Sudden Death Read Free

doing?’ Jake repeated. His heart was pounding and it took a huge effort to keep his voice from trembling.
    Suddenly the waiter’s hand jerked up, spraying soap suds towards Jake. Jake ducked automatically, glimpsing a flash of metal. Something whooshed past his ear and thudded into the wall behind him. A meat cleaver was embedded in the doorframe, quivering.
    Jake didn’t stop to think – he ran straight at the waiter.
    The waiter tried to kick out but Jake caught his foot and reached for the man’s other leg, sweeping it away. They crashed together on to the lino floor, and Jake used all his upper body weight to pin the waiter down. The man said something in Russian, then tried to punch Jake in the side of the head. Jake reacted quickly and took the blow on his elbow, then he crunched his ownfist into the Russian’s teeth. Blood spattered around his mouth.
    The waiter wouldn’t give up. He jerked his hips and Jake toppled off him, his fingers catching the edge of the bin. Rubbish poured on top of him. He rolled over, fists up and ready to face his attacker.
    But the Russian was disappearing out of a back door. Jake jumped up and went after him. He emerged into an alleyway. The waiter, shirt torn, was pelting towards Brompton Road. Jake sprinted in pursuit, but pain shot through his leg. He pulled up, grimacing. Warm blood was seeping through his trousers below the knee and he could feel the bandage he’d applied earlier hanging loose.
    Jake limped out on to the busy street. He scanned left, then right, but the pavements were bustling with pedestrians carrying shopping bags and commuters walking home from work. The waiter was gone.
    Jake kicked a bin angrily. He headed back down the alley, breathing heavily as he tried to swallow down his frustration. In the kitchen, the napkin was still on the draining board. Jake picked it up and hurried back through into the dining area. Everyone was outside now and he saw that the police had arrived as well: one patrol car and one unmarked vehicle – both silent, but with their blue lights slowlyspinning. Jake’s dad was leaning against the wall of the restaurant, rubbing his temples.
    Jake dashed outside. ‘Something’s going on. Did you see the waiter? He tried to kill me. He –’
    His dad grabbed him by the shoulders, scanned him up and down. ‘Are you all right? Slow down, Jake. What happened?’
    Jake took a breath and started again. ‘The waiter attacked me,’ he said slowly. ‘He was throwing away Mr Chernoff’s bowl. I got the napkin. I thought –’
    His dad glanced back into the restaurant, then frowned at the napkin in Jake’s hand. He took it, then pulled Jake tightly to him. ‘You stupid boy. You could have been . . .’ Jake twisted free of his dad’s awkward embrace.
    His dad’s eyes were wet. Were there tears?
    ‘Was . . . was Mr Chernoff murdered?’ Jake asked.
    But his dad was looking over Jake’s shoulder and tucking Chernoff’s soiled napkin into his jacket pocket. A suited man was making a beeline towards them. He nodded curtly to Jake’s dad, flipping open his ID badge.
    ‘Detective Farrimond, sir. The ambulance crew said you were dining with the deceased. I’m very sorry. Can I take your name, please?’
    ‘Steve Bastin.’
    Jake saw the flicker of recognition in the detective’s face,and he was grateful the detective didn’t pursue it.
    ‘And you knew Andrew Chernoff, the victim, Mr Bastin?’
    ‘Only professionally,’ Jake’s dad said.
    What?
thought Jake.
You were joking together like mates a quarter of an hour ago. You called him ‘Andy’.
    ‘So you don’t know if he was in poor health? Might this have been a heart attack?’
    ‘It’s possible,’ Jake’s dad said.
    Jake couldn’t believe the words coming out of his dad’s mouth. Chernoff had looked in great shape.
    ‘Do you know his next of kin?’ the detective asked.
    Jake’s dad shook his head. ‘He has a sister, I think. Lives in the States now. As I said,