The Killing

by Robert Muchamore

  It was Hannah, dressed in white tights, long grey skirt, a pale green blouse and striped tie.

  ‘Let me in fast,’ Hannah squealed, barging past James and shutting the door.

  ‘What’s the panic in aid of?’ James asked.

  Hannah didn’t answer. ‘You don’t have a girlfriend do you, James?’

  James shook his head. ‘What’s going …’

  Before he finished, Hannah put her arms around James, went up on tiptoes and started snogging him. It lasted half a minute before she pulled away.

  ‘What’s the matter? What’s with the weird uniform?’

  Hannah spoke hurriedly. ‘I hate wearing this. I got suspended from my old school after Will died and my parents made me go private. What’s your mobile number?’

  Hannah wrote the numbers on her wrist as James recited them.

  ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you in class today, James. The way you defended us on Saturday was amazing. But my dad went nuts after he collected me from the police station and I’m so grounded. He hates me hanging out with the kids around here and I don’t think I’ll be able to wriggle out of it for at least a week. But I’ll try calling later for a chat, OK?’

  James smiled. ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Hannah gave James another kiss. ‘If my dad catches us, you can always break his arms.’

  She picked her backpack off the floor, twirled around in her pleated skirt and headed along the balcony towards her flat.

  *

  James went for an after-school kick-about with Max and Charlie and got invited to the Tarasovs’ for dinner. After his previous experience of a four-course Russian meal, James turned down all Sacha’s attempts to make him eat extra helpings.

  When he got home, Dave and Sonya were watching TV in the living-room, though mercifully they had their clothes on for once. James went to his room and noticed there was a text on his phone:

  DO YOU SUFFER FROM VERTIGO? HANNAH :)

  James thought it was a weird message and replied with

  NO Y?

  Hannah was confined to her bedroom with her phone right beside her, so she replied instantly. DO U WNT 2 PLAY A GAME?

  James was intrigued: YES

  It took Hannah a while to type the next message. GO 2 2ND FLR TURN LFT. WALK 2 END OF BALCONY. TXT WEN U GET THERE.

  James had no clue what Hannah was up to, but he wanted to play along. He grabbed his door keys and phone and headed out the front door and up the concrete steps to the top floor.

  ME HERE, James typed as he headed along to the concrete wall at the end of the balcony. His phone rang a few seconds later.

  ‘Hannah?’ James grinned. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Can you see the emergency exit door?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Go through the door.’

  ‘Hannah, what the hell is all this about?’

  She giggled. ‘Go through the door and you might find out.’

  James held the phone to his ear and stepped through a graffiti-sprayed door into a concrete stairwell.

  ‘Christ,’ James gasped. ‘It reeks of piss in here.’

  ‘Go up the ladder and through the hatch.’

  James looked at the aluminium ladder bolted to the wall and the hatch in the ceiling above it.

  ‘Hannah, there’s a dirty great padlock on it.’

  ‘Climb up and push hard,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ve got to go, I’m nearly out of calling credit.’

  James heard the call go dead. He pocketed his phone and clambered up the ladder. He couldn’t see a way past the padlock, but he pushed as instructed and a crack of sunlight opened up. James realised the screws had been removed from the hinges opposite the lock. He shoved the flap all the way open, then pulled his body up through the opening and out on to the flat roof of the block. The sun was right in his eyes, but he recognised Hannah’s silhouette coming over the asphalt towards him.

  ‘Jailbreak,’ Hannah grinned as she wrapped her arms around James. ‘There’s another hatch in my flat. It’s outside my room and my old man’s downstairs watching TV.’

  She’d changed out of school uniform into a T-shirt and leggings.

  ‘You look great,’ James said, suddenly conscious that his hair was everywhere and he smelled sweaty from playing football.

  ‘Thanks,’ Hannah said. ‘Did you ever hear about Will?’

  James felt a little awkward. ‘Max mentioned it. He was your cousin or something, wasn’t he?’

  ‘The silly fool,’ Hannah said sadly. ‘Come here, I’ll show you.’

  Hannah took James’ hand and led him to the edge of the roof. She stood with the toes of her Nikes poking over the edge.

