were aware of his marriage to Zenia Gadney?”

  “Yes. But I have been forced to be discreet about it, for reasons that must be obvious to you.”

  “Of course. But you knew, and you were aware that Dinah Lambourn also knew?” he asked, forcing himself to be polite, even gentle.

  “Yes. I have said as much.”

  “And your brother, he knew where Zenia lived once they were no longer … together?”

  “Yes.” She looked puzzled and a trifle irritated.

  Rathbone smiled. “Had he ever mentioned the address to you?”

  She hesitated. “Not … not specifically, that I recall.”

  “Generally? For example, that it was in the Limehouse area?”

  “I …” She gave a slight shrug. “I am not certain.”

  “I ask because it appears that Dinah knew Zenia’s whereabouts closely enough to ask for her in Copenhagen Place. She did not wander around searching half London for her; she went almost immediately to the right street.”

  “Then Joel must have mentioned it,” Amity replied. “You appear to have answered your own question, sir.”

  “It appears that he made no secret of Zenia’s whereabouts,” Rathbone agreed. “Are you certain you were not aware? Or your husband, perhaps? Might your brother have confided in your husband, possibly in case something should happen to him, and he would need someone he could rely on to take care of Zenia if he were not able to?”