Hey, guys! Another chapter for you. I want to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed my story – it really means a lot to me. Thank you:

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You guys are all amazing!

And about the slow updates, I know, I'm terrible, but I took a break from writing this (and some others on the side) to concentrate on my college work. Although writing 1,000 word essays are easy to me, it's the grading; I really wanted to get my grades up, since our college grading system is terrible: all your final work goes to your lowest mark, so you could get top marks in every assignment but one, and all your work would have the lowest grade on it. It really annoys me!

So, I hope this makes up for my tardiness.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Perfect Crime?

Chapter 10

Dodger lay on his back with his eyes half open, staring at his upturned left hand resting on the grimy floor beside him. Slowly, he curled his fingers into a loose fist, and then uncurled them. He tilted his head as he sluggishly wriggled his thumb, and then his pointer finger, watching in fascination how they moved seemingly of their own accord. It felt to him as if they weren't attached to his body.

He didn't know how much time had passed since "Thomas" had last been down; it seemed like forever to him. How many days had it been since he had been taken? Would he be found alive? Would he even be found at all? Or would he just lie here until the end of time?

Dodger was trying so hard to remain optimistic, he was trying to maintain his belief that Fagin was looking for him and wouldn't give up until he had been found. But it was getting harder for Dodger to hold onto that faith, especially considering he had no sense of time. He had no idea how long he'd been in the clutches of this maniac, and being locked up and isolated didn't help matters.

A distant sound above him caused him to look up at the ceiling; it sounded to him as if a dozen marbles were rolling across the floor above him. The sound became harsher and clearer and Dodger realized it was raining.

"Rain," he murmured, resuming examining his hand. "Rain, rain, rain. It's rainin', it's pourin'. Never liked the rain; it's wet, and I 'ave 'oles in me shoes so me feet get wet," Dodger barely comprehended the fact that he was talking to himself, but he found that once he started, he couldn't stop. "I wonder if there'll be a storm? I like storms," He looked back up to the ceiling as he heard footsteps and he couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit disappointed when the trapdoor remained closed. As much as he hated "Thomas," he was desperate for some company. "Wish I 'adn't 'id down 'ere now," the boy muttered as if there was somebody else in the room. "Do ya think 'e's forgotten I'm down 'ere?" Dodger stopped talking as he again heard footsteps. When they receded, he didn't resume his one-sided conversation. Instead he thought.

He thought about "Thomas" and why he had taken him. Dodger wondered what he could have done to make the man want to kill him. It couldn't be a pickpocket victim out for revenge, surely? The boy started mentally picking apart what little he knew about his abductor for clues. He knew for definite it wasn't his father; these two men were completely different looks-wise. Besides, his father didn't even live in this part of London, not to mention he was an alcoholic and a far as he knew; "Thomas" had never touched the stuff. He'd bought water, Dodger noted, remembering hearing the man loudly list every item he had purchased at the market once out of the basement, clearly for Dodger's benefit.

"Thomas" must be rich, thought the boy; he'd never known anyone who'd had clean water before. Maybe he had seen Dodger pick someone's pocket and wanted to teach him a lesson? Even in his head, it sounded ridiculous to Dodger, who couldn't believe that trying to survive was a justifiable reason to be killed. If, indeed, that was why he was taken.

Try as he might, Dodger now couldn't stop all these thoughts from racing around his head. He didn't want to think about the situation any more as he was very tired. He turned his head back to the side and fell asleep.

Upstairs, "Thomas" was getting ready to go sleep. Unlike the previous house, there was no mattress (or anything else, for that matter,) to be found, so he merely curled up on the living-room floor, using his coat as a blanket. He had decided to not let Dodger eat at the present time, preferring to leave him in his current state. He thought about where he would take the boy next; although they were quite isolated, they were only about an hours' walk from the outskirts of the town where Dawkins lived. It felt risky for them to be here, "Thomas," thought, remembering the two boys from earlier. It was too coincidental for them not to know the boy and he wanted them to be further away where no-one would find them. He decided to think more about it tomorrow.

Before he dropped off, he made a mental note to not let the boy get too much sleep. A sleep deprived child is easier to control, he reminded himself, before drifting into sleep. Fortunately for him, "Thomas" had the clever ability to wake himself whenever he chose, so depriving Dodger of some much-needed sleep would be an easy task for him to accomplish.

