“And so it was.” Ballinger took an enormous breath, and the sweat beaded on his face, although the cell was cold. “My God, that makes sense of Monk’s insane behavior. You spoke to him, didn’t you!” That was a statement, not a question, close to the edge of blame.

Rathbone found himself off balance. He almost started to make excuses for himself.

“Are you telling me that you were not involved with Sullivan’s behavior?” he said, measuring his words very deliberately.

Arthur Ballinger hesitated. He glanced down at his hands, strong and heavy on the table, then met Rathbone’s eyes. “Sullivan blackmailed me into representing him,” he said quietly. “Not for anything I did, but for Cardew. Helping him was his price for keeping Cardew out of it.”

Rathbone was so amazed that for a moment he could think of nothing to say.

Ballinger stared at him, waiting.

“Cardew?” Rathbone said at length. “You were prepared to get involved with that sordid mess, to save Cardew?”

Ballinger’s face softened, his shoulders eased a little bit, and he almost smiled. “I’ve admired him immensely, for a long time.”

“He was involved with Phillips, and you admired him?” Rathbone’s voice carried his disgust, and his disbelief.

“Rupert Cardew was involved with Phillips, for God’s sake! I admired his father!” Ballinger said witheringly. “And I was desperately sorry for him. You haven’t children yet, Oliver. You have no idea how you can love your child, regardless of how they behave, or what wretched things they do. You still care, you still forgive, and you can never abandon them, or stop hoping they will somehow change and be at least something of what you want for them.”

Rathbone was totally confused. Was it possible?

Ballinger leaned forward across the table. “I did all I could to save Sullivan, for his own sake. I should not have been surprised that he took his own life, but I regret to say I did not see it beforehand, or I might have stopped him. Or perhaps not. He was a man with nothing left, and death was the only answer remaining. Thank God that at least he took with him the evidence that would have ruined Rupert Cardew as well.”

“Took with him?” Rathbone echoed.

“I meant into oblivion,” Ballinger elaborated. “I don’t suppose he had it literally … in his pockets. It was his one half-decent act, poor devil.”

“But he blamed you.”

“So you say. Half-decent, but not entirely.” He reached out his hand toward Rathbone. “But I will not say this in court, Oliver. I must clear my name without destroying Cardew. Possibly no one can save Rupert, but leave his father out of it.”