Snow Hill
“An image of Gogg’s severed penis slid into his mind. He jerked his head away and retched. Why the hell would a cop do that? His terror turned to rage. He spat savagely at his assailant but the pervert was already making his getaway, whistling a familiar tune which, for the moment, Johnny could not name.
A clink and a clatter echoed down the alley. The knife had been dropped—or discarded. Johnny wiped his cracked lips with the back of his hand. He supposed he ought to go and check.
The alley bec...ame even narrower as it neared its end. He found the knife by kicking it. He hated to think what his peeled fingers were touching as he groped about on the filthy ground. He took off his muffler—a present from Lizzie last Christmas—and picked up the knife with it.
Back in St John Street he stood beneath a lone gas-light and examined the blood-stained blade. He shuddered. It was a butcher’s knife, about ten inches long, and very sharp. The blood was no doubt that of Harry Gogg.
Why had the cop thrown the murder weapon away?MoreLess
A clink and a clatter echoed down the alley. The knife had been dropped—or discarded. Johnny wiped his cracked lips with the back of his hand. He supposed he ought to go and check.
The alley bec...ame even narrower as it neared its end. He found the knife by kicking it. He hated to think what his peeled fingers were touching as he groped about on the filthy ground. He took off his muffler—a present from Lizzie last Christmas—and picked up the knife with it.
Back in St John Street he stood beneath a lone gas-light and examined the blood-stained blade. He shuddered. It was a butcher’s knife, about ten inches long, and very sharp. The blood was no doubt that of Harry Gogg.
Why had the cop thrown the murder weapon away?MoreLess
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