Atticus Claw Settles a Score

by Jennifer Gray

  The prison guard watched as she fiddled with one and took it out. The points gleamed in the harsh electric light. ‘I’m afraid I have to come with you to the cell,’ he said uncertainly. ‘It’s the rules.’

  The old lady’s face hardened. ‘Vot?’

  The prison guard tried a smile. ‘I should really have checked your trolley too.’ He bent towards it. ‘It’s just routine.’

  ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’ The magpies’ chattering became even louder.

  ‘Have a look if you like, comrade,’ the old lady said softly. ‘But ve don’t vant you to come with us.’ She shot the prison guard a venomous look. ‘GET HIM, BISCUIT.’

  ‘MMYYAAAWWWW.’

  The prison guard saw a flash of ginger spring from the trolley. He felt razor-like needles catch him by the throat. He staggered backwards and toppled over.

  ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!’ The magpies were going mad.

  The last thing the prison guard remembered was the old lady looming over him with a hairpin, and something sharp pricking his arm. Then he fell into a deep sleep.

  At Scotland Yard the Metropolitan Police Commissioner was furious. ‘You mean, she just walked into the prison as bold as brass and lifted the Toffly Hall gang? Just like that?’ He threw a file down on the desk.

  ‘Yes, Commissioner,’ his deputy admitted. ‘She knocked the prison guard out with a sleeping potion, probably administered by hairpin. We found one nearby. It’s with Forensics.’

  ‘How is the guard now?’

  ‘Coming round. Keeps talking about biscuits.’

  ‘What?’ The Commissioner’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Yes. And something ginger jumping at him out of the trolley.’

  ‘I see.’ The Commissioner scratched his head. ‘Hairpins,’ he muttered. ‘Biscuits.’ He looked up at his deputy and swallowed hard. ‘Sounds like it’s Klob all right.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ the Deputy Commissioner agreed nervously.

  ‘That means it’s going to be something BIG.’

  ‘Looks like it, sir.’

  The Police Commissioner picked up the file again. It was marked TOP SECRET. ‘Who was it that caught the Toffly Hall gang?’ he asked.

  ‘Inspector Ian Cheddar,’ his deputy read from some notes. ‘And his highly trained police cat, Atticus Claw. According to the file he’s a reformed burglar. The cat, I mean,’ he added hastily, ‘not Cheddar.’

  ‘Cat?’ The Commissioner gasped. ‘But that’s perfect!’

  ‘It would seem so, sir,’ the deputy agreed. ‘Given what we’re up against.’

  ‘Can we trust him though? The cat, I mean, not Cheddar.’

  ‘I think so, sir. Apparently the operation at Toffly Hall was brilliant: the most criminals caught in one day in the history of the force. Claw captured the magpie ringleader and his second and third in command.’

  ‘Hmmm, impressive. What do we know about Cheddar?’

  ‘Recently promoted to Inspector at Littleton-on-Sea,’ the deputy read from his notes. ‘Previous career on traffic cones. Keen to make it up the ladder to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Well now’s his chance.’ The Police Commissioner had come to a decision. ‘Get me Cheddar,’ he ordered. ‘And his police cat. NOW.’

  An hour later Inspector Cheddar and Atticus sat opposite the Commissioner in the Commissioner’s huge office at Scotland Yard.

  ‘Sorry to drag you away from your holiday, Cheddar,’ the Commissioner apologised. ‘Only something’s come up. We need your help.’

  Inspector Cheddar couldn’t believe his ears. This was his dream come true. Scotland Yard needed his help? Holidays didn’t come any better than this. He felt like running round the Commissioner’s office and jumping over the furniture: he wanted to grab the Commissioner by the ears and kiss him on both cheeks. From the look on the Commissioner’s face though, he decided he’d better not.

  ‘It’s quite all right, sir,’ he said, trying not to grin. ‘I’m happy to be here.’

  ‘The Toffly Hall magpie gang has escaped from prison.’

  ‘Good.’ Inspector Cheddar smirked.

  The Commissioner looked at him sharply.

  ‘I mean, good heavens!’ Inspector Cheddar said quickly, sucking his cheeks in with a popping noise. ‘How awful.’

  ‘Ggrrrrrr,’ Atticus growled.

