Brock Steele Sphere Page 9

  “Were the staff here dangerous people?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I kind of looked up to you. You were decent, Brock. We stuck together.”

  Brock lay back into his jacket. Learning about his past was fast becoming fascinating, but at the same time leading into a bad nightmare. Absolutely nothing came to mind, and as Ty waffled on, one thing became certain: they were mates alright, Brock just couldn’t remember.

  “So, tell me why you ended up here, as a kid,” he said,

  “Big family break-up. Mother fled Ireland when I was a small kid. County Tyrone, would you believe, where my mum was born and bred and all my family. Dad named me after the county. He was thick. He was originally from Belfast, a Northern Irelander. I’m not entirely sure what happened, but he was on the run from the police. Always had some sort of trouble on the go one way or another. In and out of the nick doing this and that.

  “One night he hit the whisky bottle and beat my mum to a pulp. He went too far and she got on the first plane to London. We moved into my aunt’s flat in East London, somewhere around the corner, but she’s moved on now. But my mum was in a state after that. She hit the bottle too and soon after the social services snatched me and placed me into care.

  “That’s when I ended up here in this hellhole. I didn’t remember too much about it, but I bumped into the manky old biddy and she was trying to chat me up. It wasn’t until I blurted out my name that she got digging. Apparently my dad was a wanted man. He was with the IRA and security services were on his trail for ages, snatching him from this remote farmhouse he was squatting in outside Dublin. She showed me a newspaper clipping.”

  “Sorry, didn’t realise it was so bad. Do you know where he is now? He’s probably out now.”

  “Dead. The coward committed suicide five years ago on the inside. Still, it could be worse. Our friend Sedgy has an even more sinister story.”

  “I’ve given up on my parents now,” Brock said. “Did I ever mention anything about them as a lad?”

  “Wish I knew.”

  “What? You said we were all mates. Surely I would have said something.”

  “You wouldn’t utter a damn word about them, to anyone. You’d get agitated and refuse to talk about ’em. Sedgy once pulled up some shit on your dad from a library somewhere in central London. I refused to get involved in case it ruined our friendship. You were all I had. One night they even got you drunk out of your head hoping you would spill the beans. You never.”

  “Odd. Did you ever find out what the shit was?”

  Ty shook his head.

  “In the early hours of this morning, I met a guy with a ponytail walking his Alsatian dog, said his name was Sedgwick and he had a similar tattoo. Could that be him?”

  “Doubt it’s our Sedgy out this far. Anyway, he lives in a five-bedroomed house in East London. A place called Leytonstone up the road from here. Unlikely he’d go all the way to Hampstead when Epping Forest is on his doorstep.”

  “Is he trustworthy? I mean, can Sedgy be trusted?”

  Ty shot a glance at Brock. “Trusted for what?”

  “I’m inquisitive. If he knows something about my parents, I’d like to pay him a visit.”

  “I’d be careful. Doubt he grasses people up, he’s probably got issues himself. But his house cost him a few quid and I doubt he acquired that on the straight and narrow. Knowing him, he could be in it up to his neck. If I were you, I’d keep away.”

  Brock lay back, staring at the old plasterboard and rotten joists above, reminiscing about the old times—but he didn’t get far. His mind was completely blank, and only the fragments Ty had poured into it. Questions filled his mind.

  What the hell were these friends harbouring? Had they done something? Was this all part of an elaborate scam? Had he upset the wrong people?

  He sat up, breaking the silence. “Come to think of it, the rain was pelting down all morning. I doubt someone from East London would have attempted a dog walk in Hampstead Heath. Probably someone else.”

  Ty laid his jacket across the floor, rolling his jumper up like a pillow.

  “Oh, just one thing, I’d like to pop to Sarah’s house again tomorrow, check she is OK. Would you mind coming with me?”

  “I forgot about your bird. I’m game,” said Ty.

  “I’m worried about her, and attempting to travel into central London with the police chasing after me could be risky. I could do with an extra set of eyes. I don’t think she slept in her bed last night, and I’m desperate to know she’s OK.”

