Page 87 of Strangers in Time

“And you have no idea where he is now?”

Lonzo shook his head. “No, guv. I swear.”

Willoughby took out a notepad and pen. “Describe him.”

Lonzo did so. “C-can you still help me?”

Willoughby finished writing and looked up. “You’ve really told me nothing helpful, Lonzo. Lots of boys like Charlie in this city. Does he go to school?”

“No.”

“Does he have any other family?”

Lonzo shook his head. “Dunno.”

Willoughby grabbed one of the boy’s hands and twisted Lonzo’s index finger until it broke. Lonzo howled in pain.

“Don’t lie to me, boy, you won’t like it.”

He let go of Lonzo’s hand and the boy jerked back, holding his damaged finger.

Lonzo wailed, “He ain’t got no family, I swear. His gran was all he had, and she died. They buried her over in Stepney. At the church.”

“What were you doing breaking into a shop? And whythatshop?”

Lonzo swallowed and looked down at the table. Out of his one good eye he watched for the constable sneaking up on him again. “We heard it had some money in the till.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Just did.”

Willoughby pointed to the door. “When we walk out of here and you get picked out of the identity parade, the next stop for you will be prison. And theywillhang you.”

“I never saw that lorry till it ’it Eddie. I swear. Didn’t mean to ’urt nobody.”

“The law doesn’t care what youmeant, Lonzo. It only cares about what youdid. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Why that bookshop?”

Lonzo gazed warily at the constable, who had now taken a step forward, holding his wooden club and tapping it menacingly against one wide palm.

“Ch-Charlie knew ’bout it. He stole from the bloke before, but the git took the money back.”

Willoughby’s brows knitted in confusion. “Wait, are you saying this Charlie Matters took the money he stole back? Why the devil would he do that, boy? You taking the mickey with me? I don’t like that.”

“He said the bloke had it bad and needed the quid. But Charlie had a book that got no writin’ in it. He got it from the shop. Said he was goin’ to sell it.”

“Did he?” barked Willoughby.

Lonzo was not about to add the theft of the book to his list of crimes. “Got no way of knowin’ that, do I?”

“Bollocks!” exclaimed Willoughby as he nodded at the bobby.

A punishing strike landed on the back of Lonzo’s head from the constable’s club, which once more knocked Lonzo to the floor. His head bleeding badly, Lonzo threw up on the floor.

Willoughby cried out, “Jesus, boy, get a hold of yourself. You were going to join the army? By God, you would have lasted all of ten minutes against the Germans. Now get back in your chair before the constable is forced to ‘help’ you.”

Willoughby drummed his fingers against the table and waited while Lonzo picked himself up off the floor and sobbed quietly into the wood of the table.

“You said he got the book from the shop. Did he steal it?”

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