Murder on the Short List by Peter Lovesey Read Free Book Online Page A

men, mistakenly taking him for a streetwalker. You might as well sing now, and save us all a long night.”
    They’d searched him thoroughly. He carried no papers, no pocketbook, nothing. His clothes were those of a working man. His hands had done manual work.
    â€œYou’ll be hungry by now,” Cribb said. “Speak up and we’ll feed you a hot meal.”
    Not a glimmer of interest.
    â€œI’m beginning to think he’s stone deaf.”
    â€œOr a foreigner,” Thackeray said.
    â€œYou could be right. He was yelling a bit when you were on the ground with him. What was he saying?”
    â€œNothing I remember, Sarge.”
    â€œWeren’t you paying attention? What were you doing?”
    â€œFighting for my bloody life.”
    â€œThere’s no need for coarseness. Fetch Inspector Jowett. He speaks some French. He’ll enjoy showing off to us.”
    But Jowett, when he tried, made no impression, despite employing all the animated gestures of a Frenchman. “Are you certain this is Razor Bill?” he said to Cribb.
    â€œI’d put my last shilling on it, sir. He attacked Thackeray with a razor – Thackeray being artfully disguised as a woman of the street. He does a very good impersonation of a woman, does Thackeray.”
    â€œIndeed.” Jowett glanced at Thackeray, seeing him in a whole new light, and took a step away. “Well, your prisoner is no Frenchman. Of that I’m sure. You’d better bring in an interpreter.”
    â€œNo gratitude,” Cribb said after Jowett had left the room. “All of London was living in fear of this monster and what thanks do I get for nabbing him? Not a squeak.”
    â€œI know exactly how you feel, Sarge,” Thackeray said.
    T he papers were full of the arrest next morning. “
An unidentified detective posed as a woman of the unfortunate class
,” the
Morning Chronicle
stated, “
and was set upon by the murderer with an open razor. Thanks to the foresight of Inspector Jowett of the Criminal Investigation Department, the officer concerned was wearing a protective leather collar and succeeded in detaining his assailant and calling for assistance from his colleagues nearby. The arrest was effected immediately
.”
    â€œâ€˜. . . the foresight of Inspector Jowett?’” Cribb said, flinging the paper aside. “He didn’t even know about this plan of mine.”
    â€œAh, but he knows how to tell a good story to the newspapers,” Thackeray said.
    â€œMost of it untrue.”
    â€œWell, yes. It didn’t seem to me like an immediate arrest.”
    Cribb ignored this dig. He had too much else to deal with. “The interpreter is coming in at noon. Claims to speak nine languages.”
    â€œThat ought to be enough,” Thackeray said. “How many languages are there?”
    â€œMore than that.”
    â€œLondon’s full of Poles and Russians. He looks like a Russian to me.”
    T owards the end of the morning a gentleman in a top hat arrived and asked to speak to the officer who had arrested Razor Bill.
    â€œRight, sir. You’ll be the interpreter, I dare say,” the desk sergeant said.
    â€œNo, sir, I am not. I am the Reverend Eli Mountjoy.”
    â€œMight I inquire what you’re here for?”
    â€œ
That
officer.” The Reverend Mountjoy pointed a finger at Thackeray, who was on his way to an early lunch. “He’s the one I came to see.”
    â€œRight, your reverence.” The desk sergeant beckoned to Thackeray with a curled finger.
    There was no escape. Thackeray ushered Eli Mountjoy into a room where they wouldn’t be overheard.
    â€œYou look almost normal without your face painted,” the minister said. “I saw in
The Times
that you arrested a man last night.”
    â€œThat’s right, sir.”
    â€œAre you sure he’s the murderer?”
    â€œWell, he did his best to cut my