Execution Dock Page 0,76

his loyalty. More than that, he admitted, he wanted his respect, but leadership was not about what you wanted. There would not be a better time to ask; maybe not another time at all today.

"How well did Durban know Phillips, Mr. Orme?"

Orme drew in his breath, then studied Monk's face, and hesitated.

"I have a good idea already," Monk told him. "I want your view of it. Was Fig's death the beginning?"

"No, sir." Orme stood more stiffly. The gesture was not one of insolence-there was nothing defiant in his face-just a stiffening against an awaited pain.

"When was the beginning?"

"I don't know, sir. That's the truth." Orme's eyes were clear.

"So far back, then?"

Orme flushed. He had given himself away without meaning to. It was obvious in his tightened lips and squared shoulders that he also saw that Monk knew, and that evasions were no longer possible. It would have to be the truth, or a deliberate, planned lie. But Orme was not a man who could lie, unless it were to save life, and even then it would not come lightly.

Monk hated everything that had put him in the position of having to do this. He still did not wish to give away Durban 's own lies about his youth. Orme might guess; that was different from knowing.

"When was the first time you knew it was personal?" Monk asked. He phrased it carefully.

Orme took a deep breath. The sounds and movement of the river were all around them: the ships, swaying in the fast-running tide; the water lapping on the stones; light in ever-shifting patterns, reflected again and again; birds wheeling and crying overhead; the clank of chains; the grind of winches; men shouting in the distance.

"About four years ago, sir," Orme replied. "Or maybe five."

"What happened? How was it different from what you'd seen before?"

Orme shifted his balance. He was very clearly uncomfortable.

Monk waited him out.

"One minute it was just Mr. Durban asking questions, the next minute the whole air of it changed an' they were shouting at each other," Orme replied. "Then before you could do anything about it, Phillips had a knife out-great long thing it was, with a curved blade. He was swinging it wide..." He gestured with his own arm. "Like he meant to kill Mr. Durban. But Mr. Durban saw it coming an' moved aside." He swerved with his body, mimicking the action. There was both strength and grace in it. What he was describing became more real.

"Go on," Monk urged.

Orme was unhappy.

"Go on!" Monk ordered. "Obviously he didn't kill Durban. What happened? Why did he want to? Was Durban accusing him of something? Another boy killed? Who stopped Phillips? You?"

"No, sir. Mr. Durban stopped him himself."

"Right. How? How did Durban stop a man like Phillips coming at him with a knife? Did he apologize? Back off?"

"No!" Orme was offended at the thought.

"Did he fight back?"

"Yes."

"With a knife?"

"Yes, sir."

"He was carrying a knife, and he was good enough with it to hold off a man like Jericho Phillips?" Monk's surprise showed in his voice. He could not have done that himself At least he thought he could not have. Possibly in the closed-up past, further back than his memory, he had learned such things. "Orme!"

"Yes, sir! Yes, he was. Phillips was good, but Mr. Durban was better. He fought him right back to the edge of the water, sir, then he drove him into it. Half drowned, Phillips was, and in a rage fit to kill us all, if he could have."

Monk remembered what Hester had told him about Phillips and the water, and about being cold. Had Durban known that? Had Orme? He looked across at Orme's face and tried to read it. He was startled to see not only reluctance, but also a certain kind of stubbornness he knew he could not break, and he realized he did not want to. Something innate in the man would be damaged. He also saw a kind of pity, and knew without any doubt that he was not only protecting Durban 's memory, he was protecting Monk as well. He knew Monk's vulnerability, his need to believe in Durban. Orme was trying to keep a truth from him because he would be hurt by it.

They stood facing each other in the sun and the wind, the smell of the tide and the swirl and slap of the water.

"Why did that make you think they knew each other?" Monk asked. It was only part of the question, allowing