  ‘Careful,’ James said, stopping a shoe-length further back. ‘It’s a good view over central London; we must be quite high up here.’

  Hannah gave a half-smile, ‘Well it is called Palm Hill.’

  James felt stupid. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

  ‘But you’ve got to look down,’ Hannah said. ‘And you’ve got to be right on the edge to get a buzz out of it.’

  James shuffled half a step forwards and looked down the face of the building. Compared to the highest part of the assault course on campus, it didn’t seem that scary. At least, it didn’t until James noticed the hopelessly mangled banister down at ground level.

  ‘This is the exact spot,’ James said.

  ‘They haven’t even had the decency to repair the railing,’ Hannah said, backing away from the edge and looking sad. ‘Every time I walk past there, I can see Will with his back broken and the blood pouring out of his ear.’

  ‘Were you two good friends?’

  ‘I used to like playing with him when I was little,’ Hannah said. ‘But not so much later on. Will was a geek; into computers and stuff. He didn’t have any mates, but he was funny and really, really clever. Towards the end he started getting wasted all the time. I think he was depressed.’

  James wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Did he kill himself?’

  ‘He might have done,’ Hannah shrugged. ‘But he didn’t leave a note or anything. Most people reckon he just got so wasted that he forgot where he was and fell off.’

  ‘Poor guy,’ James said solemnly, taking a final glance down the face of the building, before stepping away from the edge.

  Hannah rested her head on James’ shoulder and giggled nervously. ‘You must think I’m a right nutter asking you up here. I spent all day thinking up a way to meet you while I was grounded and … Well, this must be your worst date ever.’

  James put his arm around Hannah’s back. ‘Nah, it’s cool,’ he smiled reassuringly. ‘The view up here is great. I bet all the lights in the city look beautiful when it gets dark.’

  James kissed Hannah briefly on the lips, but she still looked sad and James realised it wasn’t the right moment for a snog. He ended up sitting on the warm asphalt with his back resting against a metal vent and Hannah’s head in his lap. They talked about all kinds of stuff as the sun dropped.

  James really liked Hannah. She had a laid-back air and a cruel sense of humour. He wished they’d met under different circumstances. Then he could have told her about Lauren and his mum and who he really was, instead of having to stick to his stupid back story.

  21. CAYENNE

  Dave was at the dining table reading the Daily Star. James strolled in and waggled a mass of crumpled exercise paper under his nose.

  ‘Ta-da,’ James announced. ‘Not a bad morning’s work. One thousand, five hundred and eleven words on Victorian sanitation. Three colour diagrams and all in my best handwriting.’

  Dave looked up and grinned. ‘You really pushed the boat out with the extra eleven words, eh? What’s with the big stain?’

  ‘I knocked a can of Coke over it, but luckily the ink didn’t run.’

  ‘Maybe you should rewrite that page, James. You know how fussy Mr Brennan is. Turning in Coke stains is just begging for him make you do a total rewrite.’

  Jame
s realised Dave was right, but the prospect of doing more work knocked the edge off his good mood. ‘Damn … Oh well, I’ll redo it tomorrow, it’s only copying out one page. So how come you didn’t get any schoolwork?’

  ‘I’m waiting for my A-level results,’ Dave explained. ‘My handler says I still look young enough to stay on at CHERUB for another year before I start at university, but I reckon I might go off travelling instead. I fancy seeing Thailand and Australia and stuff.’

  James grinned. ‘Cool.’

  Dave turned the page of his newspaper and gasped. ‘Sweet! Imagine waking up next to a set of those.’

  James scooted around the table to look at the picture of a topless model sitting on a soccer ball. ‘Legs are too skinny,’ he grinned. ‘Although I still wouldn’t say no.’

  Dave glanced at his watch. ‘Oh, it’s quarter to twelve. Raul wants the car delivered before eight this evening …’

  ‘Who’s Raul?’ James interrupted.

  ‘Just some guy who works with Leon. He rang me through with the job. I don’t want to get caught up in the rush-hour traffic, so I say we head off somewhere decent and get lunch. Then we’ve got to ride the tube up to Pinner.’