  “You broke in?”

  “You’re damn right I did, and ate some of her food too,” laughed Brock.

  Both sprawled across the floor on their jackets, giggling, and Brock closed his eyes. A shooting pain shot through his leg, but he was so tired he couldn’t even make the effort to rub it. He was tempted to nudge Ty to go to the shop for painkillers but instead ignored the pain.

  Loud screeching noises echoed outside and through the building, followed by an orchestra of slamming doors. Adrenaline coursed through Brock’s body, and he jumped up, dashing to the boarded window. Rain splashed outside, and three lit-up vehicles were parked across the pavement in front of the building. Ty stepped towards Brock, glancing over his shoulder at the cars outside.

  “Grab all your stuff and keep your voice down, we need to find somewhere to hide,” said Brock.

  Ty grabbed at his jacket, stuffing it into his makeshift bag, and Brock tossed the empty crisp packets in his rucksack. A loud smash downstairs shook the building, and a second smash. He glanced towards the attic and a cold sensation ran through his body. He and Ty scrambled across the old room through to the long bare corridor, sprinting to the other end. Ty pointed to a smashed wooden ladder, which appeared to lead off somewhere in the attic.

  “Fast as you can, they’re nearly in,” said Brock.

  Climbing the stairs like spiders, they reached the top, Brock yanking at the wooden ladders pulling them up. The door downstairs crashed to the floor and footsteps scattered throughout the building. Perching over the wooden joists, they remained silent, out of sight. Brock closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still in the darkness, their faces splashed with rain through the smashed roof above. Ty nudged Brock and he opened his eyes.

  “My phone, it’s on the mantelpiece above the fire. If they notice it …” Ty whispered.

  “Forget that, nothing we can do. Hopefully they are too thick.”

  Through the collapsed attic floor, Brock saw four guys in grey suits anxiously darting around. He made a mental note of the men. All young and one with white trainers. Unusual. An ugly one, one with thick black glasses, and a short one. He adjusted his foot on the wooden joist and dust fell below. Nobody appeared to notice, and Sighrus came into Brock’s view, smashing at the doors and wandering through the rooms. Agony shot through Brock’s leg, and the men below started shouting to each other.

  “We’ve searched the building, sir. There is no sign of them anywhere,” said the man with thick black glasses.

  “Where the hell have they disappeared to?” shouted Sighrus, slamming his fist into the wall.

  Shouts echoed from the grey-suited man across the hall. “Sir, come here. He’s been crashing here and left his shirt. And there is blood on it!” said the short man.

  “Fantastic. The man’s injured. A waster like him will probably turn himself in now. I always knew he wouldn’t be a problem,” said Sighrus.

  Brock moved along the joist, peering through the damaged ceiling at the short man in a grey suit who was slipping disposable gloves on and poking at his bloodied shirt.

  “I’d say this is fresh blood, sir. Recently,” he said

  A fresh pain shot through Brock’s trembling, leg and he grabbed at it with his hand, steadying it. His whole body was weary and he was doing a balancing act on the joist, which fe
lt like it was about to give way at any moment. He grabbed on to a pipe as he struggled for balance, envisaging himself falling at any moment, longing for them to leave. Ty appeared to have the same problem, wobbling and grabbing onto a joist for his life.

  Brock noticed the man with white trainers hovering below him. The man stepped forward, the boards creaked, gave way, and he smashed straight through, screaming. Brock shot a smile at Ty and they high-fived. The ugly one jumped down the stairs after him, but the remaining man lifted his head towards the attic, gazing into it.

  Both crouched down. Brock’s pulse raced. A car alarm echoed outside.

  “Go see what that is,” shouted Sighrus.

  Chapter 15

  The sun shone into Brock’s face through the gaps in the roof. They had hidden themselves in a secure corner of the attic all night in case Sighrus and his men returned. Brock sat up, rubbing his eyes, and nudged Ty. “What time is it?”

