The Killing

by Robert Muchamore

  Dave led Leon through to the living-room. Leon’s giant gut lumbering down the hallway had an outlandish quality that reminded James of a geography lesson where he’d watched a video of a supertanker passing through the Panama canal. Leon collapsed on to the tiny sofa as James stepped through the doorway behind Dave.

  ‘You two have both been in trouble with the law,’ Leon began. ‘So you should understand the old saying: loose lips sink ships.’

  Dave nodded. ‘I’m no grass.’

  ‘It’s not so much grassing with you young lads, it’s all this,’ Leon said, making his hands talk to each other. ‘Mouth. Word gets around, you understand?’

  ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ Dave smiled, as James nodded.

  ‘I know the only money you boys have coming in is social security. I was thinking in bed last night and I realised I could put something your way that’ll really kick start your finances. Maybe even to the tune of a couple of grand over the next month or so. You interested?’

  James and Dave made a point of grinning at one another, like you’d expect from a couple of dirt-poor kids who’d just had four figures dangled under their noses.

  ‘Course we’re interested,’ Dave beamed.

  ‘Good,’ Leon said. ‘The scheme obviously isn’t legit, but it is solid. I know dudes who work for some of the biggest domestic cleaning agencies going. The clients are mostly well-off folks who can’t be bothered with the hassle of employing a cleaning lady. Instead, they ring up Big Kleen, The Brite House, Supa-Maid or whoever. Missus mop turns up and cleans when they’re out at work, and the closest they ever get to scraping the mould out of their own shower basin is when they pay their credit card bill.

  ‘Now here’s the beautiful part: at this time of year, most of these rich turds take a nice long holiday and cancel the cleaning service. That leaves my contacts holding sets of their house keys and burglar alarm codes for two or three weeks, while their expensive motors sit in the garage.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Dave grinned, ‘the cars aren’t waiting for them when they get home.’

  ‘Bingo,’ Leon smiled, making a popping sound with his tongue. ‘We’re only interested in nearly new cars that can be shipped to eastern Europe, or stripped down for parts. Once I get the house keys and alarm codes, I send in a scout who has all the time in the world to search the house and find the car keys. The following day, someone else breaks in and sets off the burglar alarm. It hardly matters, because my scout will have found the car keys and left them in the driver’s door. You’ll be away before the cops get a sniff.’

  ‘Why can’t we use the house keys when we rob the joint?’ James asked.

  Dave gave James a look of contempt. ‘Because then it’s obviously an inside job.’

  ‘Oh,’ James said, realising he was being slow. ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Don’t the police ever suspect the cleaning agency?’ Dave asked.

  ‘It could happen,’ Leon said. ‘If you robbed ten cars in a short space of time and they all had links to one company, the police might tag on, but we spread it around – different areas, different companies – and keep the number of thefts sensible.

  ‘So anyway, with summer holiday season coming up, I could use an extra set of hands to do some of the actual breaking in and driving away.’

  ‘How much is in it for us?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Two-fifty a pop,’ Leon said.

  ‘Each?’ James asked.

  ‘One man can handle the job,’ Leon said. ‘You can both go if you want, but I’m not paying any extra.’

  Dave knew this was a big step into Leon’s criminal world, but it might seem suspicious if he accepted without seeming apprehensive.

  ‘The thing is Leon, I’ve got previous. If I get nicked in another stolen car, I’m looking at two years’ juvenile detention.’

  ‘Look,’ Leon shrugged. ‘No hard feelings if this isn’t for you. I’m just making you guys an offer. Five or six jobs over the next month will earn you enough to get that car running and put this grotty flat into some sort of shape.’

  ‘Two-fifty’s not a lot,’ Dave said. ‘I mean, you’re talking about stealing twenty or thirty grand’s worth of car.’

  ‘I got expenses,’ Leon said. ‘The scout, the cleaning agency. And the man who’s gonna ship the cars overseas doesn’t exactly get his numbers out of Glass’ second-hand price guide. I’m doing well if I can get five grand for a Mercedes that just came out of the showroom at thirty.’