  ‘Is that a long way?’

  Dave nodded. ‘North-west London, way out on the Metropolitan line. We’ll have to change trains at Baker Street and the house is a quarter of an hour from the station. Then we’ve got to deliver the car to some lock-up near Bow Road.’

  ‘Have you told Millie all this?’

  ‘Course,’ Dave said. ‘Once there’s no risk of it compromising our mission, she’ll tip off the vehicle crime unit.’

  ‘They might even be able to bust Leon that way.’

  ‘Yeah James, if they find evidence strong enough to prove a link between Leon and the stolen cars in court. But that’s a very big if. You’ve seen how well he covers his back.’

  *

  The house was further from the tube station than the boys expected. They both had baseball hats pulled down over their faces and Dave slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses as they turned into Montgomery Grove. It was a posh street, lined with detached houses.

  Dave took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and re-read his instructions. It was purely a nervous thing, because he could have recited the words by heart.

  They passed a couple of kids on bikes; Dave turned to James as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘The burglar alarm will go off thirty seconds after we enter. So no messing about, OK?’

  James tutted. ‘Well d-uh.’

  ‘The car is in the garage and the scout left the keys in the driver’s door. We’ll take one number plate each.’

  ‘What type of car is it?’ James asked.

  ‘Porsche Cayenne Turbo.’

  ‘Oh cool,’ James gasped. ‘The four-by-four one. Can I drive? I’m more into motorbikes than cars, but Cayennes do a hundred and seventy miles an hour, even though they’re absolutely massive.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Dave said. ‘A thirteen-year-old driving a sixty-grand car through London in broad daylight. That’s not gonna attract any attention.’

  James grinned. ‘I still think we should have done this last night.’

  ‘It’s swings and roundabouts,’ Dave explained. ‘Darkness is an advantage for the actual break-in, but there’s a lot less cars around at night, so it’s harder to blend in with the traffic during the getaway.’

  James stopped walking and called back to Dave. ‘Number thirty-six, Dave. This is it.’

  The boys pulled on washing-up gloves as they walked up the driveway.

  ‘Nervous?’ Dave asked.

  James smiled. ‘Only a bit.’

  ‘Remember James, we’re not risking our lives over Leon bloody Tarasov. If it gets heavy, we surrender.’

  ‘OK,’ James nodded, as he walked on to the front doorstep and rang the bell.

  Dave crept through to the back garden and pulled a crowbar out of his backpack. Once James had given it half a minute to make certain nobody was in, he followed Dave around the side of the house and gave him the nod.

  Dave plunged the crowbar into the frame of a glass door in the conservatory. It took a couple of strong pulls on the metal lever to break the lock, followed by a shoulder charge and a kick to break the chain on the inside.

  Dave held his shoulder and clenched his teeth with pain as he charged through the steamy conservatory and into the house with James on his tail. James felt a surge of anxiety as he caught the sound of a burglar alarm control panel bleeping; counting down the half-minute until the main siren erupted.

  They cut through a luxuriously furnished living-room, with a giant photo of a married couple and their two sons hanging over the fireplace. Dave opened a narrow door that led into a double garage. There was a black BMW parked beside the giant Porsche.

  ‘Quality,’ James grinned.

  Dave handed James a number plate. ‘Fix that on.’

  Raul had given Dave a set of stick-on plates. The number corresponded to another Cayenne Turbo finished in the same colour; so if the police spotted the vehicle and ran a computer check they’d come up clean.

  The main alarm went off as James and Dave crouched at opposite ends of the car. James had to take one of his gloves off to get his nail under the sticky backing on the plate, but his nervous state meant he was all fingers and thumbs. His heart went into overload when he realised that Dave had stuck on the rear plate and was already climbing into the driver’s seat.

  ‘What are you pissing around at?’ Dave shouted over the wailing alarm.

  James finally lifted up the sticky backing and peeled it away. Dave had started the engine by the time he’d fixed it on. James sprinted around the car and jumped into the passenger seat. Dave was in a complete state.

