Blood on the Water Read Online Free Page A

there was also the new Swedish invention of dynamite. It was easy to carry, and needed an ignition device to set it off, so was far less prone to accidents. A few sticks of it would blow almost anything to kingdom come. So that was something to look into as well.
    But why? That was the difficulty, and the key. The motive for whoever had committed such an act of barbarity, and the means by which they had done so.
    He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost bumped into the man coming toward him. The man stopped abruptly to avoid the collision.
    “Sorry,” Monk said. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.” He stepped to the side but the man did not move. Instead, he held out his hand as if to introduce himself.
    Monk was in no mood for conversation, but glancing at the man’s face, he thought he seemed vaguely familiar, as if they might have met casually at some point. He had mild, almost sensitive features and a considerable gravity to him. Perhaps he had lost someone he cared for in the disaster. He deserved civility at least.
    “Monk?” the man asked, but with the tone of voice as if he knew.
    Monk forced himself to be responsive. He was exhausted, cold from the dive, and heartsick from what he had seen. He could not remember when he had last eaten anything except the heel of bread.
    “Yes?” he said calmly, meeting the man’s eyes and seeing pain in them. Yet, the look was not one of personal grief.
    “John Lydiate,” the man replied.
    Monk was startled. He remembered him now. Sir John was commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police. Had he come here to find out the progress on the case so soon?
    “Good morning, sir,” Monk replied. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you. I’ve just come up from the wreck.”
    Confusion on his face, Lydiate looked over toward the engines, which were now beginning to haul out the sunken hulk of the boat. “Do you mean you were diving?” he asked curiously.
    “Need to see it before everything shifts as they get it out of the water,” Monk explained. “Explosives were placed in the bow. Blew it right out. It went down in less than five minutes.” He had meant to control himself, say it factually, but his voice shook as he saw it again in his mind’s eye, the darkness as the ship plunged and the lights went out, then the screaming, the people he couldn’t help.
    Lydiate was pale. Perhaps he, too, had been up all night, even if not on the river. “You saw it?”
    “I was on the water, about a hundred yards away,” Monk replied.
    “God in heaven!” Lydiate said quietly. It was a prayer, not a blasphemy. “I … I’m sorry.”
    Monk stared at him. It seemed an odd thing to say.
    “It’s an atrocity,” Lydiate went on, now a very faint flush on his face. “Apparently there were quite a few very important people on board, foreigners. The government has …” He hesitated then started again. “They’ve said that because of the international implications we need to be seen to do everything we can. That’s why I am here. They’ve put me in charge. You can stand down; go back to your normal responsibilities on the river.”
    Monk was stunned. He must have misheard what the man said. “It happened on the river!” he said sharply, too tired to be courteous. “The damn thing’s in the river right now!” He waved his arms toward the half-submerged chains, which were dripping as they moved inch by inch, hauling the wreckage up.
    “I know,” Lydiate agreed. “Nevertheless, you are relieved of command. Home Office orders. I’m sorry.”
    Monk started to speak, and then realized he had nothing whatever to say. The decision was numbing, absurd, and also unarguable. If the government had made that decision for political reasons, no matter how idiotic, how unjust or self-serving, it was pointless to argue. And ultimately, it was certainly not Lydiate’s fault that Monk was being relieved of command.
    “I’ll give you a written report of what I saw,” Monk said,