Brock Steele Sphere Page 10
She sniffled into the tissue, running her hand through her hair. Ty wandered into the hallway again.
“Police have gone.”
“And why don’t you both do the same and leave me alone?”
Sarah glanced up at Brock, tears in her eyes.
“I care about you, Sarah. No matter what.”
Sarah’s cheeks reddened and she exhaled a long breath. “I’m glad that animal never shot you,” she whispered. “Just give me some time to think.”
Brock pulled Sarah’s body towards him, grasping her shoulders and kissing her. He felt the warmth of a tear rolling down his cold face.
“Come on, Brock, let’s go,” called Ty, stepping over to the window.
“I had a pact with Lacy,” Sarah said. “I told her I would look after the dog if anything happened to her. The dog wasn’t at her apartment.”
“I’ll get the dog back for you if that’s what you want, but you need to know you’re in mortal danger. I’ll pop by later.”
Tears filled Sarah’s eyes again. “The dog might not know that Lacy is dead.”
“I hate to interrupt you lovebirds, but there is a suspicious white van cruising around the corner.”
“We need to make a move. I promise I’ll be in touch. Stay safe, and I’ll try the dog pound for you.”
Brock gave her a peck on the cheek and picked up a pen from a side table, scribbling his new phone number down: the mobile he’d mysteriously acquired from the mysterious blonde at the gym. He shoved the paper towards Sarah and she grabbed it.
“It’s my new number. Lost the old one. I’ll be back, I promise, only call in an emergency as this isn’t my phone. I mysterious acquired it at the gym yesterday afternoon just before Lacy got shot. I could have sworn at first Lacy popped it into my pocket as a prank . . . clearly not.
“Before it all kicked off, it rang in my pocket. That’s when this woman answered warning me something was going to happen and I should immediately leave the gym. I think it was a girl called Helen, brushing past me in the changing rooms. Know her?”
She shook her head.
“But Lacy did.”
Chapter 16
The early afternoon sun bounced off the slate roof of the double-fronted detached stone house. Brock meandered across the neatly mown lawn with his rucksack firmly tucked to his back. He stepped up to a big black front door, scratching his head. A house like that in Upper Leytonstone must be worth a million plus at least, probably from proceeds of organised crime. The house appeared worn, though; paint flaked from the black front door. It needed a damn good renovation, new windows to say the least.
Brock had departed company from Ty—something about meeting a man about a dog; from what Brock could fathom, some sort of unscrupulous illegal activity. Uncomfortable about the situation, the only option he had was to bite his tongue. He had to trust Ty. He would meet him later this afternoon at a rendezvous point in Hampstead Heath. The question was: would he show?
Cars flew by on the street outside and he tapped on the black door. A dog scratched at the door, howling and barking inside, and Brock stepped back. Moments later he tapped again, then it opened. Standing in the doorway was a man with a blue shirt thrown over him and a ponytail swinging to the left.
“Sedgwick?”
The German Shepherd sprang towards Brock, licking his hand, but Sedgwick’s eyes bulged and a blank look appeared on his ghost-white face. He was terrified.
“C-can I help you?” Sedgwick stuttered.
The dog bashed Brock’s thigh with his head and he reached his hand out, stroking his head. “It’s me.”
Sedgwick’s lips parted and he furrowed his brow.
“Look, I’m in a spot of trouble. Ty sent me and mentioned you might be able to help or point me in the right direction.”
“Oh, it’s you, Brock. Come in.”
He led him through a bare white hallway, stepping onto a thin cream carpet that had seen better days. The dog scarped into the living room and they followed into the most bare and boring room Brock had ever seen. The dog jumped upon Brock’s chest, knocking him back slightly, and Sedgwick grabbed his collar, pulling him away.
“I was trying to place you at the heath that morning. Drink?”
Brock nodded, noticing the light from the bare bulb in the ceiling, as though it wasn’t light enough outside. He perched himself on the grey settee, pushing the rucksack into the chair.
“Were you expecting me?” he asked.