~ X ~

Back at the warehouse, everyone was getting ready for bed. Fagin had told them about the house he had knocked at and that they were to knock there every day from now on.

Bill, Bet and Nancy were spending the night there as well, as they felt it was much too late for them to be walking back now.

However, instead of going straight to sleep, Nancy took a seat opposite Fagin. The elderly man hadn't moved from his chair since they'd arrived, and the boys had thankfully decided not to give him any hassle tonight and had slipped quietly off to bed immediately after he'd barked the order.

The old Jew was slowly turning Dodger's top hat over and over in his hands.

"I remember when he first got this 'at," he said suddenly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It was a short while after you brought 'im 'ere, Nance, and it was a cold, winters day, and 'e came flouncin' in with this 'uge 'at on 'is 'ead and lookin' so proud. 'E told me that every respectable gentleman needed an 'at and 'e chose this one 'cause 'that's what the gents wear',"

"'E's kept it on everyday ever since," said Nancy, looking at the hat. Fagin paused for a moment.

"Where is 'e, Nance?" he asked desperately.

"I wish I knew, for then I would bring 'im 'ere immediately."

"Why was it 'im who was taken? What does that bloke want with 'im?"

"Please stop askin' me these questions; 'ow am I to know the answers?!" she cried. Bet put her hand on her arm and she quietened.

"Forgive me, Nancy, I jus' want 'im back."

"I, too, Fagin. I can't bear to think of someone 'urtin' 'im."

"Nor I -" Fagin was cut off by a loud snore and the three adults looked around in unison only to find Bill fast asleep on one of the cots.

"I think it's time we all went to bed," said Bet. "And be ready for another full day of searchin'." Nancy agreed but Fagin was still looking at Bill.

"It's like 'e don't even care," he muttered, shaking his head before standing, still holding Dodger's hat and moving toward his bed. Both Nancy and Bet looked at one another, silently agreeing to tell him what Bill had proposed in the morning.

~ X ~

"Thomas" awoke, rolled onto his back and stretched his arms. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew it must be late; the stillness in the air that only came during that certain time of the night told him. He stood up and made his way into the next room and over to where the trapdoor was. "Thomas" was about to open it when he remembered about keeping the boy in total isolation; once he let the child out after a good few days, he would hopefully be so desperate for human contact that he would be much easier to control.

So he didn't go down there, but he also remembered about withholding sleep from the young pickpocket as well.

Dodger awoke with a gasp as deafening thuds resonated above him. It sounded as if the house was falling down. If it did, he hoped "Thomas" remembered he was down here. Dodger pulled himself over to where the stairs where and curled in the corner, hoping to escape the worst of the destruction if the house did cave in. The thudding and creaking appeared to be speeding up and Dodger found himself wondering what it would be like when his body was uncovered; he couldn't really see "Thomas" saving him, he would most likely save himself and leave him to perish. Would Fagin and the boys find out? Or would they keep looking for him in an endless, fruitless search? The ground beneath him seemed to be shaking now and Dodger pulled himself up the steps, hoping to get out, hoping that "Thomas" would at least remove the slab.

"Open the door!" he cried, pounding on the trapdoor when he reached the top.

Meanwhile, "Thomas" was rather enjoying distressing the boy as he stamped and jumped about the kitchen. Then, as suddenly as he started, he stopped, exited the room and went back to sleep. Dodger pressed his ear to the door worriedly, but heard nothing. Had he gone deaf? He knocked on the door to make sure he was still able to hear and, after confirming he did indeed still have his hearing, he waited a moment of silence, and he slid back down the stairs to the corner where he lay with his eyes affixed to the ceiling. What had just happened? Did the house collapse? Dodger hadn't heard anything crashing upstairs, so it had to have been something else. But what? He did not go back to sleep; he was too afraid. Instead he lay awake until morning with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

~ X ~

Like "Thomas," Fagin also had the ability to wake whenever he chose and he woke earlier than usual; the sun had barely risen and decided it was time to wake the boys'. The elderly man found it difficult to get a full nights' sleep anyway; he kept having disturbing dreams about Dodger. Dreams of him without a head, dreams of him with missing limbs. He sincerely hoped, more than anything, that these dreams weren't premonitions. He made a mental note to discuss them with Nancy and Bet later on in the day, to see if they too were having unsettling dreams as well.

