Free The Falcon's Malteser by Anthony Horowitz Page B

just killed him. And there were the two policemen looking at us in open-mouthed astonishment.
    “You’re under—” Snape began.
    “No . . .” Herbert moaned.
    “I don’t believe it,” I said.

CROCODILE TEARS
    Herbert and I spent the night back at the Ladbroke Grove Police Station. I’d never slept behind bars before—not that I got a lot of sleep that night either. There was a double bunk in our cell and I took the top level, with Herbert underneath. He’d caught a nasty cold in the cemetery, and every time I was about to drift away he’d let loose with a deafening sneeze and I’d be awake again. The bunk wasn’t too comfortable either: just a narrow board with an inch-thick mattress, a sheet, and two blankets you could have struck a match on. I dropped off around midnight. Then I climbed back on and tried to get some sleep.
    “Nick . . .” It could have been any time when Herbert’s disembodied voice floated up out of the darkness.
    “Yes?” I said.
    “Are you awake?”
    “No. I’m sleep-talking.”
    “Nick, I’ve been thinking.” Herbert paused, sneezed, continued. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a private detective after all.”
    “Whatever makes you think that, Herbert?” I asked.
    “Well . . . I’m wanted for two murders, kidnapping, and disturbing the peace. The Fat Man wants to kill me. My apartment has been torn apart. And I haven’t actually been able to detect anything.”
    “You may have a point,” I agreed.
    He sighed. “In the morning I’ll tell Snape everything. He can have the Maltesers. I wish I’d given them to him in the first place.”
    That woke me up like a bucket of ice water. Five million dollars in diamonds and he wanted to give them away! I leaned over the side of the bunk. It was so dark that I couldn’t see a thing, but I hoped that I was addressing Herbert’s ear rather than his feet. “Herbert,” I said. “If you whisper one word about those Maltesers, I will personally kill you.”
    “But, Nick—”
    “No, Herbert. Those Maltesers are the only hope you’ve got.”
    “But . . . uh . . . uh . . .” He sneezed again. “But I might get sent to prison!” he protested.
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll visit you every Friday.”
    They woke us up at seven in the morning. We were allowed to wash and then a guard brought us each a mug of tea. I asked for a bacon sandwich, but all I got was a nasty look. Then it was back into the interrogation room—for Herbert but not for me. Snape stopped me at the door. Boyle was with him, growling softly. That was one guy I wanted to steer clear of. I wouldn’t even have trusted Boyle to take my fingerprints. Not if I wanted to keep my fingers.
    “You can go, laddie,” Snape said. “It’s only big brother we want.”
    “How long are you going to keep him for?” I asked. “It’s only five days to Christmas.”
    “So?”
    “He hasn’t had time to buy my present yet.”
    Snape was unimpressed. “We’ll keep him as long as it takes,” he said. “I’ll tell a social worker to visit you—to make sure you’re all right.”
    “I’ll visit him!” Boyle grunted.
    “No, you won’t, Boyle!” Snape rasped.
    I jerked a thumb at the police assistant. “He needs a social worker more than me,” I said.
    Boyle lumbered a few steps toward me, but then Snape grabbed hold of him. For a minute it was as if I wasn’t there.
    “You’re being ridiculous, Boyle,” Snape muttered. “I’ve told you about those violent videos . . .”
    “I just want to—” Boyle began.
    “No! No! No! How many times do I have to tell you. This isn’t the right sort of image for a modern metropolitan police force.”
    “It used to be,” Boyle growled.
    “In Transylvania,” Snape replied. He turned back to me. “Go on, son. Out of here,” he said. I glanced at Herbert, who sneezed miserably. The door slammed. And suddenly I was alone.

    I didn’t do much that morning. There wasn’t much I could do. As I sat in