Page 154 of Dead Beat

“We’ve reserved this place as our headquarters, sir. These are the three suspects.”

Another test, another choice, another demon game. Time to play.

“What do we know?” she asked.

“The fire started in the back of the building, just after dawn. The brigade arrived shortly after, alerted by the night watchman who sounded the alarm.” He gestured to a young man with dark eyes and curly hair.

“Name?”

“Frank Bianchi. He’s a guinea, but the owner says he’s honest.”

The young man stayed silent, twisting the woolen cap in his hands.

“Now, this other fellow, Dunston Cregg, says he saw someone flee the back of the building and head down Church Street. He was making his morning deliveries.”

“Deliveries I should be allowed to finish!” the milkman shouted. “I did nothing but my duty by the city, and here I am being treated like a criminal.”

“Why is he a suspect?” Alex asked.

“Far from your route, aren’t you this morning, Cregg?” inquired the policeman.

Cregg’s face flushed. “Horse was favoring his right foreleg, wasn’t he? I had to see to that first, didn’t I?”

“That’s what he says, at least.”

“And the third?” Alex asked.

The boy was scrawny, wide-eyed, his clothes threadbare and his boots held together with twine. “Works at the clock factory. No reason for him to be about these parts if he wasn’t up to mischief. What say you, lad?”

“Didn’t do nothing. I heard they was looking for able bodies to carry goods and things up the stairs.”

“That’s why you were lurking around the back?” asked the policeman, jabbing the boy with his club.

The boy jerked back and stared at him with frightened eyes. “That’s right.”

“Except the owner says they’re not hiring and haven’t been for months. So maybe someone put you up to lighting a fire. Or maybe you just did it for a lark.”

The boy shook his head.

Watchman, milkman, factory boy. Those were Alex’s choices.

“Did you search the alley and uh … surrounds?” she asked.

The policeman presented an empty flask. “Belongs to the watchman. Smells of rye and so does he, but…”

But alcohol could also be used as an accelerant.

“Anything in the milkman’s wagon?”

“You got no right!” Cregg blustered. “I’m a citizen, a voter, a taxpayer!”

“Crowbar,” said the policeman. “Good for smashing windows. Plenty of rags in the back too.”

“That means nothing and you know it.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

“The boy stinks of kerosene, and why might that be?”