“No,” Orme said urgently, putting his hand on Monk's arm, holding him with surprising strength. “We go in there, we'll not come out.”

Monk was angry. He wanted to argue.

Even in the play of shadows across Orme's face his resolve was unmistakable. “Dockside isn't the only place that's got patches police can't go,” he said quietly. “Don't tell me reg'lar police goes into Blue-gate Fields, or the Devil's Acre, ‘cause we all know different. It's us against them, and we don't always win.”

Monk shook his arm free, but he didn't pull away. “I'm not letting that bastard escape,” he said slowly and clearly. “Murdering Fig is only the tip of what he does, like the mast of a sunken wreck above the water.”

“There'll be a back way out,” Orme added. “Likely more'n one.”

It was on the edge of Monk's tongue to snap that he knew that, but he bit it back. Orme deserved to catch Phillips as much as Monk did, maybe more. He had worked with Durban on the original case. The only difference was that Durban 's death was nothing to do with him, and it was all to do with Monk.

They continued along the alley away from the dock, moving more swiftly now. There were doorways on either side, and sometimes passages no more than a yard wide, mostly dead ends, perhaps ten or twelve feet along.

“He'll keep going a bit,” Orme said grimly. “Instinct. Although he's a fly sod, an’ all.”

“He'll have friends here,” Monk agreed.

“And enemies,” Orme said wryly. “He's a nasty piece o’ work. He'd shop anyone for sixpence, so he won't expect any favors. Try that one.” He pointed to the left, a twisted passageway leading back towards the open dock. As he spoke he increased his pace, like a dog scenting the prey anew.

Monk did not argue but kept up just behind him. There was no room for them to move abreast. Somewhere to the left a man cursed and a woman shouted abuse at him. A dog started to bark, and ahead of them there were footsteps. Orme began to run, Monk on his heels. There was a low arch to the right, and something moved across it. There was a scatter of stones. Orme stopped so abruptly Monk collided with him and bumped into the wall, which was seeping wet from a loose drain in the shadows above.