  ‘And that’s not the worst of it,’ the Commissioner went on. ‘Our three jailbirds had help from the outside. Someone claiming to be from a Russian charity called Magpies Anonymous wormed her way into the prison guard’s confidence. She got him to take her to Block M where the magpies were being held. Then she knocked him out with a hairpin laced with a sleeping potion and escaped with the prisoners.’

  ‘Great!’ Inspector Cheddar rubbed his hands in glee. This was getting better and better. He could hardly contain his excitement.

  ‘Are you all right, Cheddar?’ the Commissioner barked. ‘You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.’

  ‘Gggrrrrr …’ Atticus was still growling.

  ‘I mean, great Scott, sir,’ Inspector Cheddar corrected. ‘It’s shocking the lengths some villains will go to.’

  ‘Quite.’ The Commissioner couldn’t help thinking the cat was more clued up than Inspector Cheddar. He hoped he’d made the right decision. ‘Anyway, to cut a long story short, the woman we suspect of lifting the magpies is well known to the police. We think she’s planning something BIG with their help. Here in London.’ He pushed the file across the desk. ‘Here, take a look at this.’

  Atticus hopped up on to the desk and opened the file with one white paw.

  The Commissioner watched him carefully. He’d heard people say that tabbies were intelligent. This one certainly seemed to be. The rest of its black-and-brown striped fur was standing on end. The picture of the wanted criminal had clearly spooked it.

  Inspector Cheddar leant forward and examined the photograph.

  ‘Is this her?’ He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. He’d been expecting an evil-looking female master criminal, not a sweet little old lady in a woolly hat and oversized raincoat. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, sir,’ he added, ‘she doesn’t look much of a threat.’

  ‘Oh really?’ the Commissioner said. ‘Well, that’s not what Interpol think. They’ve had their best officers trying to find this woman for the last twenty years.’

  ‘Oh.’ Inspector Cheddar went red.

  ‘Her real name is Klob. Zenia Klob. She’s ex-KGB: trained by the Russians as an assassin during the Cold War. She’s been giving even our most experienced MI6 agents the slip for years.’ The Commissioner paused.

  ‘An assassin?’ Inspector Cheddar giggled nervously. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No, Cheddar, I’m making it up,’ the Commissioner thundered. ‘Just listen!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When Britain started getting friendly with the Russians she found herself out of a job so she decided to try her hand at stealing.’ The Commissioner glanced at Atticus. The cat’s claws were out and he was gripping the photograph with one paw, gradually shredding the edges with the other. At least he seemed to understand the severity of the situation.

  ‘We think she’s responsible for some of the most daring heists of the last few years,’ the Commissioner said. ‘Nothing is too big for her. She’s rinsed every major jewellery store in every capital city in the world: she’s stolen gems worth millions.’

  ‘But how?’ Inspector Cheddar was baffled. ‘She looks so … so … innocent.’

  ‘She’s a mistress of disguise,’ the Commissioner explained. ‘She can be anything from a gypsy to a film star. She can be a dustman, a shop assistant or a security guard. She could even be me, for all you know.’

  Inspector Cheddar glanced at the Commissioner. ‘You do look a bit like her, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘I do mind you saying so, you idiot!’ the Commissioner exploded. ‘Of course she’s not me. I
t was just an example.’

  Inspector Cheddar swallowed. ‘I knew that.’

  ‘The point is, Cheddar, she’s here. And she’s planning something with those magpies. Your job is to find out what and stop her.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We don’t have much to go on. What we do know is that hairpins laced with sleeping potion are Klob’s weapon of choice – hard to detect and deadly accurate. Which makes Mildred Molotov, little old lady, one of her favourite disguises. We’ve just got to hope she sticks with that. Otherwise we’ve got no chance.’ The Chief Inspector held his hand out for the file.

  Atticus pushed it back to him. His fur was still standing on end.

  ‘Obviously we don’t know where she’ll strike, so we’ve briefed all the security guards at the top jewellery stores in London to keep a look-out,’ the Commissioner said. He handed Inspector Cheddar a walkie-talkie. ‘They’ve been told to contact you IMMEDIATELY if they see anything suspicious.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And remember, Cheddar. Don’t be fooled by her appearance. Use all the force you think necessary.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Inspector Cheddar practised a few karate chops.

  ‘Oh, and Cheddar,’ the Commissioner added. ‘There’s one other thing you and your police cat need to know. Klob doesn’t work alone. She has an accomplice. Which is what makes you and Claw here perfect for the job.’

