Читать книгу Jimmy Coates: Killer - Joe Craig - Страница 8

THERE IT WAS. Hardly a hundred metres from where Jimmy had been hesitating, the police station sat like a comforting smile washed in blue light. It was set back from the road slightly, which is why he hadn’t seen it from the corner. Now he ran through the door like it was home.

He rushed through the brightly-lit lobby up to the desk. There was no one else in there except for the officer behind the desk, and another sitting on a bench by the door, nursing a bloody nose and holding an ice-pack to his forehead. Jimmy threw a glance at him, but the officer looked away hurriedly and pretended to read the notice boards.

“Hello, son. Can I help you?” said the officer behind the desk. He spoke in a deep voice that sounded friendly to Jimmy, but at the same time a little scary. Maybe that was because it was coming from a man who was well over six feet tall. Jimmy had never actually spoken to a policeman before. His words troubled over each other, confusing his tongue. He didn’t know where to begin.

“My parents…I was in my house…these men came…they chased me, but that was later…I don’t know…and my sister, but…” Then Jimmy stopped because he realised he was crying. He let the tears come like warm comfort on his chilled face. The fluorescent lights blurred in his eyes and the huge policeman came round to Jimmy’s side of the desk.

“That’s all right, Jimmy. Come and sit down.” At the sound of his name, Jimmy immediately tensed up again and stopped crying. He felt the officer’s huge hand on the top of his head. It guided him gently but firmly to the bench.

“I’m Sergeant Atkinson,” said the policeman. He was limping, but trying not to show it. Jimmy had to step over a fire extinguisher that was lying on the floor, and push past a small table. “That shouldn’t be there, sorry,” said the sergeant as he bent down. With one strong arm he snatched up the fire extinguisher, setting it upright next to the door.

The policeman with the blood all over his face stood up as soon as Jimmy sat down. He went past the desk and pushed through the doors, out of sight.

“How do you know my name?” Jimmy’s voice was meek, quiet.

“Your neighbours called and told us everything that happened.”

“Mr Higgins?”

“No, Mr and Mrs Bourne.”

Jimmy didn’t know the neighbours on the other side. He had never even seen them. There was usually a car in the driveway, like there was in every driveway, but he had never seen anybody coming or going.

“Why didn’t you go round to them for help when it all happened?” said Sergeant Atkinson.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it, I suppose.” Jimmy considered whether he should have just gone next door, but it didn’t feel right. It was too close to home. Surely by now his house was crawling with men in suits waiting for him to come back. They would have found him easily if he had just been next door.

“They would have helped you, Jimmy. They were waiting for you to come round.”

“What do you mean, they were waiting? Why didn’t they call the police? Call you, I mean?”

“They did, of course,” explained the sergeant. “That’s how we know what happened.” Jimmy was starting to feel silly now, but he was sure he hadn’t acted stupidly. It had all felt so dangerous–like he had to get away from the house as soon as he could.

“But…if they called the police,” Jimmy stammered, “why didn’t you come?”

“We did. But you had run off.” Sergeant Atkinson patted Jimmy on the head as if to comfort him. But Jimmy was thinking. He was trying to push away the tiredness and the fear, forcing his thoughts and memories into some kind of order.

“But I didn’t. I was at my house,” Jimmy said, almost to himself.

The policeman stood up to welcome one of his colleagues coming through the swing doors behind the desk. It was a young policewoman, beaming at Jimmy.

“I was at my house,” Jimmy said again.

Sergeant Atkinson turned round and gave him a questioning frown.

“No, you jumped out the window and ran off,” he said.

“No I—How did you know I jumped out the window?”

“The Bournes told us. They saw the whole thing. Your neighbours.” The policewoman was speaking now. She was in uniform just like the others, but seemed a lot shinier. Maybe it was the smile. “There have been a lot of police officers looking for you all night,” she said, in a way that made Jimmy feel like it was his fault.

“But, I was just…” Jimmy stopped himself. If so many people were looking for him, why hadn’t he seen a single policeman? Or any police cars?

Jimmy stood up and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Who’s after me? Why are they chasing me?” Jimmy was glad he’d had a chance to cry, to let out some of the confusion. Now his head was clearing. The lights in the station had woken him up a little, too. He picked up his bag and shifted from foot to foot. The police officers looked at each other. It was the woman that spoke first.

