The Littlest Detective in London

by Suzy Brownlee

  There were two voices – one was a child.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ whispered Natasha. ‘I’d recognise zat voice anywhere. Zat is ze bite-sized brat who stole my phone.’

  Hench didn’t know what she meant but he was too scared to say so.

  ‘Zat is not gook,’ said Hench.

  ‘Ze word is good, you imbecile. And no, it definitely isn’t good.’ Natasha scowled, her beautiful face scrunched into a ferocious frown.

  ‘Zat busy little body is really going to get it now.’

  … In Mrs Mac’s kitchen …

  CLEMMY BIRD WATCHED HER ROTUND BABYSITTER get out the tiniest saucepan, put tiny round pasta in it and switch on her tiny stove. As she turned, her mammoth backside managed to knock a minute glass vase with delicate (and of course, tiny), baby’s breath flowers onto the floor.

  ‘How about a nice, filling dinner?’ Mrs Mac said, cleaning up the mess.

  ‘You mean lunch,’ replied Clementine, wondering again how Mrs Mac managed consume so much food. There wasn’t a flavour she couldn’t stomach. She even bought those little pots of mushed-up food for babies. The ones that smelled a bit like pet food.

  ‘No, I mean dinner.’

  Mrs Mac thought lunch was dinner and dinner was supper. It had something to do with the olden days. Clemmy didn’t bother to argue.

  Suddenly, there was a noise in the hallway. Mrs Mac dropped the teaspoon she was stirring the pasta with and put her finger to her lips.

  ‘Shhh. Wait here.’

  She crept into the hallway. Clemmy watched as Mrs Mac looked left and right, then set off towards the living room.

  ‘Predictable, isn’t she?’ said a voice.

  Oh no! Clemmy backed away from the door. That voice could belong to only one person.

  On cue, Natasha appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t ze littlest detective in London. All by herself, with no silly policeman to protect her.’

  ‘Leave me alone!’ For once Clemmy had no idea how to escape; she was just a tad scared. Courage, courage, courage, she reminded herself.

  Natasha motioned to someone behind her. Hench appeared and immediately fell over his shoelaces, landing in a heap at Clemmy’s feet.

  ‘Oopsie,’ he mumbled.

  Clemmy had only seen him from above, and from where she stood now, he was about as scary as an ice-lolly wrapper.

  Natasha’s face turned tomato red.

  ‘Hench!’

  ‘Da?’

  ‘Get up, grab her and put her in ze sack.’ Natasha plucked a hessian bag from her designer carryall and threw it on the floor.

  ‘Wow, that’s one big handbag,’ said Clemmy.

  The henchman and his boss ignored her.

  Hench looked at the sack. ‘Couldn’t she just walk?’

  ‘No, Hench, you moron. We don’t want nosy English people seeing her being kidnapped.’

  ‘Kidnapped?’ repeated Clemmy.

  ‘Zere is more zan one way to find zat evidence, and right now, kidnapping you is ze best plan I can zink of. Hench. Ze sack.’

  Hench nodded and picked up the sack.

  ‘Get in,’ he said to Clemmy.

  ‘No way you psycho!’ She pushed away and looked him up and down. He was a really bad dresser. ‘What’s with the silver jumpsuit?’

  ‘Oh, you like it?’ said Hench, ‘I got it from...’

  ‘HENCH! You imbecile!’ Natasha stomped her foot. ‘Persuade her to get into ze sack. NOW!’

  Clemmy wondered where on earth Mrs Mac was? Daddy was right. She really was the worst babysitter in the world. She was probably hunting out a lost biscuit behind the sofa!

  The puny Hench pulled out his gun and showed it to Clemmy. ‘See, big gun, little girl. Better do what she says or I shot you.’

  ‘Shoot, Hench, you imbecile, the word is shoot,’ said Natasha.

  Clemmy had no option but to step inside the sack. Natasha was becoming quite crazed, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not she really would shoot her, or maybe even try to shoot Mrs Mac.

  That is, if Mrs Mac ever returned from her crumb-finding expedition in the living room!

  ... Outside Mrs Mac’s apartment a few minutes later ...

  It wasn’t very comfortable in the sack, but luckily for Clemmy, Hench carried her quite gently and placed her in the back of what she assumed was a car. About 15 minutes later (when Natasha decided to be nice and untie the sack), she saw she was in a sleek, white limousine.

