Page 13 of Molly Boys

Mudlarks hovered at the edges,waiting for lowtideso they could scavenge for anything washed up on shore that they could sell. They were easily identifiable, most of them no more than children—some as young as eight, up to fifteen or sixteen. Their eyes were hollow and their expressions hopeless. It was the worst way to ekeout a pitiful existence, trawling through filth and sewage and,more often than not,the rotting carcasses of animals and occasionally human remains, all to find anything of value.

Pulling his notebook from his pocket,he moved toward the crowd. While he was waiting for Shaw to thaw the boy out and perform the autopsy, he might as well start interviewing potential witnesses.

* * *

By the time the early morning mist had lifted from the river and the winter sun had risen cold andstark, it had become abundantly clear to Archie that the assembled crowd was there for the entertainment and would be no help whatsoever.

He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as a dirty, plump woman by the name of Nell, who was missing several teeth and smelled strongly of booze, tried to convince him the victim had been done in by Fat Sal, an acquaintance of hers who was known to partake in male company for fourpence and who, she believed, had most likely crushed the poor lad to death under her ample frame.

Archie stared at the woman and tried not to directly breathe in the fumes coming from her. The stubby pencil he gripped tightly in one hand hovered over the nearly blank page of his black notebook.

He was barely listening to her drone on. Instead, his gaze wandered over the woman’s shoulder and locked on a young lad with a grubby face and straw-like blonde hair peeking from beneath his cap. Although young and dirty, he didn’t have the same look of hopelessness sported by the other mudlarks lurking around waiting for low tide. Instead, the boy’s shrewd eyes took in the details of the crime scene. Something about him caught Archie’s attention. The boy’s blue eyes at last caught sight of Archie and held his gaze for a moment, but as Archie took a step toward him, he broke his gaze and scampered back into the crowd.

Trusting his gut instinct, Archie rushed after him, pushing through the crowd to grasp the boy’s threadbare coat by the collar, then yanking him backward roughly and swinging the boy around to face him.

“Oi,” the skinny runt yelled loudly. “Lemme go, I ain’t done nuffin.”

“Then why you running, lad?” Archie asked, tightening his grip.

“Cos I don’t like mutton shunters,” he hissed as he struggled.

“Keep a civil tongue in your head, boy, or a cuff around the ears is what you’ll get,” Archie warned.

Archie watched as the boy stopped squirming and glared at him. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, a tiny little thing with bones like a sparrow.

“What’s your name, boy?” His tone softened.

“Jack Lightfoot,” he muttered with a sullen scowl, knowing he wasn’t going anywhere until Archie decided to let him go.

“Jack, is it? I’m Inspector Franklin.” He nodded his head toward the river’s edge where the body had been discovered. “You know anything about that?”

Jack shook his head but a shadow passed over his eyes and his mouth tightened. Oh, the boy definitely knew something. Archie reached into his pocket and withdrew a penny, holding it up for the lad to see.

“You sure?” he asked as he saw how the boy’s eyes latched onto the coin. He shrugged and reached out with dirty fingers. Archie moved it back just out of his grasp. “A word of warning,”–he leaned in, his voice dropping lower–“I’m very good at what I do. I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

Jack stared at him belligerently before giving a sharp nod. Archie relaxed his grip on his worn collar but didn’t let go.

“Was a big fella… a giant,” Jack said.

Archie’s brow quirked. “A giant?”

“Came ashore in a boat, a small one. Dunno how it didn’t sink with ‘im in it. He was massive, tall as a horse, and big, like I said. Looked like he could pick up a cart with one arm.”

Archie listened to the boy’s description, and as unlikely as it seemed that a giant had been stalking the banks of the Thames in the dead of night, he was inclined to believe the boy for the fact of the boat. The evidence frozen into furrows along the bank supported the claim, and everyone else he’d spoken to at the scene had given varying accounts of the killer; the only thing they seemed to agree on was that he’d made his way through the streets, and although possible it seemed unlikely.

“What else?”

“He came ashore like I said and dumped the red-haired man on the bank. He was already dead by the looks of ‘im. Just tossed in the mud like he was nuffin.” Jackshrugged.

“What time was this?”

“It was dark, long after the pubs kicked out cos Nell was passed out drunk down Fish Gut Alley.”

“What were you doing out here?” Archie asked.

“Sleepin’,” Jack replied as if the answer should be obvious. “Or trying to, but it were too cold. I was tucked under the overhang from the bridge by the water. I’m small enough to fit into the gap between the arches and it keeps the wind off. I saw ‘im from up there. He didn’t see me, I hid in the shadows.”

“Was anyone else with him?”