Millie looked incredulous. ‘That must have been accidental.’
‘Look at it,’ James said, peeling away the hair around his bruise.
John was concerned. ‘That’s quite a knock. Maybe you should get it checked out.’
‘I’ve survived worse,’ James said.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ John said, before turning to look at Millie. ‘Does Patel have any history of assaulting suspects?’
‘He certainly does not,’ Millie gasped. ‘Mike is my deputy in the community unit. He’s our only Asian officer. There’s a huge Asian community around here and the inroads he’s made amongst them since he came here four years ago have been absolutely fantastic.’
James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I don’t care what he’s done for the Asian community,’ he shouted. ‘What about the git trying to bust my head open?’
‘James, I know Michael Patel. It was an accident.’
James shook his head furiously. ‘Millie, you might have been a cherub twenty years ago, but you’re all cop now: sticking up for your own kind. Why would I lie to you, you stupid cow?’
‘Whoah,’ Millie said, shocked. ‘You’d better watch that mouth, young man.’
‘James,’ John interrupted stiffly. ‘Don’t speak to her like that.’
‘Typical,’ James said. ‘Another cop, takes her side as well.’
‘I’m not taking sides,’ John shouted, with an uncharacteristic ferocity that made Millie and James shrivel into their seats. ‘This mission will go absolutely nowhere if we can’t work together.
‘James, I know it can be difficult, but try to bear in mind what Millie said and steer clear of trouble. Millie, when you work with CHERUB, you have to respect what the young agents tell you. Otherwise there’s no point using them.’
‘Mike is probably the best officer on my community policing unit,’ she answered tersely.
‘Then I’m sure you won’t mind having a little dig into his personnel file and seeing if any similar allegations have been made in the past.’
Millie raised up her hands. ‘Fine, if that’s what it takes to settle this. But I know my officers. I’m the godmother of Michael’s daughter, for crying out loud.’
John smiled. ‘Maybe he was having a bad night. Police work can be extremely stressful.’
‘So what now?’ James asked, feeling better now he knew John was at least partly on his side.
‘Do you know the way home from here?’ John asked.
‘More or less,’ James nodded.
‘OK, then I suggest you walk it. Everything carries on as planned; trying to work your way in with the Tarasovs. I’ll drive Millie home, then I’ll head back to campus.’
Millie looked at James as he climbed out of the car. She smiled like she was anxious to make up, but he wasn’t having it.
‘I’ll call you boys on your mobiles this evening,’ Millie said. ‘We can have a mini briefing to see how you and Dave are getting on.’
‘Superb,’ James said sourly, as he slammed the car door and set off into the drizzle.
*
‘Dave, you home?’ James shouted, as he stepped into the hallway. He could hear a radio in the kitchen. ‘That Millie’s a right …’
James was set to go off on a rant about Millie not believing him, but as he rounded the corner into the kitchen he was confronted by Sonya Tarasov. She had wet hair and wore Dave’s white towelling robe.
‘You must be James,’ Sonya grinned.
‘Um … yeah,’ James said awkwardly. ‘Where’s Dave?’
‘In the shower, he’ll be out in a minute. Would you like tea or coffee?’
James sat down at the table while Sonya made him a cup of tea. ‘So, you spent the night,’ James said, as Sonya planted a mug in front of him.
‘Uh-huh,’ Sonya said, smiling coyly. ‘I hear you got busted with my little brother, Max.’
James nodded. ‘A whole bunch of kids got taken in for questioning.’
Dave rounded the corner, buttoning up his jeans.
‘Morning jailbird,’ Dave grinned, as he grabbed Sonya and made a big show of kissing her on the neck.
James was embarrassed by the display of affection and Dave knew it.
‘What’s the matter, bro?’ Dave asked, as he broke away from Sonya and clicked on the kettle. ‘So we spent the night together? We’re both over sixteen, there’s nothing illegal about it.’
James stared into his mug and wrung his hands uncomfortably. Partly James was jealous because he was a virgin, but mostly it just felt really weird being in a room with two people who’d spent the night having sex. It reminded him of the feeling you get when you pull a hair off your tongue and realise it’s not one of your own.