“Not really. Ty kind of filled me in on your difficult situation. Sorry about just now but you looked so official, I don’t know why you threw me.”
Sedgwick disappeared into the kitchen and the dog jumped up to follow him. There was a click of the kettle and some banging noises.
“Coffee or something stronger?”
“Coffee’s fine—and no sugar.”
Presently, Sedgwick appeared between the door holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Brock hoped it would be strong.
“I’m sorry to hear about your situation, especially after the things we’ve all gone through. I’m unsure how I can help, though.”
“Filling in the blanks would help. I’m desperate to get information. Ty mentioned you pulled something up at a library.”
“He’s lying. Does it to wind everyone up.”
Brock stared at him and took a sip of his coffee, staring at him. Sedgwick gazed at the floor and the dog jumped up and meandered into a corner, where it collapsed.
“I know a woman,” Sedgwick said suddenly. “She might know something about the attack, but you should be careful with her. Normally I keep my distance as her husband works for the government. But on this occasion her bloody dog attacked mine and we ended up getting into some silly conversation and your attack came up. Something frightened her, something big I reckon, judging by her shaking hands. She knows more than she’s letting on, I’m sure of that.”
“Where can I find this, err, woman?”
Sedgwick pulled himself up and strode back into the kitchen, the dog bouncing up and racing behind. Pans rattled and cupboard doors slammed. There was a rustling of plastic and another cupboard door slammed shut, then Sedgwick appeared in the doorway again, holding a plate of biscuits.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
“So, this woman …”
“Yes, very posh.”
Sedgwick fell into the grey armchair again and the dog trotted over to Brock, wagging his tail, most likely begging for biscuits. Sedgwick shot him a glance.
“Because we’re buddies from the hellhole and you’re obviously in some serious kind of trouble, and you’ve helped me out …”
“Helped you out? What did I do?” said Brock.
“This very well-to-do woman lives in a fancy Edwardian house, opposite the ponds on the heath. But it’s pretty well guarded. Like I said, her husband is in with the government crowd and you’d be crazy to go there. My advice—you should keep away. But if you’ve got the balls to knock on her door, I have the balls to drive you there.”
Brock’s eyes widened and he nodded.
Sedgwick led him into a cluttered kitchen and through a white door into a spacious, kitted-out garage. Sitting right in the middle was a polished black jeep. Exactly like the one Sighrus owned. Brock shot Sedgwick a glance as he dug into his pocket, pulling out a bunch of keys and unlocking the car.
“Drive me past the house and drop me off at the top of the street,” Brock said as he climbed in. “You know about the attack, don’t you?”
“Like I said, that morning on the heath I saw and know nothing. This woman, Lady Ranskill, walked her dog that morning and may have seen all the commotion. Sometimes I bump into her. She’s a nice lady but take my advice—be careful and don’t mention me.”
“Hampstead is quite far, why do you—”
“It’s the dog, loves it there. He doesn’t get on much with Epping Forest.”
Sedgwick turned the keys in the ignition.
“Really, and the dog …”
“Course he knows! All his dog friends are at Hampstead Heath.”
Brock was unconvinced at Sedgwick’s half-hearted story. Something wasn’t right. “You’re not going to open the garage door?”
Sedgwick reached his hand around the wheel to the keys, pressing a button on the fob. “It’s automatic.”
Brock tilted his head forward, hiding his face under the blue cap he had stuck on, as Sedgwick drove them in front of a row of elite mansion houses overlooking the heath. Sedgwick inclined his head at an Edwardian mansion house. As they veered around a corner, Brock yanked at the door, grabbing his rucksack and nodding at Sedgwick as though he were on some secret mission. He jumped out, the car door swung shut in mid-drive, the turbulence sending him slightly off balance, and Sedgwick’s car scrambled up the road into the distance out of sight.
