Cut To The Bone Read online

  However, moments later, she turned to Rita looking genuinely disappointed.

  "I'm afraid he won't be back till tomorrow morning, but I'll certainly show it to him. You never know."

  She took the portrait and disappeared round a corner, leaving Rita staring at advice on security, lone female drivers and drug abuse dangers. It was as if the whole world beyond that drab cord carpet, those barred windows festered with evil.

  Truelove returned to the reception area and handed Rita the copy, still warm from the machine.

  "Thank you,” she managed a smile, “but when's a real search for my son like you see on TV, going to start?"

  "Once we've ascertained a few more facts. Maybe Jez is hiding, ashamed of something he's done. It does occur with boys that age, believe me."

  Rita shook her head.

  "'He's never gone off like this before. I just know something bad’s happened, and if you don't start looking soon, I'll organise things myself."

  "I wouldn't advise that just yet. Important evidence could be damaged."

  "Evidence? So something is up?"

  PC Truelove kept calm as she'd been trained.

  "I didn't say that. We're still investigating, and doing everything we can. Meanwhile, if there's anything practical we can do for you..."

  "There is," said Rita promptly. "And I hate asking, but I need a new mobile phone in case Jez does get in touch. He must have taken mine when he left, and I can't afford the outlay…"

  "I'll chat to Social Services first thing in the morning. It's not a problem."

  With that, the doors glided open into the heat and Freddie began to wail as if the weight of his mother's grief and uncertainty had suddenly landed on his tiny shoulders.

  22

  Still no prayed-for rain. Still the Friday sky uniformly blue with no-one enjoying it any more. Thus the playground at North Barton Boys’ School remained strangely silent at first break, save for two Year 10's sharing a roll-up by the greenhouse, where Louis noticed most plants behind its grimy glass had died. Good.

  ‘Waddle’ had tried pinning up a watering rota for the last week of term which had been totally ignored. Who'd want to go in there and fry? Louis reasoned seeing his name at the top. Fucking cheek. Gone were the days when he'd have offered to pick litter or man the Lost Property table at each end of term, besides, since the rabbit business, he had an excellent excuse. He was suffering from stress and not least because he'd found out The Maggot had nicked his coveted Orange mobile and taken it to College.

  *

  He was about to leave the greenhouse, when another all-too familiar male voice behind him made him jump. Louis spun round to see his sweating form teacher, advancing.

  "Well, well, well,” sneered Mr Plummer. “If it isn't Louis Claus Perelman studying biology. My, my."

  Louis was just about to object to the twat using his middle name, when a Tannoy announcement eked from the main building.

  "All pupils are to report to the Main Hall at once," the alien whine began. "Prefects will check all lavatories and the Sick Bay for any strays. Please leave all belongings in your form rooms and do not run…"

  Minutes later, George Plummer still pink-faced and ratty, was attempting to marshal the rest of his form into lines. Why had this second assembly been called? Nick Weaver, the candy pusher and the rest of 8JP were all messing about. Parping loudly, their pong hung in the stale air. Darshan Patel ran by, cheap aftershave in his wake. Neither made eye contact. The deal had been done. Finito, and he, Louis, was twenty quid the poorer. But so what? Twenty quid for such a small but crucial lie, was nothing.

  Yet Louis frowned as the dark-skinned boy disappeared round the corner. Trust was too new for him. He was beginning to wish he'd never used that stupid alibi about the swimming trip. He hadn't thought it through...

  His anxiety deepened as he joined his class processing into the hall.

  "Bags and satchels in form rooms only. You've been told." Plummer was alongside, plus his dog-breath.

  “My satchel is my property,” Louis reminded him.

  "And someone kifed my iPhone last week," Nick Weaver grunted.

  "Serves you right for bringing it to school." Plummer shuffled away, defeated and the two boys nudged each other, grinning victory.

  Meanwhile, the stage had filled up. Serious stuff, obviously, but then in the middle of the senior staff, stood a figure that made Louis blink.

  Constable Derek Jarvis.

  After the Head's introductory spiel giving nothing away, the pig stepped forward to the microphone and adjusted it to suit his shorter height. Louis fixed on the cracked lips, every shift of his gaze which too often settled on him.

  "I'm here today as your local police Community Liaison Officer," the constable began, then wiped a jacket cuff across his wet forehead. "We need your help to solve two recent mysteries, both of which you've probably read about in the papers, concerning a missing schoolboy, Jez Martin who lives on the Scrub End Estate. Also a murdered sixty eight year-old man who I'll deal with in a moment."

  “Diddler,” sneered someone from near the back, but the visitor pressed on. “Mrs Martin is convinced that the boy calling himself Pete Brown, who’d not only phoned her son, but turned up at his home last Monday morning, is a pupil at Scrub Lane Comprehensive. However, we must let all the youngsters in the area know of our concerns, especially as that particular name isn't listed at any local school. However, we do have this." From inside his uniform jacket he drew out a piece of paper and unfolded it.

  When he turned the coloured drawing to his audience, a hush descended. "We’ve every reason to believe this is an accurate representation of the twelve to fourteen year-old boy whom she saw. The white PE shirt is probably his own."

