Great, thought Clemmy. Definitely smart. Too smart. Still, he was clearly a very nice person, so she tried another tack – she began to cry.
‘But I didn’t steal the phone. It really is my sister’s. I just wanted to help her.’
The cop just smiled. ‘You really are a piece of work, you know that, Short Stuff-chan?’
Me? I’m not the one who is posing as a fake salesman! She sniffed. ‘Please, can you help me? Can you ask someone here who knows about phones? I’m desperate, I really am.’
Smiling, the handsome cop held his hand to his chest. ‘I used to work with computers so, believe me, I can help you. I am also excellent at origami, which is the ancient Japanese art of paper folding. Look, cheer up. I will make you a paper owl.’
Clemmy watched as he quickly folded a piece of white paper.
Over and up, fold after fold, when finally, there was indeed an owl.
‘That’s kooky cool,’ said Clemmy, forgetting her mission for a minute. Then she chided herself. Better hurry up, or Mrs Mac might call the library – then there would be trouble!
‘But will you help me, Mr Origami Man?’
The young man shook his head. ‘I must be crazy to do this. You are probably part of some miniature mafia gang or something.’
‘I am not.’ Clemmy was insulted. ‘I am on the right side of the law, I can assure you.’
‘But there is just one thing,’ said the man.
‘Yes,’ said Clemmy.
‘My name is not Mr Origami Man.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. What is your name?’
‘Pete. Pete Oshaberi.’
What a berry? Weird name. What did it mean? Clemmy didn’t want to ask. She didn’t like to be rude.
‘That’s an, um, interesting name,’ said Clemmy, trying not to laugh.
Pete blushed. ‘Yes, It’s Japanese. Translated into English it means talks a lot.’
‘Do you talk a lot?’ asked Clemmy.
The young man puffed up his chest. ‘I am on a special, highly-regarded, exchange programme to London, young lady. Not someone to joke about.’
Clemmy was confused. She didn’t invent his funny name. Perhaps he needed another one?
‘How about I call you Origami Pete?’
‘Hilarious, Short Stuff-chan,’ he replied sarcastically, although he was smiling so Clemmy guessed the name was okay. It was certainly better than Pete Talksalot.
‘Now let’s try to crack this code, shall we?’
He pressed a few buttons and a moment later, the phone beeped into action. The screen revealed that the signal was strong and the battery about half empty. Pete reached down and grabbed a power cord, to charge the battery.
‘Do you want to call your sister right now?’
‘Er, no, I might just …’
Then, out of the corner of her eye, Clemmy saw someone enter the store.
About 5 foot 4, long silky hair, stunning features, pouting mouth set to a scowl.
Oh no. Natasha Commonov!
Seeing Clemmy, Natasha threw her expensive white scarf over her shoulder and began marching towards her.
‘Is that your sister?’
‘No,’ said Clemmy, horrified. ‘Does she look like my sister?’
Origami Pete had to concede she did not.
Natasha began running towards her.
‘You!’ she pointed at Clemmy, ‘don’t move!’
Origami Pete cocked his head. ‘She looks very mad. Let me guess, she is the real owner of phone?’
Clemmy pushed the phone at him. ‘Please, please hide it. It is very important that she doesn’t find it. She’s not very nice.’
The policeman was clearly unimpressed at being part of her scheme. ‘Wait a minute …’
Natasha was almost up to them. ‘Got to go, Origami Pete, I’ll be back. Look after that phone!’
Dodging the Slakistanian girl – a move learned in lacrosse – Clemmy raced for the door.
Saying something rude in her native language, Natasha glared fiercely at Origami Pete before running after Clemmy.
‘Very scary girl,’ mumbled Origami Pete to himself. What on earth were those kids up to? Whatever it was, it didn’t look right.
‘Hey Pete, caught those thieves yet?’ His partner Stu banged his bag down on the counter. He was working undercover at another mobile phone store down the road. ‘I’m having no luck at More Mobiles.’
‘Look Stu. This crazy kid just gave me this phone.’
