Free Fatal Enquiry by Will Thomas Page B

shorn head. Then as its arc cleared him, he stepped forward again and smacked the wooden end of the pole hard into Briggs’s rib cage. The man let out a woofing sound and bent double. Barker wrapped the boat hook around his neck and pulled him forward so quickly that he was forced to trot to keep his balance. With a sharp crack, Briggs’s forehead came in contact with a piling. He fell back like a stone, spread-eagle on the dock. The entire fight, if one could even call it that, had lasted less than five seconds.
    I hurried over to see if he was alive. He was bleeding and unconscious, but he would live. As I debated whether to tend his wounds, the Guv seized him by the wrists and began to drag him across the dock.
    “What are you doing?” I exclaimed.
    Barker didn’t answer, struggling with the heavy load. When he reached the edge, he unceremoniously kicked his friend over into the water with a splash.
    “But he’ll drown!” I cried, wondering if my employer had gone temporarily mad. I couldn’t imagine a situation where Barker would kill in order to protect himself, even in these dire circumstances. Instead of replying, he jumped in after him.
    “We’re taking him with us!” Barker called, when he surfaced.
    “Why?” I demanded.
    “He knows where we’re going, and I can’t carry him far. Are you coming?”
    Before I could protest, he flipped Briggs over onto his back and began swimming, one meaty arm around the man’s throat. It was April, and though the weather was agreeable enough, it would be a few months until the Thames was warm enough for a proper swim.
    “But—” I said, and then gave it up.
    Barker and his heavy load were already being swept along with the current. I ran down the bank and took my first tentative step into the icy water, which sloshed over the tops of my boots. There was no time for complaint.
    I dived in, every part of my body protesting, and began swimming after him as fast as I could.
    “H-how far?” I called a few minutes later, my teeth beginning to chatter.
    “Not far,” he called. “Half a league or so.”
    My brain tried to recall exactly how far a league was. Was it half a mile? Two miles? I hadn’t the slightest idea.
    Ahead of me in the darkness, I heard a thrashing sound and then a dull thump.
    “What happened?” I asked.
    “He tried to wake up.”
    “The cheek,” I murmured, though I was too tired to say it aloud. The frigid water was quickly draining me of all energy.
    When I caught up with Barker, he looked as exhausted as I felt, but he stroked along in the Thames doggedly, keeping Briggs’s head above water. The exertion in the cold river was almost more than I could take, and I wasn’t dragging a huge man behind me. After what seemed an interminable time, Barker motioned me toward the bank as a police steam launch came around a bend into sight. We hid in the shadow of a barge, treading water weakly, and watched the launch pass slowly by. Being caught would have been a bad end to the day after all we’d been through, but on the other hand, I realized, the police would have dry blankets, a hot boiler, and maybe even mugs of cocoa. The Thames River Police do know how to make an excellent cup of cocoa. For a moment, I thought it might almost be worth getting caught. Instead, I bit my tongue as we waited for the launch to pass.
    “I don’t think I can go much farther, sir,” I confessed, when it was finally gone. “I’m knackered. I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. We’re here.” Barker seized a ladder attached to the side of the barge while I took possession of the limp Briggs. When he’d climbed aboard, he disappeared for a minute and came back with a rope to haul the man’s outsized body out of the water. After ten minutes of struggle, the three of us lay supine on the deck, gasping for air.
    Finally, I sat up and looked about. We were on a decrepit old barge with a homemade structure of castoff wood atop it, festooned with wind chimes that