  "Who drew that, sir?" Someone asked.

  "I can’t say."

  Those carefully-coloured brown eyes behind black-framed glasses seemed to follow everyone in the room. Soon one pupil was turning to another. Sidelong glances becoming overt stares. Mutterings and finger pointing growing to actual names called out, but thankfully not Louis Perelman’s.

  He sighed with relief, steadying himself as the Head called for order, but his stomach was in free-fall. Supposing those Martins remembered more about him? The two thick brats left in that dump could be right gassers. And what if another e-fit was doing the rounds? Or if someone had been hiding in the trees at Black Dog Brook? And just as bad would be if her son had mentioned Pete Brown as living in Meadow Hill. Even though he’d been told it was a fib.

  Louis hit on a plan. He'd need the chemist quick, and luckily still had Jez's fiver intact for his intended purchase.

  Jarvis then repeated The Gazette's description of the ginger to the audience whose eyes were beginning to glaze over.

  "Was he into drugs, sir?" A lad from 9NG piped up. "Maybe couldn’t pay..."

  "Fair point." The pig looked round the hall. "But so far we've no evidence to suggest this. Now then lads, if you can help, please call us." He held up a piece of card bearing the same Freephone number in thick black felt pen. "You don't have to give your names."

  It was then Louis noticed Darshan Patel's dark, cropped head turn; those treacle-coloured eyes staring his way.

  "What's up, you?" Louis mouthed across the hall.

  "Forty."

  "What?"

  "Forty quid. OK?"

  The greedy git. This was double what he’d already coughed up for the Lisa story.

  Miss Udder ordered Patel to face the front. And how quickly the creep obeyed while the pig, now less composed, continued.

  "The second mystery concerns the lat
e Mr. Malcolm Wheeler who was recently rehoused in number 5, Gorse Way. His murder was beyond callous, and we’re now searching for the knife used in the vicious attack."

  A derisive chorus rose up, and the Head's mouth twitched in disapproval. However the pig wasn’t finished. "Although he was on the Sex Offenders’ Register, he'd done nothing wrong since moving to Scrub End."

  Nothing wrong?

  "Did they lift his dick?" Dared a fourth-former. "I would have."

  "Dirty old perv," laughed another.

  "That’s enough!" The Head intervened. “Let's please show some respect for the dead and to Constable Jarvis, shall we? And may I remind you all how you can put your Good Citizens’ lessons into practice by being co-operative and trustworthy. We’re living in difficult times. As we saw all too clearly yesterday."

  Bollocks.

  Louis pulled a face. He'd got other priorities, including warning off Patel and keeping a low profile.

  *

  Afterwards, while the senior staff and Jarvis processed off the stage and into the wings, the hall also slowly emptied of pupils and staff. Louis caught up with his blackmailer outside the toilets.

  "I don’t have forty fucking quid,” he snapped.

  "You live in Meadow Hill, right?"

  "So do you."

  "Your parents just got a new Discovery, right?"

  Louis edged towards him, his eyes hardening. The way he’d said ‘parents’ hadn’t helped.

  "You're frigging jealous, 'cos your lot make sandwiches all day and drive some clapped-out old crate…"

  "No way am I jealous of you."

  "What d'you mean?"

  Patel smiled two rows of dazzling teeth.

  "I've a real Mum and Dad. Oh, and it was me who found your blazer by Black Dog Brook last Saturday. And I've got the key that was in it. So, I'll have the dough by the 14th if that's OK with you. Week tomorrow, yeah? Don't forget."

  With that, he bounded away.

  Louis tried looking cool, but inside he was churning, imagining Patel also sliding into the mud of Black Dog Brook, begging for mercy...

  "Want me to sort him out?" Nick Weaver interrupted, making Louis jump. A can of Pepsi at his lips. Dark dribbles staining his chin.

  "I can handle it, thanks."

  "Seen Lakey around?" The other boy then asked as he downed the last of his drink and belched.

  Louis' heart stopped.

  "No. Why?"

  "Owes me seventy quid."

  Louis tried to hide his surprise. "You'll be lucky."

  "I'd fucking better be. He's been snorting for free since Whitsun."

  Weaver dropped the can onto his boot and kicked it down the corridor while Louis hefted his satchel on to his shoulder, still unnerved by these recent encounters and their implications.

  *

  The next lesson was music, and once Mrs Barber had taken the register, she asked Louis to give a solo demonstration on the school's latest violin. He chose a Bach Partita and played as if the rest of his life depended on it.

  23

  Incipient thunder growled in the north as Louis left the Gents in the shopping mall, his head still wet from repeated applications of neat hydrogen peroxide; his blazer’s shoulders bearing a fall of light brown hair. As he trekked home past Greythorn Wood and over the narrowest loop of Black Dog Brook, his dyed head began to lighten to an electric brightness, enough to make a passing crust on a mobility scooter turn to stare.

  "Nosey old cripple," Louis snarled at him, then, when all was clear, he leaned over the steel barrier erected to prevent cars careering down into the brook's filth and spotted a police cordon threaded between the trees. His pulse quickened, matching his pace into the Meadow Hill development. Just then, his bedroom sanctuary too far away.