‘You are supposed to be looking for kids nicking phones, not nicking them from kids!’ Stu said, annoyed. He picked up the phone.
‘Just trying to be helpful to the public.’
‘The public don’t know what’s good for them, Pete. Just stick to the brief, will you?’
‘In Japan, police responsibility extends to social issues.’
‘Jeez,’ said Stu, shaking his head. Ever since his last partner had died in a car accident, Stu had tried to tell the boss he was just fine working alone. But the Gov’ kept telling him it was a partner or nothing. Worse, he had forced Pete on him as part of some stupid cop exchange program.
‘I know you miss Jack,’ the Gov’ had said, ‘But the rules say you need a partner. And Pete is one of Tokyo’s best.’
Stu had to agree Pete was a top-flight cop, but he was still annoyed at having to look after him in London.
‘Well, Stu-san, should we take a look at this phone?’
Stu sighed and pressed the menu button until he found the saved messages box. Only one message saved. He read it quickly. Suddenly all the colour drained from his face.
‘Who owns this phone?’ he asked.
Origami Pete frowned. ‘A little tiny girl. Or maybe it’s the bigger girl? Not entirely sure.’
Stu raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘I had to ask. Okay, we’ve established we are dealing with a girl and not a moose.’
‘A moose? You know back in Japan some people can make origami mooses. It is velly difficult. Swans I can make. Not moose.’
‘Pete?’
‘Yes, Stu-san?’
‘If you don’t shut up I will personally escort you back to Japan. Try to remember that you are a cop.’
‘Ah so. Number one Japanese cop in London.’
“Also the only Japanese cop in London,’ replied Stu dryly.
Pete knew that Stu was unhappy, so he just smiled at the rude comments. After all, it was Japanese nature to turn the other cheek.
Stu’s attention was back on the phone.
‘A child? No, it’s not possible.’ Flicking through the menu, Stu was reading the single message in the phone’s inbox.
‘Look,‘ he showed the screen to Pete. ‘A message talking about some sort of explosive, plus a list of addresses. Maybe it’s just a hoax, but just in case, we’d better call the station and get it checked out.’
‘Very good idea Stu-san,’ said Origami Pete, bowing deeply.
Stu went bright red. ‘Stop doing that!’
… On the crowded Kensington High Street …
Clemmy thought she had managed to lose Natasha.
Pausing on a corner, she rested her scooter against a green and black cash machine. Suddenly, a hand pulled at the back of her green tweed jacket.
‘Right, you little brat. I’ve got you.’ Blazing brown eyes bore into her own. Should she try screaming?
While Clemmy was still wondering, Natasha pulled her up into the side street. No point screaming now, they were well and truly alone. Plus, messy roadworks nearby meant that cars were unlikely to be passing.
Natasha didn’t waste any time getting to the point. ‘Where is it? I want it back. NOW!’
Up close, Natasha’s beautiful face looked smooth and weird, as if she were an escaped waxwork figure from Madame Tussauds, not a real live girl.
‘I don’t have it,’ said Clemmy, trying to wriggle away, but Natasha was too strong.
‘GIVE IT TO ME!’ Natasha squeezed her arm tightly. ‘I have run out
of patience.’
Wondering what on earth she was going to do, Clemmy looked around desperately. A young couple were walking down the hill past the library. If she could fend off Natasha long enough, she might be able to call out for help. One problem, because Natasha was a kid too, they might think they were just playing. What could she say that would make them pay attention?
‘Where is zat phone?’ Natasha’s face was becoming redder and redder, her grip tighter and tighter.
‘What is so important about that phone, anyway?’ asked Clemmy, stalling for time.
Natasha squeezed harder. ‘Zat is none of your business, you busy little body. Now, TELL ME.’
The couple were nearer now. Clemmy counted to five. 1-2-3-4-5! Then she began to scream.
‘HELP! HELP! She is stealing my scooter.’
Natasha dropped Clemmy’s arm and turned to see the young couple running towards them.