  ‘Kooky cool, a limo,’ said Clemmy to Natasha, who just scowled and told her to shut up or she would go back in the sack. Natasha took out a nail file and began perfecting her long, red talons. Clemmy watched, fascinated.

  Natasha really was mesmerising, like a model. A really vile, evil model who preferred kidnapping to catwalks!

  Hench pulled up at a metered spot in Hyde Park, just near the tennis courts.

  Natasha banged on the glass divider.‘Go on Hench, you know what to do.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’ asked Clemmy.

  Hench turned to her excitedly. ‘We will call Mrs Mackleberry and tell her zat we want ze evidence. If she gives up ze evidence, we give you back. Good idea, yes? Miss Natasha has ze best plans!’

  ‘Hench,’ Natasha glared at him. ‘Don’t talk to ze busy little body. Just go and make ze call.’

  With his face bright red, Hench got out of the limo and fell face first into a pile of leaves.

  Clemmy laughed out loud, momentarily forgetting she was being kidnapped by the evil genius daughter of a crime lord.

  ‘What an imbecile!’ said Natasha to herself.

  Clemmy was less frightened now, because she figured if Natasha was going to hurt her, she would have already done so. Besides, she had insurance. She knew exactly what and where the evidence was.

  ‘Wow,’ she said to Natasha. ‘This limo has a TV. Is it really yours? You are so lucky to have your own car.’

  Natasha didn’t look up from her nails. ‘Enjoy ze ride, you busy little body, because it may be ze last thing you do.’

  Ignoring her, Clemmy asked: ‘Why do you need that shirt anyway?’

  Glaring at her, the older girl said, ‘Shirt? So, it is a shirt. My father was correct. He is a very clever man.’

  Oh no! Clemmy had just told Natasha exactly what to look for. Be careful, she scolded herself. You’re a lot smarter than that!

  ‘But why do you need it?’ she repeated.

  ‘To free my father from prison, of course.’

  ‘But isn’t your father an evil murderer and crime lord?’

  Natasha shrugged. ‘So what? Everyone has to make a living.’

  ‘Not by hurting people they don’t.’

  Natasha leaned closer – Clemmy could smell minty toothpaste.

  There didn’t seem to be anything about Natasha that wasn’t perfect. Well, aside from her personality.

  ‘Listen you vertically-challenged mutant, zis is none of your business. You are a means to an end. You are ze only way I can get Mrs Mackleberry to give me ze shirt. So shut up or else I’ll tape your mouth up.’

  Hench got back into the car and turned on the engine. ‘She sounds scared,’ he declared proudly.

  Clemmy could see how desperate Hench was to impress Natasha. Poor man. That was never going to happen! Natasha was more likely to be impressed by Mrs Mac’s diet than by Hench.

  ‘She better be scared,’ said Natasha. ‘Now start driving. Back to ze hotel.’

  ... An hour later ...

  They were stuck in horrendous traffic, and Natasha was yelling at Hench to take another route.

  Clemmy had her feet up on the plush velvet seats, enjoying the ride.

  ‘There is no other way,’ Hench replied miserably. ‘We are in a stuck.’

  ‘Just stuck, Hench. You massively-imbecilic dodo!’

  Hench nodded sadly. Earlier that day, he had tried to memorise the London road map in an attempt to impress his boss.

&nb
sp; Then he had taken a wrong turn at Hyde Park Corner and failed. Again.

  Clemmy noticed they were now driving towards Westminster Abbey, which meant they were near New Scotland Yard. She had been there on a school excursion once. Hmmm. Lots of police officers hung out in Scotland Yard. Not even Natasha would dare to follow her there.

  Did Natasha and Hench know exactly where they were? Well, Natasha, at least, seemed to know everything, but she was still busy admiring her nails, so Clemmy hoped she had no idea of their present location.

  Considering the car door, she prayed that dopey Hench had forgotten to lock it.

  Well, it was worth a try, even if she had to face the wrath of Natasha if her plan failed.

  She waited until they were right near Broadway, where she could see the famous triangular sign of New Scotland Yard.

  ‘I feel sick,’ Clemmy declared. ‘I always get sick in cars. Can I have a drink?’ She pointed to a little fridge built into the console in front of her and put her hand over her mouth in an attempt to be convincing.

