Free From the Cradle by Mark Edwards, Louise Voss Page B

he had a horrible feeling of foreboding.
    The detective sergeant lowered his voice. ‘They’ve found a body. A little girl.’

Chapter 7
Larry – Day 2
    ‘Hey, could one of you do me a big favour, please?’ Larry had put on his politest face, the one he used for the headmaster. The butter wouldn’t melt face, his mum called it. He casually slewed his bike sideways in the wide alley running alongside Sainsbury’s, and addressed the two schoolboys coming towards him in black blazers and stripy ties – from that nobby stage school across the Green, Larry recognized. They came to a halt, glancing at each other from under their fringes, but with curiosity rather than fear. The tall one was literally two feet taller than his mate, but something about them told Larry they were probably in the same school year, maybe 9 or 10.
    ‘What, bruv?’
    Bruv ? Larry almost laughed out loud. This lanky posh twat had actually called him bruv? He matched his own language accordingly .
    ‘Yeah, sweet – can I borrow your phone for a minute? Need to call me mum, innit, see if she’s home as I ain’t got a key and some tosser nicked my iPhone yesterday.’
    The tall one hesitated, but the tiny one immediately put his hand into his blazer pocket and pulled out a phone. ‘No worries, pal,’ he said, smiling earnestly at Larry. ‘As long as she don’t live in Australia!’
    They all snarfed politely. Larry took the phone. ‘Galaxy S4,’ he said, turning it over. Then he did two things simultaneously: popped the phone’s back off, whipped out his flick knife and pressed the open blade menacingly but discreetly against the waist of the tall one, under his blazer.
    ‘Sorry about this, but needs must, eh?’ he said conversationally. ‘But being decent, I’m letting you keep your SIM – take it out and I’ll be out of your hair. Unless you want me to take the whole thing, you’d better be fucking quick about it.’
    The mouths of both boys gaped open in shock and outrage as Larry handed the phone back to its owner. He applied a little pressure to the knife handle. ‘Quick, I said.’
    Panic in his eyes, the tall one removed his SIM card and reluctantly handed the phone back to Larry.
    ‘Good boy,’ Larry said, pocketing it and, still holding the knife, turning his handlebars towards the end of the alley. It was at that moment the smaller boy seemed to wake up out of his terrified trance. He gave a high-pitched yell, a girly sort of squeal, and made a lunge towards Larry, swinging at him with a small fist. Larry laughed, and kicked hard at him, his foot connecting with the boy’s kneecap. The boy’s yell turned into a howl and he doubled over. The tall one made a similarly ineffective pass towards Larry, but Larry could tell it was only done because he didn’t want to look like a pussy next to his tiny mate.
    ‘Oh, give over, you twats,’ he said, pushing his feet up on the pedals of his bike and surging away towards the end of the alley. ‘It’s only a fucking phone. Get mummy to claim it on the insurance.’

    Half an hour later Larry arrived at his next destination, the piss-stinking echoey grey concrete Kennedy Estate in Whitton. He had cycled hard all the way there, to try and quash the nerves – bordering on terror – that he always felt whenever he came to visit Jerome. But, as he’d said to the schoolboys, needs must. He needed the money that Jerome would give him for the four purloined mobiles currently swinging together in the inside pocket of his jacket as he stood on his pedals and rode as hard as he could. That way, he could blame his pounding heart on the exertion from the exercise and not on the sight of Jerome’s mean, yellowish face as Jerome opened the steel door to his flat and narrowed his eyes at him, as he always did.
    Larry carried his bike up to the eighth floor – no lock, and he knew it would be nicked in a nanosecond if he left it downstairs. Plus, it gave him another reason to be panting