‘I’m gonna clean up,’ James said, pushing his chair back as he stood up. ‘I stink like that police cell.’
The doorbell rang as James stepped out into the hallway. He recognised Max Tarasov through the frosted glass.
‘Hey,’ James said. ‘How’d you and Liza get on with the cops?’
‘They took all of us in one at a time and asked about what happened and that. We all said it was totally the other lot who started it.’
‘That lunatic Patel smacked my head against the car roof.’
Max nodded. ‘He’s a nutter that bloke. I’ve seen him on TV being interviewed and he’s Mr Smooth, but I’ve heard so many stories about him.’
‘Like what?’ James asked.
Max shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, giving kids slaps. Nothing massive, but he’s got a reputation for being a bit handy.’
‘So’d you get in trouble with your dad?’ James asked.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ Max said. ‘He was pissed off having to leave the pub to come and collect us, but he’s had a few runins with the Grosvenor kids and he hates their guts.’
‘How come?’
‘There used to be this bunch of lads from over there who kept coming down the High Street and raising hell. They busted the pub windows a few times and my dad reckons some of them broke into the car lot and nicked his cash box. Anyways, I came round ’cos some of us lads usually have a kick-about on Sunday morning. It looks like the weather’s settling down. Are you up for it?’
‘Right now?’ James asked. ‘Only, I was gonna have a shower. It makes my skin crawl thinking about all the drunks and dossers who slept in that police cell before I did.’
‘No worries. You know where the pitches are. Just meet us down there when you’re ready.’
James nodded, ‘But I’m warning you, I’m not exactly god’s gift to football.’
‘I’ll make sure you’re on the other team then,’ Max grinned. ‘See you in a mo.’
James pushed closed the front door. As he passed by the kitchen, he noticed Sonya clambering out of the cupboard under the sink.
‘What the hell are you two up to?’ James laughed.
‘I thought you might ask Max inside,’ Sonya explained. ‘I had to hide.’
‘Dave told me everything was legal and above board,’ James grinned.
‘That’s just the law,’ Sonya explained. ‘My dad is an entirely different matter.’
‘Max wouldn’t grass you up though, would he?’
Sonya shrugged. ‘Probably not, but I wouldn’t put blackmail or extortion past the little swine.’
18. LUNCH
James didn’t acquit himself too badly on the football pitch and even curled in a fluky goal from the halfway line. When the six lads got knackered, three of them headed off to the shop to buy drinks, leaving James with Max and a black kid called Charlie. They sat on the remnants of a vandalised wooden bench and had the conversation thirteen-year-old boys always have: football, fit girls and funny stuff that had happened to them, or to other kids.
Charlie was the kind of guy whose story had to top everyone else’s, and James suspected he was making stuff up, or at least exaggerating. Not that he minded. Anything that kept the conversation away from his fictional ba
ckground was good. Even the most detailed back story requires you to fill in some details on the fly, and the more you invent, the easier it is to forget something you’ve said and contradict yourself later on.
When it got to lunchtime, Max invited James and Charlie for Sunday lunch.
‘Won’t your old lady mind?’ James asked.
‘My mum’s a nutter,’ Max explained. ‘She loves cooking.’
The layout of the Tarasovs’ flat was identical to where James and Dave lived, except there was a narrow staircase off the hallway that led to extra rooms on the next floor up.
Max led the chain of boys into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got two extra for lunch, OK Mum?’
James could hardly believe the amount of stuff crammed into the steaming hot kitchen. There were shelves lined with pickle jars and catering sized tins. Pots and pans hung from a rack over the dining table and sacks of vegetables were piled beneath. Sacha Tarasov had pale skin, rounded features and a Garfield apron knotted around an ample waist.
‘I think your brother is upstairs, with Leon,’ Sacha said, giving James a friendly grin. She fixed her eyes on Max and used the more severe voice that parents reserve for their own offspring. ‘Get these boys something to drink, then fetch me down a frozen stew. And shoes off in the house.’
