Rupert began haltingly, still standing motionless in the quiet morning room with its sun-faded carpet and old books. His voice was low and strained. Frequently he stopped, and Monk had to prompt him to go on. He hated doing it; he felt as if he were beating an animal. And he knew he would feel unclean afterward, tarnished with cruelty. But he did not stop until Rupert had told him every detail of the entire hideous business. His face was mottled and stained with tears. Perhaps he would never forget this either, and not ever be the same as he had been before.

“And the man it broke?” Monk persisted. “The one who took his own life, shot himself alone in the small boat.”

“Tadley …” Rupert whispered. “He couldn’t pay.”

“Did Parfitt drive him that far on purpose? An example to others of what happens if you don’t honor your debts?”

“It wasn’t a debt!” Rupert snapped back at him. “It was extortion. I told you … I didn’t know about it until afterward. Not that I could have paid it for him if I had.”

“So, what was it, a misjudgment of Parfitt’s? Is suicide good for business, or bad?”

Rupert shot him a look of utter loathing. It stung Monk more than he would have expected, perhaps because he knew the loathing was fair.

“It is a salutary reminder to pay on time instead of letting the payments mount up,” Rupert replied coldly. “And it is bad for business. But, then, murder is worse.”

“Tell me about Tadley,” Monk instructed.

“He was a family man, but unhappy, lonely, I think. I don’t know that he particularly cared for boys. I had the feeling he wanted to experience some kind of excitement, some danger, a sense of being completely alive. I know that sounds—”

“No,” Monk cut across him. “It sounds like many people whose lives are suffocated by tedium, duty. Trying so hard to live up to what other people have expected of them that they become imprisoned inside it. Without dreams, you die.”

Rupert stared at him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I misjudged you. I thought—”

“I know.” Monk smiled bleakly. “You thought I had no devils inside, no idea of what they are even. You’re wrong.”

Rupert nodded, almost close to a smile.

Monk bit his lip. “Now tell me the names of the other men who went to the boat.”

Rupert stared at him, but the anger had gone from his face.

“Please,” Monk added.

Rupert gave him a list, and Monk wrote it in his notebook.

“Thank you,” Monk said when it was finished. “I’ll get him this time.” Perhaps it was a dangerous thing to say, almost a promise, but he risked saying it, and committing himself. It felt good.

MONK DECIDED TO RETRACE Ballinger’s footsteps on the night of Parfitt’s death. He should duplicate all the conditions as closely as possible.