  Ty opened his eyes, pulling out his arm and glancing at his watch. “It’s early, 8.30 a.m. What was that all about last night? It was a close one.”

  “I didn’t want to scare you last night.” Brock paused and took a deep breath. “You remember the tall man?”

  Ty nodded.

  “That animal let off a round of bullets towards me in the hospital recently and did the same yesterday in the gym. He killed a girl called Lacy.”

  Ty’s eyes bulged.

  “He’s a psycho, dangerous.”

  Ty shook his head. “Surely not. These people are official, you know, the law. We heard them over the radio last night. What could you have you done?”

  Brock pushed his back towards the wall, moving his face out of the sunlight.

  “Look, Brock, whatever shit you’re in, I’m already in it up to the neck. Don’t know whether I want to risk getting involved in this one.”

  “What, old times, brotherhood and all that, you’re just going to do one on me?”

  Ty pulled himself up, grabbing one of the wooden ceiling joists for support. Brock buttoned up his jacket, slipped his baseball cap over his head, and took his backpack. He climbed across the dusty joists, lowering himself into the room below. Ty shouted down at him.

  “Wait!”

  Sunlight beamed in through the cracks, warming Brock’s face. The ashes of last night’s fire still smoked. All was quiet apart from car engines sounding up and down the street outside. Ty jumped out from the ceiling.

  “Where you off to?”

  “Like I said last night, need to get across town, got to check up on Sarah.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Brock patted Ty on the shoulder, pulling his face into a smile. “Thanks, I thought you were going to do one on me.”

  “Nah, thought about it in the attic just now. You were talking in your sleep last night about this old woman—probably that bitch here—and figured we should stick together. Still trying to work out what the box is though. Here wasn’t referred to as a box, always the hellhole. New name, I suppose: The Box. Or maybe not.”

  “What did I say?”

  “It was about 3 a.m. and you started banging on about this old woman screaming at you to get out of this stupid box. Only for an hour or so and you nodded off.”

  Brock shrugged.

  Apple pie wafted through the open window of the small apartment. Both stood at the top of the stairs above the pottery shop, directly in front of a damaged blue glossy door—the one Brock had kicked in yesterday. He rolled his hand into a fist, giving a firm knock at the door and then glancing in the window.

  “This window wasn’t open last night,” he said.

  He tapped on the door again, waiting momentarily before smashing his shoulder into the door. It didn’t take much—he had done the hard work last night. They stepped inside into the kitchen, observing a freshly made apple pie on the clean worktop next to the cooker. Cast-iron pans were neatly hung across the wall and a dirty mug sat in the stainless-steel sink. Brock peered his head around the door into the magnolia-decorated hallway.

  “Sarah, are you home?”

  There was complete silence throughout the apartment as Brock stepped towards a cupboard in the kitchen. Grappling at the tiny handle, he flung the door wide open. Sarah, wearing a beautiful blue dress, was crouching in amongst cans of food and other crockery. Her face was white.

  “What do you want?”

  “I came to see if you’re alright…I’m worried.”

  She screamed, and he stepped inside the small cupboard, putting his hand around her mouth.

  “Should I check outside or something just in case?” asked Ty.

  “It’ll be fine. Bring her into the living room. She could be in some real danger now.”

  “You think?”

  Ty peered out of the window at the roads and the opera house opposite. Brock dragged Sarah through the hallway into the living room, throwing her on the sofa.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah? What have I done?”

  “What’s wrong? You’re on the run from the police and you’ve gone into hiding, that’s what’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t kill Lacy if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  “Why go into hiding? And how did you get my address?”

  “Above a pottery shop opposite the opera house, you told me, remember?”

  “I wish I hadn’t. Leave me alone and stay away from me!”

  Brock’s eyes widened as he struggled to take in what she was saying. Police sirens sounded in the distance, getting nearer.

  “I only popped by to see if you were OK. Truth is, you might be in some danger.”