"Right, come on, get up, all of ya!" he hollered, marching about the den, shaking some of the lazier children awake. "Ya need to spread the search even further; we ain't gettin' nowhere!"

Nancy and Bet were conscious now and were helping to rouse the boys'. Naturally, the uncaring Bill stayed sleeping. The pickpockets', bleary-eyed, stumbled out of their respective beds and over to the scrubbed wooden table, waiting for breakfast, which the two women were quickly whipping up.

Dodger's bed lay empty, still untouched from the night he was abducted, with his blanket half on the floor. The scuff marks his feet had made were still on the ground by the bed. Nobody seemed to want to put the blanket back; it seemed strange; that was Dodger's bed. No-one else would sleep in his spot, right next to Fagin's lair, which was adjacent to his bedroom, one of two private rooms in the entire den. The other room was used for bathing and had a large, grimy metal tub in the centre and that was it. Not that it ever got used.

Dodger's battered top hat now never left Fagin's side; he slept with it and always held it in one of his hands. He was holding it now. He didn't want to let it go; it was all he had left of Dodger. That is, until he was found.

"Right, today, forget lookin' in the market," Fagin ordered, as a large pan of sausages was placed on the table and the boys delved in. "Today, I want ya to look farther; go to Bloomsbury, Leicester Square, Covent Garden, Hyde Park, Westminster, 'ell, even go to Buckingham Palace if ya 'ave to. We're gonna cover the 'ole of London if we 'ave to." The boys' could only stare at him in reply, as were Nancy and Bet. Even Bill, who had by now woken up, was gawping at him.

"Uh," began Ace. "'Ow are we gonna get to all these places? Walkin' would take up the better part of the day."

"I'm sure ya can find an 'orse and cart," he answered.

"A cart!" cried Nancy. "Why did we not think of that before?! I know of a place where we can get some!"

"Good, then it's settled; you'll all takes carriages, jus' be back before mornin'," he told them. "I'm going to take one myself and – well, I'm wonderin' if I should search the Thames," he muttered. The room went deadly quiet. "I know there's a good chance 'e's still alive but -" he never finished as his breath caught in his throat.

"At least that way you'll know," Bill finished for him, standing up and donning his hat.

"Yeah," Fagin accepted. "But remember," he turned to the group, who were by now ready to go, "to knock on doors and ask for 'child labourers,' remember that. Go on, get goin'! I don't wanna see ya back 'ere 'til ya can't see yer 'and in front of yer face!" he snapped and the boys' scarpered out. "Bill, I want ya to search today," Fagin ordered, as the younger man headed casually for the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I will," he grumbled. "'Cause, apparently, our lives revolve around the treasured Dodger," he snarled, slamming the door behind him.

Fagin was about to leave when Nancy stopped him.

"Fagin, there's summat you should know," she said gesturing to the table. "It's not what ya think," she added hastily, noticing the apprehensive look on his face. "It's just that Bill reckons we should call off the search, 'cause 'e believes Dodge is... dead."

"Well, we can't and we won't. I can see where 'e's comin' from, but we can't stop now. 'E's 'urt and we 'ave to find 'im before 'e gets 'urt any worse. Nance, my greatest fear is that we're gonna find 'im and 'e's gonna be so badly 'urt we won't be able to 'elp 'im."

"I know, Fagin. But like you said, there's every chance that 'e's still alive, we just 'ave to keep lookin' 'til we find 'im. Well, we'll be off. See you tonight," she said, walking out of the door with Bet and Fagin left not long after.

~ X ~

Fagin paused out front of the police station. Never in a million years did he think that he would consider going in there. But it was for Dodger. Fagin still hesitated. He told himself that the police would only help him to search the Thames and that was it. But then they would want to help find Dodger if he wasn't in there. The old Jew determined that any help he could get was worth it and, taking a deep breath, he marched in.

"Yes, may I help you, sir?" asked the officer sat behind the desk as Fagin crossed over to him.

"Yeah. Uh – I'm lookin' for someone that might be... dead," he said. He found it really difficult to say those words.

"Excuse me, sir, but either this person is dead or not. Which is it?"

"Well, ya see, I ain't too sure. Ya see, it's me.. grandson; 'e was kidnapped four days ago," he explained.

"Kidnapped? This is a very serious matter, sir. Why did you not report it to us immediately?" asked the constable, leaning forward.

"To be 'onest, we – me friends and I – thought we'd be able to find 'im ourselves, and I was wonderin' if ya -"

"Well, I suppose that's understandable. Now, what is the child's name?"

