Death of a Chimney Sweep Read Free

mind was still on the riverside scene.
    ‘What happened to the two of you?’ asked Sarah, looking from Alfie to Sammy.
    ‘You tell her, Sammy, while I swill them things out.’ Alfie moved quickly towards the doorway. ‘Come on, Tom, you come too, and you can have that beer and see if you can get a
nice loaf of newly baked bread to go alongside it. Don’t get cheated by no stale stuff. These bakers are up to every trick.’
    He kept on talking busily, either to Mutsy or to Tom, until he was through the door, up the steps and out into Bow Street. He parted from his cousin with a nod and strode down towards the pump,
his faithful dog padding silently beside him. He was glad to be on his own for a while. He needed a little time to think.
    Perhaps after supper was over and they all were full of fried eel, toast and hot beer, he would consult Sarah. She had a good, sharp brain and her opinion was always worth listening to.
    What was the best thing to do? Common sense told him that it would be wisest to forget the whole matter. Why get himself mixed up with this? It was none of his business, he told himself as he
pummelled and squeezed out the clothes. That’s probably what Sarah would tell him.
    But would it be the right thing to do? Or just the coward’s way out?
    By the time he returned with his sackful of wet clothes, he had reached his decision.
    The fried eel was delicious – meaty and succulent – and the heated beer went very well with it. Alfie mopped the greasy juices from his plate with a piece of bread and took a long
swallow of the beer that had been warming in his pewter mug on the iron grid over the fire.
    ‘There was murder done today, Sarah,’ he said casually. ‘Joe, the chimney sweeping boy. Some geezer threw the body out of a gig onto the Hungerford Steps. I reckon someone
should be caught for that. I’ve got a few ideas about tracking him down.’
    Sarah listened carefully as Alfie went on, her green eyes wide, her face even paler than usual. She interrupted once to ask whether Alfie had seen the face of the man in the gig, nodding when
Alfie said that he was too busy dragging Sammy through the river towards the boat. ‘If I was you, Alfie,’ she said when he had finished, ‘I would have nothing to do with it. You
don’t want to get mixed up in no more murders.’
    Alfie thought hard. There was sense in what she said. And then he thought of Joe and a feeling of anger welled up inside him. He rose to his feet decisively. ‘I’m going to pop down
to the police station and have a word with the inspector. Whoever the killer is, he’s not going to get away with murder!’

 
    CHAPTER 5
    J USTICE
FOR J OE

    ‘Friend of yours, was he?’ PC Fairley sounded impatient.
    ‘Not really. Just knew him to talk to.’ Alfie kept his voice casual. PC Fairley was a new constable, an unpleasant fellow, always keen to twist your words.
    ‘So he’s nothing to you. Why come bothering me about it, then?’
    Alfie said nothing. It was best not to contradict. He was beginning to be sorry that he had come. It couldn’t help Joe.
    ‘So he was a friend, was he?’
    ‘Well, sort of,’ said Alfie, trying to seem agreeable.
    ‘On and off friends?’
    Alfie nodded. What was he getting at?
    ‘So you had a fight, did you?’
    ‘No,’ said Alfie calmly.
    ‘You strangled him, is that what you’re telling me? You squeezed his throat until you choked the life out of him. That was the way of it, wasn’t it?’ PC Fairley leant
over his tall desk and thrust his face close to Alfie’s.
    ‘No, that’s not what I’m telling you.’ Alfie sighed impatiently. Was this man stupid? Or deaf?
    ‘Tell me again,’ said PC Fairley. ‘Start at the beginning and tell it slowly because this time I’m going to write down every word that you say. That way, none of us can
make any mistakes. Take your time. Remember, once you’ve said something, you can’t go back on it.’
    Slowly and carefully, Alfie went