  ‘How so, sir?’

  ‘The accomplice is a cat: an evil one by all accounts. No one knows exactly what it looks like. We don’t have a photo. Our only clue is in the name.’

  ‘Which is, sir?’

  ‘Biscuit. Ginger Biscuit.’

  All of a sudden Atticus, who had been listening to the Commissioner with grave attention, gave a terrible yowl.

  Back at the hotel Atticus went to lie down on the bed. He needed to think. So they were still around. Atticus’s arch-rival: Ginger Biscuit – the world’s meanest cat. And Klob too: Biscuit’s owner. Not only that, but they’d sprung Jimmy Magpie and his gang out of Her Majesty’s High Security Prison for Bad Birds.

  Klob, Biscuit and Jimmy Magpie? No wonder the Commissioner was worried!

  Atticus’s mind went back to when he was a kitten. To the squeak … squeak … squeak of Klob’s wheelie trolley. It was one of his earliest memories. He would never, ever, ever forget it in all his nine lives. He’d recognised Klob’s grainy mugshot immediately. And he didn’t need to see a photo of Biscuit: Ginger’s orange furry features were engraved on his brain forever. The Commissioner was right about one thing, although he couldn’t know why: Atticus was perfect for the job.

  Suddenly Inspector Cheddar burst into the room, the walkie-talkie glued to his ear.

  ‘Quick!’ he yelled. ‘There’s been a possible sighting of Klob heading towards Toffany’s in Bond Street. Come on, Atticus, there’s no time to lose!’

  A few minutes later the taxi screeched to a halt at the bottom of Bond Street.

  Inspector Cheddar jumped out, Atticus hard on his heels. ‘Let’s go over the plan one more time,’ Inspector Cheddar panted, as they raced towards the store. ‘I’ll pretend I’m looking for a present for Mrs Cheddar. You stay out of sight. When I’m sure it’s Klob, I’ll wave these.’ He drew a travel-pack of ginger nuts out of his pocket. ‘When you see the signal, you take Biscuit. I’ll deal with Klob. If the magpies show up we’ll trap them in the revolving doors.’

  Atticus didn’t think it sounded like much of a plan. But there was no time to think of a better one. Inspector Cheddar had already disappeared inside Toffany’s. Atticus scampered after him just in time as the revolving door whizzed round again, nearly trapping his tail. Luckily the doorman didn’t notice him as he picked his way across the floor and hid behind a large potted plant.

  Atticus peered out. He found he couldn’t see much except customers’ feet so, one paw at a time, he climbed up the trunk of the plant and hid amongst the fronds. Gently he pushed them aside so that he could get a better view.

  Toffany’s was very posh. The carpet was thick, the wallpaper looked expensive, and tinkly music played in the background. Expensive jewellery twinkled beneath reinforced glass counters. It was just the sort of place Klob and Biscuit would strike.

  Atticus pricked up his ears and listened carefully for a few moments, trying to catch the squeak … squeak … squeak of Zenia Klob’s wheelie trolley. But all he could hear was the tinkly music. Klob wasn’t here. And it didn’t look like she was coming. They might as well go back to the hotel.

  Inspector Cheddar had wandered over to a counter in the middle of the room.

  ‘Meow,’ Atticus said softly, trying to get his attention.

  Inspector Cheddar didn’t seem to hear him. ‘It’s my wife’s and my anniversary,’ he said loudly to the shop assistant. ‘I want the most expensive diamond ring you’ve got.’

  ‘How about this one, sir?’

  The shop assistant unlocked the counter and reached in. She placed a dazzling ring on a black velvet tray, put the tray on the counter and slid it towards Inspector Cheddar.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Inspector Cheddar said. ‘How much is it?’

  ‘Meow!!’ Atticus tried to make himself heard over the tinkly music.

  ‘Fifty thousand pounds, sir,’ the shop assistant said.

  ‘Your wife’s very lucky!’ An elderly lady with a woolly hat and long raincoat who had been standing a few feet away from Inspector Cheddar trying on watches smiled at the Inspector.

  Atticus froze. Draped around her neck was a bright orange fur. Oh no! Suddenly Atticus realised that Inspector Cheddar didn’t know what he knew – that when Zenia Klob and Ginger Biscuit were out burgling, Zenia always carried Ginger Biscuit in a wheelie trolley, not round her neck! He gulped. He had an awful feeling Inspector Cheddar was about to make a terrible mistake.