Max poured three glasses of Coke, which the boys carried upstairs after ditching their trainers in the hallway. The patterned wallpaper, zigzag carpets and exuberant paintings of wild animals on the staircase seemed to be locked in a battle to see who was the gaudiest. There were piles of folded laundry and boxed electrical goods stacked against the walls.
Although everything was tacky, James appreciated the overall effect. It was the kind of home that’s full of people, smells and noise; where everything is a little shabby and you immediately feel comfortable.
‘Here’s why I say my mum’s a nutter,’ Max grinned, as he led James and Charlie into a box room at the top of the staircase.
It was Leon Tarasov’s study. There was a desk mounded in paperwork and a faux-antique swivel chair, but it also contained the largest chest freezer James had seen outside of a frozen-food store. Max raised the lid, revealing half lambs, pork loins and a mass of homemade meals in plastic tubs. Each tub was labelled by hand in Russian script, and James was pleasantly surprised to find that the limited understanding of the language he’d picked up at CHERUB enabled him to read most of them.
‘You could eat for a year out of this lot,’ Charlie gasped. ‘All we’ve got in the freezer round my house are chicken nuggets and ice cream.’
‘At least you’ve got a freezer,’ James said.
‘I tell you what, James,’ Max said. ‘If you and your brother ever get hungry, just ask my mum. She loves giving food away, as long as you wash up the dish before you bring it back.’
Max crunched the solid lumps of food around until he found a circular Pyrex dish filled with frozen beef stew.
‘You two might as well go through to the living-room,’ Max said. ‘I’ll take this down to my mum.’
The Tarasovs all slept in the flat next door, so they’d knocked two of the upstairs bedrooms together to make a giant living-room. James’ sock got swallowed in shaggy turquoise carpet as he stepped in.
Dave was in one corner, sitting on the arm of a sofa alongside eighteen-year-old Pete. Sonya sat on the opposite side of the room pretending not to know Dave, while Liza was curled up on a rug in front of the TV. Liza looked happy to see Charlie, who sat cross-legged on the floor next to her like a regular member of the family.
‘You must be James,’ Leon Tarasov said, reaching out his hairy hand. His accent was east London, with barely a hint of his Russian heritage.
Leon was a huge fat man, with a bald head and a line in chunky gold jewellery. James had to step around the side of Leon’s fully reclined armchair and reach over his giant belly to shake hands.
Leon burrowed into his shirt pocket and stripped out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here.’
‘What’s that for?’ James grinned.
‘Bounty,’ Leon said. ‘A tenner for every Grosvenor Estate yobbo you lay out. If I had my way, I’d go over there with some baseball bats and sort out the bastard lot of ’em.’
‘Jesus, Dad,’ Sonya said angrily. ‘You’re a total fascist.’
Leon shot an evil glance back at his daughter. ‘Shouldn’t you be out in a dinghy, saving whales with all the other hippies?’
He pressed a button on his armchair, making his giant body whirr electronically into an upright position.
‘Pete and Leon have been absolute stars, James,’ Dave said enthusiastically. ‘I couldn’t get my car started this morning, so Pete came down to take a look at it. Leon says he knows a scrap dealer who can get me a good deal on a compressor for the air-con and a couple of the other bits I need to get the car sorted.’
‘I thought we were broke,’ James said. ‘I mean, we need the money we’ve got left for food and furniture.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Leon said. ‘I’ve known this dealer for years. He’ll charge me pennies. So I’ll get the parts and you can use my lot to fix up the car. In return, Dave’s gonna run me some errands. Between the car lot and the two pubs, I can always use a dogsbody for a few hours here and there. You can work off your tab at a fiver an hour.’
Dave nodded, ‘I really appreciate that, Mr Tarasov. And I’ll work hard, I swear.’
‘How do you manage to insure that car?’ Leon asked. ‘Seventeen-year-old driving around in a two-litre Mondeo. That must have set you back a few bob.’
Dave acted uneasy. ‘I got insurance quotes, but it was over a grand. There’s no way I could ever pay that much.’