  ‘I appreciate the offer, Leon,’ Dave said. ‘But risking two years of my life must be worth nearer to four hundred.’

  ‘The summer rush is on and I’ve got more cars than thieves right now,’ Leon smiled. ‘So I’ll stretch to three hundred, but that’s your lot.’

  ‘Three-two-five,’ Dave said.

  Leon rocked his head uncertainly before his hand crept out towards Dave’s.

  ‘One other thing,’ Leon added, as they shook on the deal. ‘I’ve kept the cops off my back all these years by being careful. So now this is set up, we don’t ever talk about it again, OK? My people will call you. The money will come through your letterbox. If you ask me something about this, I’m not gonna be happy and all you’ll get for your trouble is a blank look.’

  ‘What if there’s a hitch, like if I don’t get paid or something?’ Dave asked.

  ‘You’ll have a number to call,’ Leon said, as he began hauling himself off the sofa. He turned to look at James. ‘I don’t mix my family up in the naughty stuff. So if you’re hanging out with Max or Liza, you keep this under your hat. OK?’

  ‘No worries,’ James nodded, slumping on to the sofa as the incredible bulk headed for the front door.

  James sprawled out and allowed himself to grin at the rapid progress of the mission, then shot half a metre in the air as a finger touched his shoulder.

  ‘Is my dad gone?’ Sonya Tarasov whispered.

  ‘Jesus,’ James gasped, as he spun around to look at the sixteen-year-old sitting on the carpet behind the sofa. ‘You scared the arse off me. Were you behind there the whole time?’

  He broke into a grin as the shock wore off and he realised Sonya was naked.

  Sonya wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘Stop staring you little pervert,’ she said furiously.

  ‘I’ve seen better,’ James giggled.

  ‘James, behave,’ Dave said stiffly, as he walked into the room. He tossed his robe at Sonya. ‘I brought your dad in here because I thought you were still in the kitchen.’

  ‘And crawl under that sink again?’ Sonya said fiercely. ‘My back still hurts from yesterday.’

  ‘What were you two doing in the kitchen with no clothes on?’ James grimaced. ‘I swear to god, I’m never eating off that table again.’

  Sonya quickly slid into the robe and knotted the cord around her waist as she straddled the sofa.

  ‘Dave I’m begging you, please don’t start doing my dad’s dirty work.’

  Dave shrugged as he pulled on his T-shirt. ‘He’s offering me a leg-up, Sonya. Look at this dump we’re living in. I need money to do it up and that’ll take five hundred years from what I’d earn working in some supermarket or fast-food joint.’

  ‘But what if you get caught? You’ll go down for sure and probably take James with you, or he’ll have to go back into foster care.’

  ‘Then I won’t get caught,’ Dave said.

  He moved in to calm Sonya down with a kiss, but she wouldn’t buy it.

  ‘My dad shouldn’t be dragging you in to this,’ Sonya stormed. ‘He doesn’t even need to do it any more, he’s got two pubs that are doing nicely and the car dealing on top. He’s using you, Dave. If he really wanted to help, he could offer you a straight job, or find someone else that could.’

  ‘Sonya, I’ve known you for two days,’ Dave said. ‘I really like you, but you can’t run my life.’

  ‘Fine, ignore me,’ Sonya shrugged. ‘But I’ll warn you now: my dad only looks after number one and I won’t be vi
siting you behind bars.’

  ‘Look, Sonya,’ Dave said. ‘I know you’re trying to look out for me, but I need this money.’

  ‘My dad’s like Teflon: nothing ever sticks to him. You know last year? He made an absolute killing; the biggest score of his whole life. My poor mum worried herself sick that the police would turn up the heat, but Dad never even got his collar felt.’

  ‘What did he do?’ James enquired innocently.

  ‘He never tells us, but everyone reckons he got a cut of some massive robbery,’ Sonya said. Her face changed to a look of shock as she noticed the clock on the wall. ‘Oh hell. It’s half-eight and I’m not even dressed. I’m gonna be so late for school.’