She muttered something in another language then said: ‘Zis is not ze end, you bite-sized brat.’
And with that, Natasha launched herself down the street, back into the crowds.
… Back in Mrs Mac’s Bayswater flat ...
Looking at the microscopic hands of her tiny antique gold watch, Mrs Mac tut-tutted at the time.
‘Roast pork and apple sauce! The child seems to have disappeared.’ She turned to Ludwig, who was still in residence, too scared to go home. ‘I suppose I should go and look for her. Although I am still a tad peckish. Perhaps another finger bun before I set off? Where did I put them?’
Disappearing into the kitchen, Mrs Mac was so engrossed in looking for her snack that she didn’t hear the front door open.
Neither did Ludwig, who was finally making moves to depart – putting on his coat and tucking his beard carefully into his scarf.
‘Sorry I can’t help, Doris. I should go and clean up the monstrous mess in my flat.’
‘Well, be careful. Watch out for Commonovs, and if you see Clementine, send her home at once.’
Ludwig turned to her.
‘You know, I am not convinced that the Commonov girl is in Slakistan. No matter what that principal at the boarding school says, Vladimir Commonov would never leave anyone other than family in charge of his billion pound crime empire. Especially as everyone else in Slakistan seems to be so lazy that their feet are allergic to the ground. Where else would that Vladcross have come from?’
‘She’s fourteen years old, Ludwig. How could she possibly be causing all this trouble?’
‘She’s a child genius,’ said Ludwig, ‘don’t forget that.’
‘That’s true,’ said Mrs Mac. ‘Clever people can move mountains with their minds. I am sure that I could.’
The look on Ludwig’s face said that he thought it was more likely Mrs Mac could eat a mountain, rather than move it by thinking.
He patted her shoulder. ‘You watch out for the Commonovs too. If they truly believe that we have some evidence, then they might try to kidnap us.’
Watching Ludwig heading downstairs, Mrs Mac shook her head. He was deluded if he thought the Commonovs were actually interested in him.
Forgetting about Clemmy and astonishingly, the finger bun, Mrs Mac turned on her heel, went to her spare room, and pulled out the old box from below the bed.
‘I must put this somewhere safe,’ she said to herself, opening the lid and taking out the plastic bag containing the blood stained shirt again.
The sight of the shirt made her melancholy. Stephen used have a shirt the very same colour. Poor, darling Stephen, who had died over fifteen years ago in Slakistan. Killed by that vicious criminal Vladimir Commonov.
Doris Mackleberry shivered. ‘If this shirt got into the wrong hands it could mean that Vladimir Commonov is released to murder again – and I will never let that happen!’
As she set about her task she did not see Clemmy Bird in her hiding place behind the hallway door. Having snuck into the flat after her altercation with Natasha, the little girl had heard the whole conversation between Mrs Mac and Ludwig.
‘Hmmm, so she does have the evidence Natasha wants. I thought so!’
Then something occurred to Clemmy. Now that Natasha was after her, she might just follow her to Mrs Mac’s and find that shirt by mistake.
Clemmy realised that she had to protect Mrs Mac, and the shirt, from the Commonov girl. She had better think of something, fast.
… On a bench in Kensington Gardens …
Natasha was sitting primly in the centre of a cold, green, park bench, talking to Igor.
‘I told you, I need someone with muscle to drive the limo.’
A baby squirrel popped out from behind a tree and sniffed inquisitively at her. Natasha threw a conker at its cute, furry head. The squirrel yelped and scurried away.
‘We are running out of time. And I need to get that phone back before someone discovers what we are up to.’
Natasha thought she could hear the swoosh of a coffee machine and the glug of Igor drinking. The buffoon was in a cafe again! Wait until she was in charge of the family business, he would be relegated to latrine cleaning duties at a filthy chicken farm.
‘Da, Miss Natasha, we have a man flying into London now. He can be with you in about an hour.’
‘An hour? That long? I asked for him over a day ago. What exactly are you doing over there, Igor? Playing tiddlywinks?
