Was it possible that although he had certainly not done so this time, on some occasion in the past he had?

The thought was repulsive to him. He could not imagine any pleasure whatever in taking a woman against her will. It would seem a degrading performance to both parties, devoid of tenderness or dignity and with no communication of the mind, nothing shared beyond the most rudimentary physical contact, and afterwards the shame and the regret, and the sense of futility.

Had he really done such a thing?

Only if he were then a completely different man.

But the fear plagued him, waking him in the night with a choking in the throat and a sudden coldness. Perhaps the fear was as bad as a reality? On leaving the Old Bailey he went straight to find Evan. He must see the records for himself, even if he had to be smuggled into the police station after hours, as a witness or a suspect, so he could read the files of all his old cases which had ended in the ruin or death of anyone.

Again he had to wait for Evan. He paced back and forth, unable to sit down, his muscles jumping, his mind tormenting him with frustration.

The desk sergeant looked at him with a certain pity.

“Yer look right tore up, Mr. Monk,” he observed. “If it's real urgent, like, I can tell yer were Mr. Evan is.”

“I should be most grateful,” Monk added. He tried to smile at the man, but he knew it ended as a grimace, his lips pulled over his teeth.

“Twenty-five Great Coram Street, just orff Brunswick Square. Know where that is I 'spec'?”

“Oh, yes.” It was opposite Mecklenburg Square, where they had found the body of the man he had so nearly killed before the accident. He could not ever forget that. “Yes, I do, thank you.” The man's name flashed into his mind. “Parsons.”

The sergeant's face lit with a smile. He had not realized that Monk remembered him.

“Welcome, sir, I'm sure.”

Monk raced out and caught a hansom at the end of the street, swinging himself up and shouting the address at the driver as he threw himself into the seat.

He was then obliged to wait standing in the icy wind in Great Coram Street while Evan concluded his business, but when he emerged he saw Monk and recognized him instantly, perhaps because men dressed as he was seldom stood idly on pavements in late February.

“I found it!” he said triumphantly, striding across towards him, hunching his shoulders and pulling his greatcoat collar higher, shivering a little, but his face radiated success.

Monk felt a kind of breathlessness, a hope so painful it almost choked him.

He swallowed before he could speak.