He leaned back in his chair, neither slamming the table nor shouting again.
Rowan rely took a deep breath, then slowly, as if admitting, and as if tired, said: "You’ve changed, Arthur."
"And haven’t you as well?" Arthur didn’t look at Rowan, he just stared at the smoke rising from his cigar: "I thought you would seek justice for Cali, just like you did for back then."
"How do you know I haven’t?" Rowan pursed his lips, seemingly unwilling to say more. He picked up a matchbox, but there were no matches left, so he irritably crushed the box and tossed it out the window: "Napoleon’s artillery should have aid better back in the day! Had I been blown to pieces at Waterloo, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense!"
Arthur chuckled softly at this: "That reminds of a joke I heard in Paris. The Bonaparte Party there says that Napoleon lost at Waterloo because of bad weather. If the rain had been heavier, neither of us would be here wasting our breath today."
Rowan tapped his knuckles on the table intermittently, and after a mont of silence, he finally spoke in a low voice: "I also want to give Cali an explanation. Reviewing laws, summoning witnesses, organizing investigations, submitting petitions, requesting the Ho Office to make a public statent... I didn’t miss any step. I’m not looking for credit, the Lower House Special Investigation Committee’s withdrawal of the murderer’s not guilty verdict was as it should be. But if I hadn’t done these things, they wouldn’t possibly even consider overturning Cali’s case after the Lower House investigation concluded."
"When I was young, I was like you too." Rowan paused: "Couldn’t stand injustice, wouldn’t listen to cold words. But later I realized that if you always hope for justice to fall from the sky, you’ll never see the light."
Saying this, Rowan pulled open a drawer from the desk, took out a neatly folded letter, and handed it over. The edges of the envelope were slightly curled, showing it had been read countless tis.
"This was written to by Cali’s widow. I asked if there was anything she hoped I could do. She didn’t ask for compensation or a dal, she just said one thing: it was enough if everyone could know that Cali was an honest man."
Arthur didn’t open the letter. Though he and Rowan couldn’t be called friends, he was very aware that Rowan was an old-fashioned military man who wouldn’t deceive him over such matters.
Especially since Arthur had visited Cali’s widow just a few days ago to deliver so condolence money to the family.
Of course, Arthur didn’t ntion the money was from his own pocket; he claid it was given by the Governnt.
Arthur asked quietly: "So, you just endured it?"
"No, I didn’t endure it," Rowan said: "I did everything I could, just didn’t tell others. Not because I feared them knowing, but because I knew if I did, they’d only be more disappointed. Scotland Yard isn’t just mine; it’s built by you, , and the blood and sweat of countless others. This departnt didn’t co easily; despite its shortcomings, you and I both know that Scotland Yard and everyone in it serves far beyond what the Governnt, or the public ever expects."
Arthur listened and nodded slightly: "Especially considering that our officers’ average annual salary is still under 50 pounds, it seems all the more comndable."
Rowan couldn’t help but scoff: "And that’s even after a 25 percent raise."
The long-pent-up anger in the room seed to be gradually dissipated by the wafting cigar smoke.
Arthur pulled out a matchbox from his pocket and tossed it to Rowan: "Frankly speaking, after today’s conversation, I am less resentful of the little maneuvers you’ve been pulling in my territory."
Rowan lit the fire, glanced at Arthur: "Little maneuvers? Perhaps. After all, in your eyes, placing a case file on a parliant mber wouldn’t count as a big move."
Arthur chuckled lightly: "But don’t get too pleased. I don’t plan on leaving until you completely fulfill your promise to Cali’s widow."
Arthur’s tone was calm, yet each word like a needle: "You said Cali’s widow only wished others to know her husband was an honest man. But what did Fleet Street write? Don’t tell you’ve forgotten. At least outside Scotland Yard, it seems most people think his death was ’deserved.’"
Rowan frowned deeply, the cigar held between his fingers, ash falling unnoticed onto the deep red felt tablecloth.
"The Lower House’s investigation withdrew his charges, but it didn’t restore his honor," Arthur continued: "You might read the files and records, but public opinion doesn’t bother with the findings of the Lower House, they just go with the flow. London’s citizens only rember those initial headlines with ink and bloody words. To them, Cali remains a failed butcher, a fuse for riots, an unworthy cop who didn’t deserve mourning."
For once, Rowan didn’t object back. He smoked in silence, the heavy smoke hovered for a long while before his hoarse voice erged: "What do you want to do?"
"Simple." Arthur drew out a piece of letterhead, sliding it across the table: "Empire Publishing Company will complete its first public offering next quarter, and I’m one of their board mbers. We have The Tis and The British, and maybe starting next month, we’ll have a widely circulated magazine as well."
"You want to use the papers to clear Cali’s na?" Rowan was half-incredulous, as an old-school cop, he really disliked the print dia from Fleet Street.
User Comments
0 comments from readers