  20. SLUMS

  While Dave went to the scrap yard with Pete Tarasov, James bummed around the flat. There was no point enrolling in one of the local schools, because it was only two days until the beginning of summer holidays.

  There was nothing James could do for the mission while Max, Liza and all the other local kids were at school. Unfortunately, Zara had picked up on this and asked a couple of James’ teachers to set him work.

  After Dave went out, James started playing FIFA 2005 on his Playstation. He had a saved game, with Arsenal five points clear at the top of the Premiership, and he extended it to eight by stuffing Chelsea. James knew he ought to start on the schoolwork, but the goals kept going in and it was midday by the time he’d swept aside Liverpool, Charlton and Aston Villa. He finally lost his touch in a disappointing game against Tottenham, with the computer awarding itself a penalty in extra time for a 2–2 draw.

  ‘Penalty my arse,’ James screamed, as he kicked the coffee table, lobbed the controller and furiously switched off his console. ‘Stupid poxy game … Programmed by a Spurs fan, or some other kind of moron.’

  When he’d calmed down, James realised he was hungry. He spread Nutella on toast and garnished each slice with squirty cream. It was nearly 1 p.m. by the time he hit the books.

  James lay on his bed and wondered how with all the great battles, civilisations and catastrophes from history to choose from, his teacher had decided to set a 1,500-word report, with a minimum of three illustrations, on the achingly uninteresting subject of water sanitation during the Victorian era. James loathed anything that involved writing long essays, especially as Mr Brennan had a habit of complaining about his left-handed scrawl and making him rewrite entire essays from scratch.

  James found himself drawn towards the one subject he was good at. Most kids don’t even start GCSE maths until they’re fourteen, but James had passed with an A* grade the previous November and was well into his studies for Advanced level. He settled on his bed with a clipboard and a fat textbook on his lap, confidently pencilling his way through the test at the end of Unit 14F: The trapezium rule for approximate integration.

  Being brilliant at maths wasn’t the kind of thing that set the girls swooning. But while James played it down, he was secretly proud. It was good having one subject where he got all As and his teacher smiled when they passed in the corridor, instead of dragging him aside and making demands for late homework like the others.

  James had started Unit 14G and was really into it when the doorbell rang. He walked out of his room and was surprised to see a policewoman’s uniform through the frosted glass.

  ‘Hello,’ Millie smiled, as James opened the door. ‘So you are here. I tried your mobile.’

  James reached towards the tracksuit top hooked up by the door and grabbed his phone from the pocket. ‘I bet it’s gone flat. I’m the world’s crappest person at remembering to charge up my mobile.’

  Millie invited herself in. ‘I thought it would be OK to drop by, just this once,’ she said as she closed the door. ‘If any of the locals ask why I was here, just say I was following up on your arrest.’

  James thought Millie looked good, even in sensible shoes and with her body armour squashing everything out of shape. She unzipped a small backpack as she sat on the sofa and pulled out a paper bag.

  ‘I got us some nice sandwiches and cakes,’ Millie explained. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Only some toast,’ James said, opening up the bag and studying the selection of goodies. ‘OK if I take the smoked salmon sandwich? The other one’s got mayo on and I can’t stomach it.’

  Millie broke into an awkward smile. ‘Have whatever you want. I’ll mostly be eating humble pie.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Humble pie,’ Millie repeated as she reached into her backpack and pulled out a few sheets of photocopied paper. Each sheet was a copy of a form: 289B – Official Notification To An Officer Of A Misconduct Investigation, with Michael Patel’s name written in the top corner.

  ‘If someone makes a complaint about a police officer, a copy of this form gets sent to the officer and another one goes on to their permanent file. Every front-line officer picks up a few complaints. I’ve been investigated twice myself; both times it was someone I’d nicked trying to get revenge by making a false allegation.’

  James counted the sheets of paper. ‘There are eight complaints here.’

  Millie nodded. ‘That’s more than average, but none of them were upheld and ethnic minority officers tend to collect more complaints than whites.’

  James nodded. ‘Racists?’