  ‘I can’t find the plipper,’ Dave shouted.

  ‘What?’ James gasped.

  ‘The button on the dashboard, or the little doo-dah box thingummy that works the garage door,’ Dave explained frantically.

  James joined Dave in the hunt. He popped open the glove box and a torrent of maps and sunglass cases spilled into his lap.

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘Get out and push the switch,’ Dave shouted, pointing at a green button mounted on the wall.

  James got as far as opening the passenger door, but as he stepped out he spotted the plipper dangling off the steering column.

  ‘It’s on the key fob, you tosser,’ James shouted.

  Dave manically grabbed the fob and pressed the button. The double garage doors began rumbling towards the ceiling at an agonisingly slow pace. When the door was halfway up, an elderly woman dressed in a straw hat and gardening gloves ducked under and furiously opened up the door beside James.

  ‘Get out of that car, young man,’ she demanded. ‘We don’t tolerate ruffians like you around here.’

  She grabbed a handful of James’ T-shirt. Dave had begun rolling the car forwards, but he had to hit the brake. James had a free right arm and enough strength to punch his adversary into the following week, but he couldn’t bring himself to thump an old lady.

  ‘Get rid of her,’ Dave shouted.

  James gave the woman a shove, but she had her nails sunk into his T-shirt and the neck ripped apart as she tumbled backwards. He swivelled on his leather seat and used his legs to shove the woman out of the way before reaching across to slam his door. The garage was now fully open.

  ‘Drive,’ James shouted.

  ‘Are her legs out of the way?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  James locked his door as Dave rolled cautiously away.

  ‘I don’t want to run her over,’ Dave said. ‘Are you sure her feet aren’t under the car?’

  ‘I told you she’s clear. Get a bloody move on.’

  The big Porsche roared as Dave pulled it out of the garage. He spotted the old lady’s husband doddering up the driveway. He wore a blazer with gold buttons and came armed with a garden fork.

  ‘You little
buggers,’ he shouted.

  For one nasty moment, James thought the old man was going to dive on to the bonnet. Instead, he launched the fork at the car like a javelin. James instinctively ducked down as the metal prongs bounced against the windscreen.

  As the fork clattered harmlessly into the gravel, Dave slammed on the brakes to avoid swiping a kid who was racing his bike along the street. A whole family was rushing down the driveway of the house opposite to see what had set off the alarm.

  Dave checked the road and pulled out at speed. He hit sixty, before braking sharply and taking a right into a busy main road.

  ‘Them two old codgers must have a death wish,’ Dave shouted furiously. ‘If we’d been real robbers, we could have had knives, guns or anything.’

  ‘Bonkers,’ James said, staring at his ripped T-shirt and shaking his head. ‘Stark raving bonkers.’

  Dave blasted his horn, swerved around a car stopped at a crossing, ran a red light and then piled on the accelerator as they flew past the underground station, touching seventy miles an hour.

  ‘It’ll be a miracle if we get out of here without the cops nailing us,’ Dave said. ‘And I don’t care how much Leon offers, or what it means for the mission, I’m not gonna be stealing any more cars.’

  ‘Too right,’ James said, anxiously looking back over his shoulder for any sign of chasing cops. ‘It’s not worth it.’

  22. COMPUTER

  Dave’s rusting Ford rolled on to Leon’s used car lot just after 9 a.m. The plastic signs hanging over the Portacabin declared that Tarasov Prestige Motors specialised in The finest second-hand Jaguar and Mercedes automobiles, but the reality was a ragged mixture of retired company cars and small hatchbacks.

  Not many people buy cars on a Wednesday morning, so Pete Tarasov didn’t mind helping Dave fit the new compressor for the air-conditioning and some other bits that they’d picked up at the scrap yard the previous day. Both lads were underneath the jacked-up Mondeo when Leon lumbered out of the cabin holding two mugs.

  ‘Hot tea standing on the bonnet,’ Leon shouted.

  Dave crawled out from under the car and got a weird ground-level perspective on Leon’s massive gut.

  ‘Raul tells me yesterday was your one and only,’ Leon grinned.