“Don’t think about that now. Let’s get—”

“Who’s after me? If you know, tell me.” Jimmy had been through too much already to have secrets kept from him. But his question was only greeted with silence. “Why aren’t you telling me?” Jimmy was getting more and more impatient, but it was hard to raise his voice at police officers. He waited a second, then he let go and shouted: “Why aren’t you telling me?”

More policemen emerged at the back of the room. They were all big, and none of them was smiling.

“What are they all doing here if they’re meant to be out looking for me?” Something was wrong. It was obvious. There was no way that any neighbours could have seen him jump out of the window. And if anybody had been watching, they would have seen him hide under the car then go back to the house.

The sergeant spoke at last, but it wasn’t good enough for Jimmy.

“Sit down, Jimmy. You’re tired and overexcited. We’re here to help,” he blathered.

“I’m leaving now,” said Jimmy, edging towards the door. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be OK, though.” There were half a dozen policemen now. One of them strode over to the front door. One of them crossed his arms and stayed by the swing doors at the back. Another one slipped in behind the desk and put his hand on the receiver of the phone. Jimmy could feel that dark ball welling up inside him.

“I’m going to stay with my cousins, so I’ll be fine.” He tried to stop it, to push it back down, but it was fuelled by anger now. Jimmy could feel it growing darker and larger than it had before. Please, he said to himself, don’t try and fight all these policemen. Perhaps they’re on my side. But in his heart, he was just uncertain enough.

“There’s no need to go, Jimmy. We can sort this out.”

“Goodbye.” Jimmy leapt in the air, his trainers squeaking on the lino, and dashed under the flailing arms of Sergeant Atkinson.

“Stop him!” someone shouted. The room erupted into chaos and hullabaloo. Jimmy felt himself moving, but couldn’t influence his actions. Once again the animal instinct that had helped him survive that night had taken control of his limbs. He knocked over the table with his shin, but didn’t feel any pain. Leaflets flew everywhere. Jimmy grabbed a notice board, shoving it in the way of a huge policeman as he dived. The policeman hit the floor and Jimmy stepped on his back to springboard off it and slam his feet into Sergeant Atkinson’s chest. Jimmy rolled under the desperate lunges of the other police, then bounded to his feet and rushed to the door. It was a big, heavy wooden door, but Jimmy crashed through it into the street. And ran.

The lobby of the police station was devastated. The policeman with the bloody nose reappeared through the swing doors and laughed, glad he wasn’t the only one to have suffered that night.

Sergeant Atkinson picked himself up and dusted off his uniform. His huge jaw cracked as he ground his teeth. There was an impressed smile behind his eyes as he looked out through the door, broken off its hinges, into the early morning.

“Let him go, it’s OK. We’ll pick him up at his cousins,” he said. “Where do they live?”

The policewoman next to him looked down at her boots. Then she spat out the words: “He doesn’t have any cousins.”

Jimmy ran just like he had already that night, but this time he couldn’t hear anybody following him. He ran longer than he needed to, just in case, until finally he started to feel weakness seeping into his knees. It was the strain that would normally have come ages ago. He slipped into a doorway and looked behind him. The street was empty. If anybody had been following him, they hadn’t kept up.

Jimmy’s legs twitched with fatigue. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, feeling the strength in him fade away. It didn’t get any easier to understand. What was this strange urge in him to fight or to run? And how did he suddenly have the ability to do both? Jimmy wasn’t sure he liked it. However wonderful this power was, the very fact of its presence was terrifying. Before tonight he’d been like every other normal boy.

What’s more, he didn’t like having a violent side. It wasn’t just self-defence. Jimmy had been too keen to fight Mitchell, when he could have just handed over his bag and avoided anybody getting hurt. He imagined himself really injuring someone, or worse…but it made him wince and he shook his head hard.

Jimmy had to get off the streets. Everyone was after him. Everywhere was dangerous.