Digging his hand into rucksack, Brock checked for his pistol before walking across the heath towards the Edwardian mansion. Brown leaves cascaded onto the heath’s grassland and the sun glistened out from the ponds. Ducks quacked and people walked along minding their own business. His trainers crunched through the grassy surface as he admired the elegant Edwardian architecture of the house. Now he had to hatch a plan to get in without been seen.
Standing in the heath and overshadowed by trees, he kept a watchful eye on two grey Nissans parked either side of the house. He hustled towards one of the other mansions and he stepped onto their driveway, making his way around the big building and clambering over a tall fence into Lady Ranskill’s residence. He hid behind some tall shrubs in the immaculate garden, monitoring for any unusual activity.
A tall woman wandered around the large kitchen. To the side, Brock clocked an open window. Wandering across her perfectly cut lawn, he took a deep breath and reached into his rucksack, pulling out the pistol. He fiddled with the window, quietly pulling himself and into a hallway and onto the polished wooden floor inside. Lady Ranskill stood directly in front of him wearing a glamorous red evening gown and slippers to match, a slinky green scarf wrapped around her neck. He imagined she was going out to dinner sometime soon, some posh dinner party or ball. Aiming the pistol at her head, he stared at her.
“You must be Mr Steele. I’ve been expecting you. Nice to finally be acquainted. Please come in,” said Lady Ranskill.
He gave her an incredulous stare and she gave him a slight smile—a nervous one. She gestured for him to follow and led him through a Hessian wallpaper-decorated hallway into an extremely large drawing-room. Polished wooden antique furniture glistened from the brass chandeliers above and there were several expensive-looking paintings fixed neatly and hanging perfectly level on the wall. Medals, awards and other monstrosities were placed on the polished antique oak sideboard.
“May I ask how you know my name?” he asked.
“Please let me get some of my strong coffee and delightful cakes from the fridge first.”
“Save your delightful cakes and coffee. I’ve already eaten. What I want to know is what happened. Quite clearly, you have knowledge who I am.”
“Patience, Brock. Please let me do my ritual. I always insist on the best coffee and nibbles for all my special visitors. Anyway, look on the bright side—that ghastly friend of yours won’t be back for at least an hour or so,” said Lady Ranskill.
Brock struggled to hold back a cough. “Ty visited you?” he asked.
“Ty . . . that’s what they call the little toe-rag. He most certainly has not visited me. I’ve come across him before, a member of some remorseless brotherhood. I’ve a long memory. Please, I insist on coffee first. I’m parched and this Costa Rican blend of coffee is gorgeous. How those Costa Ricans get this unique delicious taste I’ll never know. It’s like music to the palate. And I’m a very fussy woman.”
Brock pulled up the pistol, aiming towards her chest and edging towards her.
“Doubt it would do you any good, Brock. Anyway, relax. I’m not your enemy.”
“What do you know about the brotherhood?”
“Some ghastly secret organisation. Quite a few years ago those thugs caused a lot of trouble, not to mention damage. Some of the vermin got locked up, some did not. Come to the kitchen with me.”
She led him back through the hallway into a polished marble black-and-white kitchen. Lady Ranskill clicked the coffee maker on and dived into a large black fridge freezer, pulling out some cakes. She placed the brightly coloured treats neatly on a crystal plate and put them in front of Brock. The aroma of the coffee forced itself from the machine and filled the air. She poured coffee into white shiny cups.
Brock perches himself on one of the kitchen stools, pointing the pistol directly at her temple. Something didn’t seem right. She smiled at him and he sensed an aura glowing from her.
“Please, help yourself,. I would have baked some of my delightful scones, but my husband is on a reconnaissance mission in Eastern Europe of all places and I had to pop out.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“Government business.”
“Tell me what happened to me.”
“I was taking my dog for a walk and as I arrived at the scene you were being whisked away by ambulance.”
“Who is Sighrus?”
She maintained her composure, smiling brightly, standing upright, perfectly still. “Not sure. I thought he saw me but I couldn’t be sure, so I picked up my dog and went in the opposite direction.”
Brock pulled up his pistol, aiming directly at her temple, staring into her eyes.