"Jack Dawkins. But could ya -?"

"And how old is he?"

"'E's eleven, and I wanna -"

"And where was he kidnapped?"

"Someone came in and took 'im while we slept!" the elderly man snapped. "Now, I just wanna know if ya can 'elp me search the Thames!"

"You have reason to believe that he is in the Thames?" asked the officer.

"Yes! Well, no; we – we've looked everywhere and I... just wanna rule it out, that's all," he looked down at the ground.

"If you'd like to take a seat and I'll talk to my colleagues and they will search the Thames," he replied finally.

Fagin nodded in reply and made his way over to a bench, slumping upon it.

After what seemed an endless wait, a team of at least eight policemen came over to him and announced that they were ready to start the search. Feeling slightly nauseous, Fagin rose and followed them outside.

When they reached the River Thames, the officers started putting on goggles to protect their eyes and peeled off their uniforms, revealing swimsuits underneath.

"There's more of us on the way," one said to Fagin, removing his shoes and socks. "Just as soon as they can get off duty, they'll be here."

"Great," said Fagin, sitting down as they dived in. He felt truly queasy now; imagining what he would do, should they happen to retrieve Dodger's body. He didn't even want to think about it. Just then, one of the policemen surfaced, gasping for breath.

"Nothing yet," he informed Fagin. "If he is in here, he'll only be around these edges – he most likely wouldn't float."

"What if 'e were on a boat?" Fagin asked, but the man shook his head.

"No, we'd know; there haven't been any reports about any boats being out here for at least a week." Fagin just nodded and sat on the floor, staring at the calm river.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, the boys had split into groups of twos and threes, and, rather than paying for carriages, they had merely jumped on the backs, as only they could. These carriages all went into the heart of London; and they decided to search until nightfall and then they would make their way back to the den.

Charley and Ace were joined by Simon; a scrawny, black-haired fourteen-year-old that had only been with them for about a year.

When they arrived in Covent Garden, they were momentarily shocked at how busy it was. Spitalfields seemed like a ghost town compared to this. Charley walked up to a stall selling assorted fruit.

"'Ave ya seen a boy with brown 'air wearin' a blue tailcoat?" he asked, his voice sounding almost monotonous.

"I've seen lots of boys," the stall-owner – a young blonde man said, not even looking up at him.

"Can ya be more specific? It's very important; 'e was kidnapped," the boy almost snapped.

"I don't remember," he said coldly.

"Per'aps this will jog your memory," said Ace, holding up a five-pound note.

"'Aven't seen 'im; 'ope ya find 'im soon," the stall-owner said, uninterestedly, snatching the money and burying his head in the morning's newspaper. The boys glared at him before moving away.

"Could've used that money," Ace muttered, flipping through the wallet he had just picked to see if there was any more money in there. There was, so he pocketed it for safekeeping and the boys continued with what was now their usual routine of searching for Dodger, asking strangers if they had seen their friend, and knocking on strangers' doors.

Whilst Charley and Simon were busy trying to get information out of people at the market, Ace slipped away through an alley to a very middle-class looking street. He mounted the steps and rang the bell and a rather careworn looking maid answered.

"Yes?" she said, barely opening the door wide enough so that he could get a full view of her face.

"Um – 'ave ya taken in any child labourer's lately?" he asked as courteously as he could.

"Who wants to know?" she replied, looking suspicious.

"Me. It's just – me friend 'as gone missin' and we was wonderin' if 'e mighta been, well, ya know, sold."

"Wait here a moment," she told him and then closed the door in his face. Ace tried not to get his hopes up. A moment later, the maid reappeared with her employer, a stout old man with a bushy, handlebar moustache.

"Can you describe your friend?" was all he said.

"'E 'as brown 'air, brown eyes and was wearin' a blue tailcoat," he told him.

"Well, the thing is, we paid for this boy fair and square and he belongs to us now," the man told him.

"Please let 'im go. 'E's our friend," Ace almost pleaded, ignoring his previous thought about not getting his hopes up.

"And now he's our stable boy," he retorted before beginning to close the door.

"No, wait!" Ace cried and the door slid open a tad. "Please – just let me see 'im. So I know 'e's okay," they could break him out later, he thought. The man nodded to the maid who disappeared and reappeared moments later with a boy. Ace's face fell; he had brown hair and eyes, but it wasn't Dodger. He sighed. "That ain't 'im. Sorry," then he turned on his heel and left to repeat the process at the next house.