Jimmy caught sight of his fingers. They were purple with cold. He wished he had brought gloves. Even after he had been running so hard, sweating and red-faced, his fingers were bitten by the wind. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be stranded out on his own when the sun came up. The police would pick him up in no time. He hitched his bag higher on his back and started walking. This time he wasn’t lost; from the High Street he knew his way. Jimmy was heading to the place he considered his second home–the house of his best friend, Felix Muzbeke.

Jimmy trudged past the neatly trimmed hedges of the suburbs, consumed by his thoughts. He told himself over and over that he wasn’t a criminal, but it did no good–he still felt like one. It was worse than that, though–this feeling was coupled with the indignation of innocence. He imagined himself back at the police station shouting into Sergeant Atkinson’s leathery face: “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Only one realisation brought a smile to his face: he had busted out of the police station when at least six enormous officers had wanted to keep him there. First he had seen through their lies, then he had slipped through their fingers.

He shuffled towards Felix’s road munching on the last of his food: a chocolate bar and an apple. At the corner, he was shocked out of his reverie by a twitching curtain. And was that a green stripe on the gatepost? No–just a tired illusion. He kept his head down and walked on.

The Muzbekes’ house was bigger than his, and a little smarter. Jimmy had no hesitation in ringing the bell, despite it being so early in the morning. When Felix’s parents heard what had happened they would have to understand.

He rang twice before he heard movement inside. There were faint voices, the clunk of two bolts, and then a look of utter bewilderment when Felix’s father pulled open the door. His eyes were red and only open a tiny crack. He pulled his wife’s flowery dressing gown round him with one hand to guard against the freezing cold.

Jimmy looked himself up and down as Neil Muzbeke did the same. He was a wreck: covered in grime, his shoes filthy from the park. He had torn his jacket too, probably going over a fence, or maybe in the fight at the police station, or…It could have happened any time that night. No wonder it took the man a couple of seconds to recognise him. Felix’s father shook his head and blinked.

“Jimmy?” he spluttered.

The house was warm, and washing the dirt off his face felt wonderful–not to mention the chance to sit down. Felix’s parents were both up now, and his mother was fixing cups of tea. Felix himself hadn’t stirred. Outside, the birds had started singing and a gentle light was pushing through the windows. Jimmy sat at the kitchen table, unsure of what else to say. He had explained everything as calmly as he could, trying to be sensible and detached. At first, of course, they hadn’t believed anything he said, but when they phoned Jimmy’s house and there was no answer, they listened more closely.

“I’m going to call the police,” fussed Olivia Muzbeke for about the tenth time.

“I told you, you can’t. If you call the police, they’ll come and take me away.”

Felix’s father cleared his throat and brushed his wild hair back from his face. “If you’ve done something wrong, Jimmy,” he said, “it’s OK to tell us, whatever it is. We won’t be angry.” His bulbous cheeks wobbled as he shook his head rapidly.

“I told you, I swear. I haven’t done anything. They must be after me because of what I can do. I think maybe they want to experiment on me.” Jimmy meant this sincerely, but when he heard the words come out of his mouth, he knew they wouldn’t be taken seriously.

“Jimmy, dear,” said Felix’s mother, “if you have superpowers, you should show us.”

“I can’t show you. It just happened. I told you. It was this thing inside me that took over when I was in danger.”

Mr and Mrs Muzbeke looked at each other. The ping of the kettle broke the silence.

“You can sleep in the spare room,” sighed Felix’s mother. “I’ll fetch you some of Felix’s pyjamas. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out in the morning.”

Jimmy stood up from the table. He was exhausted. In the morning, when they found out his parents really were missing, they would have to believe him.

Then Jimmy remembered his sister.

“What about Georgie?” he said. “Call her school at nine o’clock and I bet you she won’t be there. I don’t think they’re after her too, but she ran off, and she’s going to try and help me.”

“Jimmy, go to bed,” said Felix’s mother. “Now.”

Felix’s father glanced up at the clock and groaned.

“I may as well get ready for work,” he said. “What a start to the day.”

Jimmy was upset. He knew he wasn’t exaggerating, or imagining it all. He just had to prove it. He stopped at the door and turned around. Suddenly he started opening all the kitchen drawers.

“What are you doing?” shrieked Felix’s mother. “Stop that. What are you looking for?”

It was too late. Jimmy had found a knife.