  ‘Why are you so difficult?’ snapped Natasha, leaning forward and pulling open the fridge. At the same time, the limo stopped at a set of lights, and Clemmy leapt forward and pulled the door handle.

  … Meanwhile at Mrs Mac’s apartment ...

  THE OLD WOMAN WAS SOBBING INTO HER TINY sofa cushions. She had called the police when she saw the Commonov girl and her henchman putting a sack into a limousine at the front of her building. When the policemen had arrived, they immediately told her that they knew all about the Retired Spies’ Network, and that there was a list of addresses on a phone that had been traced back to the Commonovs in Slakistan. At that point, Mrs Mac had decided it was pointless pretending she knew nothing.

  ‘This is all my fault. I should have protected the child. She must be so scared.’

  ‘Come on now, Mrs Mackleberry, she is a tough little thing,’ said Stu, patting her shoulder.

  ‘You know what that girl is capable of, don’t you officer?’

  ‘Who,’ asked Stu, ‘Clementine?’

  ‘Herrings and beans! Of course not. The Commonov girl!’

  Stu snuck a look at Pete.

  ‘Mrs Mackleberry-san. That girl is at school in Slakistan. She is not in London. We checked.’

  ‘No, she’s here! She took Clementine.’

  Stu thought Mrs Mackleberry was as crazy as Pete, but he didn’t bother arguing with her, because he was worried about Clemmy too.

  ‘We will find her, please don’t worry. But in the meantime, do you have this shirt that they are asking for?’

  Mrs Mackleberry pulled herself up from the sofa. ‘Of course, the shirt! If we give her the shirt she will give Clementine back.’

  She trundled into the second bedroom and called to the policemen. ‘Will one of you give me a hand?’

  Pete and Stu looked at each other in horror. Mrs Mac wanted to use one of them as a ladder. The policemen realised their respective backs may not survive the challenge.

  ‘You go, Stu-san,’ said Pete, standing back.

  ‘Oh I wouldn’t deprive you of the chance to be a true English gentleman, Pete,’ said Stu.

  ‘I am very happy to be Japanese, Stu-san!’

  ‘Then I stand aside to let you demonstrate your fine policing ability.’

  ‘But I, um, have a belly ache,’ said Pete.

  ‘I have a headache, ‘said Stu.

  ‘Japanese backs are very tender,’ said Pete.

  Stu thought for a moment.

  ‘I need the toilet,’ said Stu, disappearing down the hall.

  Mrs Mackleberry glared at Pete. ‘Come on then, what are you waiting for? That frightening teenager has Clementine Bird!’

  Pete sighed and promised himself revenge on Stu later. No more origami swans for him!

  He bent down and prayed Mrs Mac wouldn’t break his back.

  … Meanwhile in the kidnapper’s limo …

  Hench was waiting at the traffic lights when he heard an anguished scream from the back of the limo. Turning around, he saw that the back door was open, and the little girl was running away from the car.

  ‘Shouldn’t we go after her?’ he asked, as Natasha pulled the door shut and yelled at him to drive.

  ‘You imbecile, Hench! Zat is Scotland Yard. Headquarters of ze English police. Do you zink I want to run in zere?’

  Hench agreed that would not be a gook idea.

  ‘Where to now Miss Natasha?’

  ‘Back to the hotel. Quick! I need to think.’

  ‘So she has insmarted us?’

  ‘Outsmarted,’ Natasha snapped. ‘You imbecile, Hench! Ze word is outsmarted. Zis is all your fault. Why didn’t you lock ze door?’

  ‘My car in Slakistan doesn’t have doors, Miss Natasha. I forgot.’

  ‘You fool! What kind of car doesn’t have doors?’

  There was silence.

  ‘Hench?’

  ‘Da, Miss Natasha.’

  ‘You don’t really have a car, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And your car is actually a tractor, isn’t it?’

  ‘Da.’

  ‘HENCH!’ screamed Natasha. ‘SHUT UP AND DRIVE.’

  Chapter Nine

  Clemmy phones home

  CLEMMY NOTICED WITH RELIEF THAT NATASHA wasn’t following her. She headed towards New Scotland Yard, just in case, but at the front door she turned and saw the limo had disappeared. Natasha and Hench were nowhere to be seen.