“Answer my question or I will shoot.”
“No, you won’t, Mr Steele, and trust me, you don’t scare me in the slightest. You’re taking an awful risk coming here. Kill me and you’re finished, well and truly.”
Brock was taken back at how relaxed she appeared with a gun pointed in her face. He lowered the gun and grabbed a piece of chocolate cake. She pulled up a stool next to him and perched on it, sipping her coffee.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Brock said. “I’m here for answers. Either tell me what’s going on or I’ll pull the trigger. I’m not bothered.”
“You’re a charming man, Brock, I must say, but I don’t know the answer to what you’re asking. But I could desperately do with your help.”
She glanced towards the floor and he lowered the pistol.
“I don’t understand, Lady Ranskill. I—”
“Oh, call me Jeanette, Lady Ranskill gets boring after a while, and I know you don’t understand, but I do and I need your help. I’m desperate.”
She let out a deep breath, twiddling her mug in her hands.
“You’ve confused me. Something to do with the attack perhaps? Not sure how I can help you, I’m on the run and not exactly in a good position myself. How can I trust you?”
“Oh, Brock, you are such a darling. We could help each other.”
A car door slammed outside and Brock jumped up, running into the front room to look through the window. Lady Ranskill shouted to him from the kitchen.
“Relax, Brock, you are perfectly safe. It’s unlikely they know you’re here, otherwise they’d have come in by now.”
Brock stepped back into the kitchen. “You know something, don’t you?”
“We cannot talk here. I’m about to be collected and they’ll see you. Lie low for a couple of days and I’ll be in touch.”
“Be in touch? To tell me about the attack?”
“Please take my number. On second thoughts, don’t call me. Oh, take the damn number—it’s written on the phone in the hallway. Call me in a couple of days, but make out you’re the window cleaner or something.”
The doorbell rang and Lady Ranskill jumped up.
“It’s them, Brock. You need to leave the same way you broke in. Remember, I’m counting on you.”
Chapter 17
Tiny birds sang in the peaceful woodland of the heath as Brock waded through fallen branches and overgrown brambles to the other side. He was contemplating whether he had done the right thing leaving Sarah. Wandering aimlessly, he stepped over a newly fallen tree and fought his way through brambles. A red Renault was parked opposite in a grassy lay-by, Ty slumped in the driver’s seat. Stumbling towards it, Brock pulled open the passenger door, startling Ty, and jumped in.
“Sedgy’s got in touch,” Ty said. “He’s done some digging. A guy in Edinburgh is asking after you, urgently apparently. Reckons he has some important information and your life could depend on it. I’ve arranged to meet near the castle. I told him we’d drive there tonight.”
Brock slumped down into the passenger seat. Ty reached his hand under the steering column, yanking two wires down and forging them, turning the engine over. He pulled at the handbrake, stamping at the accelerator so hard the Renault skidded out of the lay-by into the road.
“You nicked it, didn’t you?” said Brock, glancing around at the new interior.
“This guy’s panicking big time, something about fleeing London. I know it’s a bit of a trek. But he can’t make it until 1 a.m.”
Ty snatched at the wheel, whizzing it firmly right, steering it into another road.
“Why did he contact Sedgwick? And slow down.”
Ty shrugged. His eyes popped out at an oncoming white van. He slammed on the brakes, jerking Brock into the dashboard. As he was thrown back into the seat, he grappled at the seatbelt, clicking it into place. Ty screamed obscenities at the van driver, complete with inappropriate hand signals, before hitting the accelerator and speeding forward into the road ahead.
Ty raced the newly nicked red Renault hard into the motorway’s slip road, ready to join the fast oncoming traffic. His driving so far had been brash, to say the least: nearly two near misses coming out of London, and Brock had lost count at the number of red lights Ty had driven through. His habitual slamming of the brakes at every junction made Brock’s stomach churn. He repeatedly considered taking control of the car, but he couldn’t be bothered; he was exhausted and his leg was playing up again.