  "Louis? Is that you?" The Fawn was waiting.

  Course it is, you stupid cow...

  "Whatever have you done to your hair?”

  "Felt like a change."

  He flinched as she ran a hand over his cropped, yellow head. Her mouth open as she did so. He overtook her into the kitchen, where the week's groceries lay heaped up on the table like some weird Harvest Festival. Most prominent were purple lambs' livers sliding under their transparent lids. Chicken breasts, pinkly luminous, and a mysterious mound of mussels reeking of twats. Presumably all stuff for her latest diet with nothing remotely tempting like moorhen meat on offer.

  "Is it to assert yourself?” she quizzed some more. “You're not being bullied again?" She opened the fridge door to insert a bumper-sized Lite margarine and a low- calorie pizza whose topping resembled a frozen battlefield.

  Louis grimaced.

  "No. Just having to cough up forty quid, or else..."

  He tore open the crisps’ bag and crammed its contents into his mouth. Darshan Patel's traitorous words lodged in his mind. But no way could he mention him, or let on about his own stupidity.

  "Hang on a minute. Who set this up?" She reached for her BlackBerry on the worktop. "Tell me."

  Then something snapped.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Phoning Constable Jarvis.”

  That did it.

  He leapt on her, both hands round her throat, tight enough to cut off her breath. Crisps fell to the floor, disintegrating underfoot.

  "You stupid bitch! Can't you see that'd only make it worse for me at school? You don’t know the half of it." His grip loosened, leaving crimson indents in her flesh. She looked stunned, fearful. "But that's how it is," he hissed in her ear. "Very secret."

  "Have you any idea what it costs to send you to North Barton? Have you?" She rubbed her neck making it look worse.

  "Not my choice."

  "It's all of my research grant, plus half your father's salary."

  "He's not my fucking father, and one of the wanks at school said at least he'd got a real Mum and Dad, not like me.” For the moment, sly Darshan Patel would have to stay anonymous. “ So what did that mean?" His eyes bored through her. "Aren't you even my mother?"

  She counted to three as if to compose herself then crammed a lump of cottage cheese into a Plexiglas compartment inside the fridge door.

  "Course I am." She slammed it shut. "You shouldn't listen to everybody. It's not good for you."

  "Neither's this crap I'm in. There's at least three others who'll have to get their hands on the dough by next Saturday."

  "This is unheard of..."

  "Promise you won't say anything to the school?"

  "If I don't, then your father will. This threat can’t go unchecked."

  "Then I'm dead."

  *

  The Hair issue was ignored all evening, and Louis decided to broach his All Important Question in the morning before The Fawn set off for the Open University.

  The Maggot had returned from work in a foul mood and straightaway changed into vest and shorts to rehearse the Moonlight Sonata for the soirée. His Weight Watcher's oven meal perched untouched on top of the Yamaha piano.

  Something's pissed him off big time, thought Louis deciding not to mention his missing mobile, checking him over for any further clues of infidelity. Watching him turn the sheet music with no interest at all. Maybe his bit on the side was keeping her legs closed, and when The Maggot wasn't looking, he even sneaked upstairs to check out his underwear in the laundry basket. To sniff round the fly of his trousers folded over the chair in his bedroom. But nothing doing, and Louis had to admit a certain disappointment. He was going to need as much bargaining power as he could g
et. And Knowledge is Power, he reminded himself.

  *

  The trouble with all the Meadow Hill crusts, was that they lived a sick lie. Why Gunther Zeller was probably busy on a sex-chat line, while the Patels behind their re-painted windows, harboured someone about to screw him for every last penny and more.

  "A parcel arrived at my office today." The Maggot said, continuing with the Chopin as Louis returned to the lounge. "And fifteen pounds has come off my Tesco credit card. Can you explain that?"

  Louis gripped the top of the nearest armchair. So, the uniform had arrived!

  "It's for my career. To help me feel the part," he said, suppressing his excitement.

  "Which is?"

  "A copper." He’d almost said ‘pig.’

  The Maggot gave him a sideways glance as his fingers spanned the keys.

  "You are full of surprises."

  "When can I have it?"

  "Later. If you behave yourself."

  “And my phone?”

  “That too.”

  "So what d'you want me to play?" Louis asked as the Chopin ended, when really, he wanted to remove that fucking, superior head from its shoulders.

  The Maggot stared at him blankly.

  "You said I was to perform."

  "Right. Yes." He rummaged amongst the score sheets piled on the floor alongside. "Let's try the Bach."

  Louis read the details at the top of the sheet.

  "Easy-peasy. Did that in school today."

  "But not too fast. And by the way, son, next time, ask permission before using my credit card. Can you remember that?"

  Son…

  The Fawn brought in a coffee and the day’s Gazette for herself, then moved to the chair furthest away from the piano. As Louis was pulling his violin from its case, he caught sight of the local newspaper’s front page. This time, Jez Martin was the banner headline plus a colour photo, with news of the dead pervert a close second.

  The tuning session went all wrong and both adults winced.

  Louis tried again. The strings suddenly felt like razors under his fingertips.