  Deciding it was pointless to talk to the police, Clemmy smiled at the guard standing by the front door and walked on.

  If she went in, there would be too many adults asking all sorts of questions, when in fact she had the answer to the most important question of all – the whereabouts of the blood-stained shirt. And of course, the whereabouts of Natasha Commonov.

  But she had to tell Mrs Mac she was okay before her daddy found out about this. If he did, she was destined for that holiday camp, and there would be no opportunity to find Mummy!

  Turning away from the spinning sign of the Metropolitan Police headquarters, Clemmy headed for the nearest bus stop. The C1 bus was listed. Clemmy caught the C1 bus with Daddy so she knew it went down Kensington High Street. From there, Clemmy could walk back to Mrs Mac’s flat.

  But after 15 minutes, the bus hadn’t arrived, and she was getting worried. She really needed to speak to Mrs Mac.

  ‘I wish I had a phone,’ she said out loud.

  A young man in a suit and trainers standing at the bus stop looked concerned. ‘You okay kid?’

  ‘I couldn’t use your mobile phone, could I?’ asked Clemmy, looking down at the silver gadget in his hand.

  The man looked her up and down. She was rather crumpled from being in the sack.

  ‘You’re not one of those beggar kids, are you? You gonna rob me?’

  Pulling herself up to her full height – 3 feet 8 inches, Clemmy tried to look fierce.

  ‘That’s an insult, mister,’ she said. ‘I happen to live in South Kensington.’

  His face crinkled into a frown. ‘Where? Under a bench in the South Ken tube?’

  Clemmy did what any self-respecting child of nine would do in such a situation, she began to cry.

  It didn’t have the desired effect. The man looked left and right and then leaned in close and whispered: ‘Listen, you want to buy a phone? It’s got one hundred pounds of credit, and it’s really cool.’

  ‘But I don’t have any ...’ Clemmy wiped away half-real tears. She was about to say money, then she remembered the fifty pounds in her jeans’ pocket. Both she and Mrs Mac had forgotten all about it.

  Surely Mrs Mac wouldn’t object to her spending it in such desperate circumstances? And she could pay her back over a few weeks with her pocket money.

  ‘Look, it’s even got a camera.’ The man showed her the features of the silver phone. It did look very flash. Just like the ones in Phones ‘n’ Fashion on High Street Kensington. It even had pink trim. />
  However, Clemmy was suspicious. ‘It’s not stolen, is it?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Not exactly. It’s my bro’s. He was supposed to buy me a phone for my birthday but he forgot so he gave me his stupid phone instead. Then I discover he only gave it to me ‘cause he got it free but it’s too girly for him. Look at the state of it. Pink! Everyone calls me Alice now.’

  His brother! Come on! Clemmy wasn’t about to fall for that line!

  ‘I may be small but I’m not stupid.’

  The guy grinned. The kid was clued in.

  ‘Look, why not call him?’

  Clemmy decided that she had no option, because she was not going to buy a stolen phone, not even to stop Daddy finding out about Natasha and Mrs Mac. She dialled the number he called out.

  ‘Yo, Bro.’

  ‘I’m not your bro, I’m Clemmy. Your brother is trying to sell me your phone.’

  ‘Yeah? Well don’t pay more than 50 pounds for it. Don’t let Alice rip you off, squirt.’

  Clearly, the brothers weren’t exactly close, but at least Alice wasn’t lying. And the phone was very girly. Looking more closely, Clemmy could see it wasn’t silver at all but a very light shade of pink.

  Best not to look too eager. Clemmy knew from Mrs Mac that if you wanted to get a good deal, you should act as if you couldn’t care less. Easy for Mrs Mac, because she couldn’t care less about most things.

  ‘It’s used. What if it doesn’t work properly?’

  ‘It’s a 500 pound phone. It works great.’

  ‘Okay Alice, how much do you want for it?’

  Cringing at the name, Alice said, ‘Very funny! I’ll sell it for the price of the credit left on it. That’s 100 pounds. So the phone is free. Bargain!’

  ‘Oh,’ Clemmy cast her blue eyes downwards. ‘I thought more like twenty.’

  ‘Twenty. You crazy? You can make 100 pounds worth of calls!’

  ‘Thirty?’

  Alice realised he was wasn’t dealing with your average kid. ‘Seventy?’