Blood on the Water Read Online Free PDF Page B

kinds of things other people couldn’t. She just didn’t want him hurt, which was all right, except life wasn’t like that. All those people were dead and under the water. That was wicked, and had to be sorted out, and somebody needed to be punished, really punished, for it.
    And it was Scuff’s river too. He had been born on its banks and grown up within sight of it, to the sounds of it, feeling its damp all his life. Even in his sleep he could hear the lapping of its tide, and its foghorns booming in the distance. Almost all the treasures of his childhood had been saved from its depth, not to mention the pieces of coal, metal, china—even wood, now and then, that he had sold to feed himself. How could any ordinary land-bound London policeman know the river, or care about it as he and Monk did?
    First he would go to where they were hauling the ship up, but quietly, not speaking to anyone who might know him. This must not get back to Monk, which meant that Scuff must steer clear of Mr. Orme as well. Although he would have been with Monk, so he had likely been up all night too, and sent home as Monk had been. Scuff figured he was safe for a while.
    He walked briskly down to the ferry and used some of his savings to pay his fare to the other side. He climbed up the Wapping Stairs, keeping his face averted from the police station. He went as quickly as possible along the bank toward the dock where he knew from the ferryman that the pleasure boat was being dragged up. He tried to imagine what strength that would take, and what kind of engines it would need. And chains. They’d better be good! If one of them snapped it could take the heads of half a dozen men standing too close. He refused even to think of that!
    He moved quickly, used to slipping by unnoticed. It was not so far, about a mile or so. There were loads of people standing around watching. What did they expect to see? A broken ship and a whole lot of dead bodies? They looked sort of huddled, even though it was a bright May morning. You would have thought it was winter! Maybe they were there because they’d lost someone they loved and they felt they had to come to see the boat pulled from the river, out of a kind of respect, like standing at the graveside at a funeral. Scuff did not like funerals. He did not want to see dead bodies here either. He’d seen people drowned before. It was horrible … the bodies all bloated out of shape, and squashy.
    But if he was ever going to be a policeman like Monk, then he’d better get used to it. Even Hester could look at dead bodies! But then she could do a lot of things that most people couldn’t.
    He moved to stand beside a man and woman who were nicely dressed, but pale-faced and as close together as they could get. What would he say to them? Something that would not sound stupid, or childish, or cruel. Nobody was coming out of the wreck alive. Did they hope there was? They couldn’t be that daft—could they?
    There was a shout from the shore. Then as they watched, the funnel of the boat broke the surface. No one made a sound. It was so quiet he could hear the gushing of water out of the sides.
    Without weighing his words, Scuff turned to the man.
    “You shouldn’t watch this, sir. If you lost someone, you don’t need ter see it.” Then he stopped abruptly. It was out of place. He had no right to speak. They had not asked him.
    The man turned toward him in surprise, as if he had not realized Scuff was there. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “And maybe you shouldn’t either. Did you lose someone, lad?”
    “No. My pa’s in the River Police. He worked all night trying to save people, an’ now they’ve taken ’im off the case. Given it to the land police.” Scuff’s voice was bitter, but he could not help it.
    The man’s arm tightened around the woman beside him. “You’reright. We can’t do anything here. Come on, Jenny. Don’t look. Remember him the way he was. Lad’s right.” He looked