  She pulled herself up from the sofa, letting out a scream, and he quickly cupped her mouth with his hand, pushing both of them onto the sofa. Tears started to run down her face.

  “We can leave if you like, but please don’t make this any harder than it is. I didn’t kill Lacy. I’m telling the truth.”

  She arched her body, biting at his hand and managing to struggle free.

  “Gunner said he watched you kill her,” Sarah shrieked.

  “What? The lying little rat. How can he say that? I didn’t kill her! A man called Sighrus did. I searched for you in the gym yesterday and he turned up with two other men. He fired right at me. Lacy jumped in front for some reason. I saw it with my own eyes. Gunner would have seen it too. He caught us all off guard and—”

  “Save it, Brock.”

  “Sarah, you have to believe me. Back at the hospital, the same man tried to put a round of bullets into me. Why do you think I jumped through the window of the fifth floor?”

  Ty’s mouth fell wide open as he listened. Sarah pushed herself further into the sofa, staring down at the rug.

  “Get out of my house or I am going to call the police.”

  Ty stepped over to the phone, neatly placed on a pine shelf, and ripped it completely out of the socket, throwing it to the floor where it smashed in two. “You’ll have a job.”

  “I presume this creature belongs to you? Who is he, your fugitive criminal friend? Wish I’d listened to Lacy now.”

  “Ty, what did you do that for? Sarah, I didn’t kill her. I promise.”

  Sarah launched herself from the sofa and sprinted towards the door. Ty snatched a paper-knife from a small table and jumped into her path, pointing it towards her.

  “Get back or I’ll slit your throat!”

  Brock’s eyes opened wide and he grabbed at Sarah’s dress, pulling her back.

  “Put that down,” shouted Brock, pushing Sarah back into the sofa. “If it makes you feel any better, I blame myself for her death. Someone slipped a mobile in my pocket and called me, desperately urging me to get out of the gym. This…someone…knew what was going on.”

  “Tell me one thing,” Sarah said. “If this man shot at you at the hospital and kille
d Lacy, why didn’t you go to the police? Surely it would get you off the hook?”

  “They are the police,” Ty said.

  “Truth is,” said Brock, “I cannot go to the police, not with this…thing…walking around. I’ll be killed.”

  “In other words, you’re all criminals,” said Sarah.

  “Let’s work it out before he clocks on about you and me, if he hasn’t already. I’d never forgive myself if that monster harmed you. And I swear I didn’t kill Lacy.”

  “How come she’s dead then? She was my friend,” sniffled Sarah. “We got into an argument before you killed her. The guilt is killing me. What’s going on, Brock?”

  “So, did you kill Lacy?” asked Ty.

  “No, I didn’t,” shouted Brock, jumping up. “Shut up and let me think.”

  Pausing, he let out a huge yawn in an attempt to relieve the stress constantly building up inside his head. Sarah rubbed her eyes, still weeping, and Brock picked up some tissues from a shelf, yanking one from the box and handing it to her. They were interrupted by a loud tapping coming from the front door, and Ty stepped into the hallway, returning momentarily.

  “It’s the police.”

  “That’s all we need.”

  “The door was ajar this morning. Neighbour next door called them last night after witnessing a guy smashing into this apartment. They’re here for a statement.”

  “Ignore them then.”

  “How long do you propose to keep me prisoner?” asked Sarah. She wriggled on the sofa like she was ready to pounce at any second. Someone tapped on the front door again and Ty murmured to himself, “Something tells me she is one of them.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Brock knows I work at the hospital.”

  “She works at the hospital,” said Brock. “And I said leave it.”

  “And that’s what she wants you to believe. Trust me, Brock, she is one of them. I can tell by looking at her. That would explain why she wasn’t there yesterday when the girl was killed. She probably knew about it, forewarned.”

  “Oh bingo, that would make sense, prick,” said Sarah “The actual reason for not attending class was because me and Lacy fell out. I lost my job at the hospital all through you, Brock.”