Leon shook his head. ‘You want to be careful. When some middle-class kid gets pulled up, he gets a fine. Magistrate sees some peasant like you or me driving without insurance, they’ll throw the book at you. Especially if you’ve got previous.’
‘Have you got previous, Dave?’ Pete asked.
‘I’ve been in a few scrapes,’ Dave said, acting ashamed.
CHERUB had carefully tuned every detail of James and Dave’s background stories to maximise their chances of getting close to Leon Tarasov. The broken-down car enabled Dave to approach him for advice on getting it repaired, while the combination of criminal records and a shortage of money made James and Dave the kind of youngsters that experienced crooks like Tarasov enjoy taking advantage of.
‘I got nicked driving a stolen car a couple of years back,’ Dave explained. ‘I thought I was gonna get sent down, but they put me in this special programme where you learn to fix cars and stuff.’
James had to smother a grin as he caught the glimmer of opportunity in Leon’s eye. It was spooky how a well-planned CHERUB operation could manipulate someone.
‘You know, David,’ Leon said, interlocking his sausage-shaped fingers and grinning. ‘My late brother and I arrived in this country thirty years back. All we owned were rubber boots and overalls spattered in fish guts. So when I see kids like you and James, my heart goes out. I know what it feels like and I’m gonna see what I can do to help you out.’
Dave and James both smiled. ‘Thanks Mr Tarasov,’ Dave said. ‘We appreciate it.’
*
James was back home, watching TV with his feet on the coffee table. Five hours after lunch he still felt bloated from Sacha’s cooking; it was no wonder the Tarasovs were all on the porky side. Dave came in holding a microwave curry with Bombay potatoes.
‘How can you eat after that lunch we had?’
Dave demonstrated the technique as he sat down next to James. ‘Stick in fork, remove from dish, insert in mouth. Want a chunk?’
Dave held a fork-load of curried chicken under James’ nose. He batted Dave’s arm away.
‘Don’t,’ he said angrily. ‘If your stinking curry makes me spew up, I’ll be turning my head in your direction.’
‘You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself,’ Dave said. ‘You ate that massive bow
l of stew, then pork chops, roasties, piles of veg and three chunks of cake. You ate as much as Leon and he must weigh a hundred and twenty kilos.’
James contemplated Sacha’s frosted carrot cake. He couldn’t reconcile how amazing it had been when he’d eaten it, with how ill it now made him feel just thinking about it.
‘Do you still feel sick?’ Dave grinned, as he swallowed a mouthful of Bombay potato. ‘What would you least like to eat right now? Runny eggs? How about nice sloppy trifle? Or a beef burger, all raw in the middle so you feel the blood trickle out when you bite into it?’
‘Dave, you’re not funny,’ James tutted. ‘Can’t you shut up and let me watch this?’
Dave cracked up. ‘What, you’re seriously watching Songs of Praise? I never had you down as the religious type.’
James shrugged. ‘I was watching this show about hippos. I wanted to change channel when it ended, but I think the remote went down between the cushions and I’m too stuffed to move.’
This made Dave laugh harder and James couldn’t help seeing the funny side of his own predicament.
‘Stop taking the piss,’ he grinned, rubbing his belly. ‘I’m in agony here.’
‘Tell you what,’ Dave said, turning serious for a moment. ‘I think there’s indigestion medicine in that green first-aid box Zara gave us. I put it on the shelf in the bathroom.’
‘Oh cool,’ James said, pulling himself up off the sofa. ‘A swig of that should do the trick.’
19. BRIGHT
The medicine helped and James felt OK by half-ten when he went to bed. He slept through until the doorbell rang at 8 a.m., Monday morning. He dashed out into the hallway and found Dave opening the door to Leon Tarasov.
‘Hi Mr Tarasov,’ Dave said, dressed in his boxers and sounding surprised.
‘I’m not your teacher, Dave. Call me Leon.’
‘I thought I was coming to see you at the car lot,’ Dave said.
‘I’ve got a little proposition,’ Leon said. ‘Easy work. Mind if I come in?’
Dave gave the impression of not being awake. ‘Um, I guess … Sure, sure.’
The Killing Page 11