  ‘Meow! Meow!! Meow!!! Meow!!!!’

  Inspector Cheddar edged towards the old lady. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said to the shop assistant. He pulled the travel pack of ginger nuts from his pocket and waved them in the air.

  The signal! Atticus wriggled anxiously in the fronds.

  ‘It must be a very special anniversary,’ the old lady said.

  ‘It is!’ Inspector Cheddar looked about wildly for Atticus.

  ‘I was married for fifty-seven years until my poor husband passed away.’ The old lady got out a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.

  Inspector Cheddar waved the ginger nuts.

  Atticus ignored him.

  ‘All right then, I’ll do it myself,’ Inspector Cheddar muttered. He stepped in front of the old lady. ‘SHUT IT, KLOB!’ he yelled.

  Toffany’s fell silent. Everyone stared.

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ the elderly lady looked astonished.

  ‘I said shut it, Klob, Molotov, whatever your name is! Don’t think you can fool me with your pathetic disguise! And get that repulsive cat off your neck.’

  Atticus cringed.

  ‘It’s a fox!’ the old lady gasped, clutching the fur around her throat.

  ‘Sure. And I’m Lady Gaga.’ Inspector Cheddar grabbed the fur. He wrestled with it for a bit and then crushed it under his armpits. ‘Atticus!’ he grunted. ‘I’ve got Biscuit!’

  Atticus cowered in the plant. The other shoppers looked on in amazement.

  ‘All right, Atticus,’ Inspector Cheddar panted. ‘Have it your way. If you won’t help, I’ll take Biscuit out too.’ He whizzed the fox fur round by its tail and stuffed it into the open jewellery counter. ‘Lock it!’ he told the startled shop assistant. ‘It’s a vicious criminal.’

  The shop assistant did as she was told.

  ‘Now it’s your turn, Klob.’ Inspector Cheddar prepared to rugby-tackle the old lady.

  ‘You’re mad!’ she said weakly. ‘Help! Someone! Call the police! Get the Commissioner!’

  One of the shoppers dialled 999 on their mobile.

  ‘Nice try, Klob!’ Inspector Cheddar wrestled the o
ld lady to the ground. ‘But I am the police. And the Commissioner himself told me not to take any chances with you.’ He held her in an armlock.

  ‘But I’m eighty-two!’ the old lady gasped.

  ‘Don’t give me any of your sob stories!’ Inspector Cheddar knelt on her back. ‘Once a KGB assassin, always a KGB assassin.’ He whipped out a set of handcuffs.

  ‘I’m not a KGB assassin,’ the old lady wept, ‘I’ve got five grandchildren. I used to be a nurse.’

  ‘Tell that to the judge,’ Inspector Cheddar snarled. ‘Before he throws the book at you.’

  There was a shriek of sirens outside. The Commissioner raced in.

  Inspector Cheddar looked up. ‘I’ve got Klob, sir,’ he panted. ‘And I have to say you were right. She’s one of the creepiest low-life criminals I’ve ever come across! Ugly too. She’s got a mug that would make a mirror crack.’

  ‘CHEDDAR!’ The Commissioner’s face was purple. ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY MOTHER?’

  ‘Your …’ Inspector Cheddar looked down at the old lady. Then he looked up at the Commissioner. Then he looked back down again. They both had the same beetley eyebrows and funny moustache. ‘Oops,’ he said.

  Atticus covered his eyes. He peered out between his paws.

  ‘You’re off the case, Cheddar!’ the Commissioner yelled. ‘I’m going to recommend to your superior that you’re put on traffic cones for the rest of your career! Come along, Mother.’

  The Commissioner’s mother hobbled out. The sirens faded away. Atticus was about to jump down from the potted plant and slope off without Inspector Cheddar noticing him when he heard a sound he recognised.

  Squeak … squeak … squeak

  His good ear pricked up.

  Squeak … squeak … squeak.

  So did his chewed one.

  An old lady in a woolly hat and long raincoat came through the revolving doors, pulling a wheelie trolley. She made her way past the central counter. Atticus’s green eyes widened. Zenia Klob, a.k.a. Mildred Molotov. It really was her this time! And she was after the ring! It was still sitting where the shop assistant had placed it, on the velvet tray on the counter. The shop assistant had forgotten to put it away.