Igor was silent. What was tiddlywinks? Forgetting he was on the phone to Natasha, he took a huge sip of his cup of coffee. Then started gasping because it was too hot.
‘Igor, are you there?’
‘Da, da, Miss Natasha. I just spilt some coffee ... er, I mean ink.
Natasha wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t have time to deal with Igor now. ‘Listen you coffee moron, Send a message to my father. Tell him that I love him and I will help him. No matter what.’
... In Kensington Gardens, one hour later ...
‘This must be a joke!’ Natasha stomped her foot and placed her hands on the hips of her designer jeans.
She had been waiting in the park for ages, in anticipation of the henchman Igor was sending. Once she had a car and a scary-looking man, she could deal with her London enemies and fly to Paris to release her father quick smart.
Now, however, there was a definite flaw in her plan. Before her stood the puniest man she had ever seen. Twig meets nerd was the description that sprung to mind.
He had a small, pinched face, and his flappy elephant ears were the only part of him one could say were large. On his body, he wore some sort of glittery jumpsuit – the kind of thing an astronaut might wear if he were planning to visit a disco on Mars. And on his feet were a pair of dirty basketball boots that were coming apart at the heels.
All in all, he was a pathetic excuse for a henchman. Although he was around twenty and she was fourteen, they were almost the same height.
The measly man bowed reverently. ‘Miss Natasha, I am your new boobyguard and driver.’
‘BODYGUARD. The word is bodyguard. Although you are more like a booby. A booby prize!’
Unbelievably underwhelmed, Natasha was already punching numbers into her new mobile. She shook her finger at the lankiness in front of her. ‘Igor will pay for this.’
The slight, sad man stood silently in front of her. He wasn’t sure why he had been offered the task of looking after the great Vladimir’s precious daughter either – even Mumsie was sure it was some sort of mistake.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Olga Henchman had said to him. ‘This is your big chance, Henchie. Your chance to shine.’
So here he was, but he clearly wasn’t shining in Natasha’s eyes. He watched as she abused her phone, poking numbers viciously.
Thankfully, it was soon clear that Igor was trying to avoid Natasha’s call.
The calls were diverting to voice mail.
Natasha turned back to the stick figure before her. She looked him up and down and crinkled up her nose as if he smelled bad. Which, he did. After all, he had b
een in the back of a cargo plane for eight hours. He didn’t have a passport, so the Commonovs had to sneak him into London as luggage.
‘What’s your name, anyway?’ she asked.
‘Hench,’ said the man, raising his measly chest proudly. ‘As in Henchman. My family have been henchmen for your family for many generations.’
‘Hench Henchman, that’s your name?’
More proud nodding.
Rolling her eyes to the heavens, Natasha motioned him towards the street. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Lead me to my car.’
Hench turned suddenly and promptly fell over his shoelaces. ‘Oopsie,’ he said, looking up at her from the ground.
Swearing loudly in her native Slakistanian, Natasha stepped on Hench instead of over him, and stomped off down the path.
... In the Slackbean’s cafe in central Slakistan ...
‘Your phone is ringing, Igor,’ said his friend Leo.
‘I can’t answer it. She will kill me.’
‘Why? What did you do?’
Igor shook his head. ‘I made a terrible mistake. I was supposed to send one of the Henchman brothers to London.’
‘So?’
‘So I sent the wrong one.’
‘Does it matter?’
Igor pulled out a picture of Hench and placed it in front of Leo.
Leo gasped.
‘Igor.’
‘Yes Leo?’
‘You are in big, big, big trouble.’
... Later that night in Clemmy’s bedroom ...
It was times like this that Clemmy missed having Mummy to talk to.
Once, when she was five, a girl at school had pulled her gold plaits and told her she was ugly. Clemmy had held onto her tears until she had seen her Mummy standing at the school gate on Queen’s Gate, then she had cried and cried and cried.
After a few minutes her Mummy had stopped hugging her and said: ‘Listen Clem, I want you to remember something. No one can hurt you unless you let them. Be strong.
The Littlest Detective in London Page 5