  ‘Exactly, James. But the thing is, look at the two forms at the back that I’ve marked with the highlighter pen. Read box seven.’

  James separated the forms. ‘Box seven – Primary accusations,’ he read aloud. ‘Assault of a minor while in charge of the custody suite at Holloway police station.’ He looked at the complaint on the other form. ‘That a fifteen-year-old girl was assaulted by the officer while being put into a vehicle. Victim later suffered a concussion and a cut to the head that required three stitches.’

  ‘Neither accusation was upheld because there was no strong evidence, making it a case of Michael’s word against the accuser. Both complaints are more than five years old, but still …’ Millie said.

  James took a bite out of his sandwich. ‘That second one sounds exactly like what he did to me.’

  ‘I know,’ Millie said weakly. ‘When I saw it, my jaw dropped. I just felt completely rotten. I all but called you a liar in front of your mission controller, James. I’m really, really, sorry.’

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ James shrugged. ‘Ask that eleven-year-old I thumped.’

  ‘And your other comment, about me sticking up for Mike because he’s a cop,’ Millie continued. ‘You have no idea how true that is. Nobody likes the police. Crooks don’t like us for obvious reasons, and the only time we ever deal with normal people is in high-stress situations; like when they crash their cars, or they’ve been burgled and they can’t understand why we haven’t dispatched the entire serious crime squad to recover their stolen TV. Everyone’s always having a go at us, and you get into a state of mind where you stick up for your colleagues, because they’re the only people who’ll ever stick up for you.’

  ‘By the time I’ve stuffed this sandwich and the chocolate cake, I probably won’t even remember.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you to say, James,’ Millie grinned. ‘I haven’t told John yet and I’m not exactly looking forward to admitting that I’ve made a fool of myself. I’ll let you keep those forms to show Dave when he gets home, but make sure you don’t leave them lying around for anyone else to see.’

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ James asked.

  Millie glanced at her watch as she hurriedly bit an unladylike chunk out of her sandwich. ‘Better not, I’ve got a meeting at the station in half an hour. But there is one other thing I brought to show you.’

  Millie pulled another sheet out of the bag. ‘Dave called me this morning and told me what Sonya said about her dad getting the money from a robbery. This is a list of the major unsolved robberies that took place between March and July of last year. There are eighty-six altogether, but we estimate Leon needed to make over two hundred thousand pounds to pay off
his debts and buy the second pub. That rules out all but four cases.’

  ‘So, is Leon a likely suspect in any of them?’

  Millie shook her head. ‘We don’t think so. In three of the four big robberies the serious crime squad has a good idea who the suspects are, but don’t yet have enough evidence to make arrests. The final robbery was of a security truck taking three million in old banknotes to the Bank of England to be destroyed. But it was very high-tech and almost certainly an inside job.’

  ‘That sounds a bit beyond Leon Tarasov,’ James said.

  ‘Certainly does,’ Millie nodded. ‘There’s been lots of talk about a robbery amongst the local villains, but if you want my hunch, it’s all a smokescreen put out by Leon. There’s only one way I can see a lowlife like Tarasov making an easy two hundred grand.’

  James finished Millie’s sentence. ‘Drug dealing.’

  ‘You just read my mind, James.’

  *

  When he went back to work, James realised it would be best to make at least a start on his Victorian sanitation essay. He began by skimming through the relevant chapter of his textbook, then he poised his pen at the top of his exercise pad and wrote his full name and the essay title, which accounted for eleven words.

  James started off his first paragraph:

  During Victorian times there was loads of sewage running everywhere in the streets of London. People were getting sick with diseases we donut do not hardly have anymore like malaria, plague, bowleg and typhoid which were rampant. As time went by it got better because the Victorians built sewers and made the water more cleaner.

  James counted sixty-five words, including his name and the ones he’d crossed through. He scribbled out plague and changed it to the black death because that made two extra words. With one thousand four hundred and thirty-three words to go, James got the awful feeling that he’d already written everything he knew about Victorian sanitation.

  He realised that his best option was to steal something off the Internet and he was going under his bed to grab his laptop when the doorbell rang.