~ X ~

Meanwhile, Nancy and Bet had gone to Drury Lane. Bill, saying he preferred to work on his own, had gone goodness know where.

"Do ya think 'e's even searchin'?" asked Bet, as they stood at the end of the street.

"'E'd better be," muttered Nancy darkly. "Bet, Dodge, can't be dead; 'e just can't be. I don't understand Bill sometimes!"

"Nor I," she tried to assure her friend. Then she placed a hand on her shoulder. "We'll find 'im. I know we will." Nancy looked at her, nodded, and both women made their way down the street, Nancy down the right hand side and Bet on the left. They had decided that that was the quickest way to search.

~ X ~

It was mid-morning now and "Thomas" had decided to stamp around the kitchen again to wake up Dawkins, who he correctly guessed had eventually gone back to sleep. When the man felt that he had well and truly awoken the boy, he went back and sat in the living-room, burying his head in yesterday's newspapers. Dawkins' picture hadn't appeared in there yet, he noted, chewing on a currant bun. He found it quite unusual; child abduction always made the front page. He wondered why the residents of the home in which Dawkins domiciled had not told the police yet.

Meanwhile, Dodger was still curled up in the same spot he was last night, wide awake but exhausted. He had just realized that it was "Thomas" who was making those thundering sounds. Although he was no longer afraid, the noise still kept him awake. He brought up a hand to his bruised and cut face and rubbed his tired eyes, wincing at the wounds in his cheeks where "Thomas" had nicked him.

The boy thought some more about why the man only nicked his face when he had a perfect opportunity to kill him right then and there, like he had promised. Not that Dodger wasn't glad he didn't go through with it.

'That time, at least,' he thought. Then he remembered how "Thomas" was tormenting him with the knife, going for him with it and then stopping, much like with the punches. That was what had been truly terrifying; waiting to him to strike.

~ X ~

Bill, on the other hand, had gone to Trafalgar Square with Bull's-Eye.

"Bull's-Eye,g o and find Dodger. Go on! Go on, Bull's-Eye!" he ordered, sitting on a bench as the faithful and clever mutt trotted off. The canine knew who Dodger was and Bill was certain that if the pickpocket was here, Bull's-Eye would be able to follow his scent. Not that he cared. If anything, he was glad; the warehouse was a lot quieter now that Dodger was gone., He liked the peace and quiet. Although it meant that he couldn't have conversations with Fagin any more; every word they uttered could be heard.

He had been thinking for a while when he noticed Bull's-Eye returning. He got up and lead the dog down the street. If only Nancy could see him, he thought, he was looking for Dodger. He didn't have to, but he was. Bill just decided to follow Bull's-Eye around this town and see if he could pick up Dodger's scent. Bill suddenly found himself wondering what he would do if Bull's-Eye led him to Dodger. Clearly, he would tell Fagin where the body was; darned if he was going to carry it. But suppose he was alive, but badly injured? Well, depending on the injuries, Bill guessed he would carry the boy. Nothing less severe than a broken leg, though; any injuries less severe and he could walk.

Bill rolled his eyes; they weren't going to find him alive. But, here he was, searching for the boy, being such a good citizen.

~ X ~

Back at the Thames, many hours later, the policemen were still scouring the river. Fagin felt more sick and more worried with each passing moment. A crowd had gathered by now, muttering amongst themselves and Fagin glanced at the now nearly setting sun with shock; had he really been here the entire day?

"Well, he's definitely not in there," the officer assured him, after he'd climbed out.

"That's good," said Fagin, looking over the man's shoulder at the river.

"Well, if you wouldn't mind coming back to the station with us, you can give us a description of the child and we can file a report." Fagin hated Dodger being referred to as a child, though not as much as Dodger himself did. It made him seem so small and vulnerable; whereas he was usually so grownup.

"Oh, no, I'd rather not," blurted out the elderly man, and when the policeman looked at him questioningly, he continued. "You see, I'm.. afraid that me grandson's kidnapper will see the reports and that might put me grandson in danger."

"I see. Well, we've still got to do something. If you'll come back to the station with me, we can work something out." Fagin simply nodded and followed the man. He now had new hope for Dodger, that he was still alive, somewhere.

~ X ~

Finished!