Brick

by Conrad Jones

  Liam climbed faster. His foot slipped and kicked a fluorescent light and the bulb exploded, showering those below with tiny shards of glass. The light fitting broke loose and swung like a pendulum from its chain, threatening to drop at any minute. The men below scrambled for cover as its fastening snapped. It dropped, clattering to the floor with a deafening crash. A chorus of expletives echoed through the unit, spurring Liam to climb faster towards the skylight. He shimmied up the girder, his progress slow and painful. As he neared, he realised that the skylight was open. He followed the winding mechanism with his eyes. It could be opened and closed from below with a winding system and he knew someone would realise where he was going and run for the handle, closing the skylight and trapping him. As his eyes followed the winder across the roof and down the wall, he saw one of the men running towards the handle. His heart was in his mouth as he scrambled upwards. Liam reached up and grabbed at another girder but his blood had made his fingers slippery. He couldn’t find purchase and slid backwards a few yards, his back slamming into a metal stanchion. Without daring to look down he tried again. He jumped, reached out and gripped the edge of the skylight; his legs dangled and kicked in thin air. Swinging upwards, the muscles in his shoulders felt as if they would snap. He grunted and gave one massive effort, pulling himself through; within seconds he was crouched on the roof with the breeze on his face. He slammed the skylight closed, sucked clean air into his lungs and sighed with relief. Blood was running freely from several nasty cuts, some deeper than others. He watched as droplets dripped onto the roof forming a sticky crimson puddle. It was at that moment that he thought about his brother. Ray was inside, handcuffed and hurt. His guts twisted with anguish and tears of frustration filled his eyes. How could he leave Ray behind?

  The options raced through his mind, stay and die or run and live to fight another day. Being a dead hero wouldn’t save Ray. He had to run, hide and recover his composure. If he could summon help, he may be able to mount some kind of rescue attempt although it was a stretch. His last resort was the police. He couldn’t leave Ray in the hands of the Karpov family. With his mind made up, Liam began to run along the apex of the roof. The chop-shop was part of an estate of long low buildings and moving across the roof, Liam put some distance between himself and his pursuers, who had to go around. Thankfully no one followed him across the rooftops and he kept on running up and over each one until his muscles burned. Only when he felt that his lungs would burst did he slow down.

  He peered over the edge and checked the roads on both sides of the building. Two dark people carriers were careering around the narrow lanes that threaded through the industrial estate. Their progress was slow and pained as they couldn’t see the roofs. Liam doubled back and positioned himself at the rear of the industrial estate. He had to drop down as far away from them as he could. Sliding down the roof, he peered left and right. The Manchester Ship Canal ran behind the buildings and in the distance he could see the River Mersey winding through the marshes beyond. He could hear voices and vehicles driving at speed, squealing tyres and slamming doors but they were on the opposite side of the block to him. Liam knew that it wouldn’t take them long to circumnavigate the buildings and reach his side. Dangling his feet over the edge of the roof, he grabbed at the guttering and began to slide down a drainpipe. The blood on his hands made his grip slippery and he lost his hold halfway down, falling ten feet onto the concrete with a sickening thump. He felt his ankle twist in a direction that it should never go and his right elbow was grazed and bruised, swelling quickly and making it throb.

  Liam stood, listened intently and limped painfully towards the canal. Brightly painted barges lined both banks, their flower boxes empty and windows shuttered for the winter. He reached the edge and sat down on the towpath, icy water flooding his boots and numbing his legs. As the first vehicle turned the corner, he slipped down into the freezing brown water. The temperature took the air from his lungs, his breaths rapid and shallow. He heard the vehicles approaching as he slipped beneath the surface and let himself sink beneath the barges.

  13

  When Braddick arrived at the hospital the sun’s watery rays were fading fast. He hated the short days and long dark nights that accompanied winter. Concerning messages about the death of Anthony Farrell had filtered through, muddying the waters and making his decisions far more difficult. Nothing was ever black and white, except death. Death had clarity. Clarity was something that he craved.

  Braddick parked his car at the rear of the new hospital buildings, turned the engine off and climbed out. Remnants of sunlight glinted from the coloured glass roof of the Catholic Cathedral. The wind was turning icy and he reached inside the glove box and slipped his hands into a pair of fingerless mitts. He locked the door and looked up at the hospital, searching for the broken window. Spotting it, he mentally worked out where the missile was thrown from and how much force a man would need to launch an object that far. He decided that the culprit either was, or should be an Olympian. A uniformed officer was positioned at the rear entrance as a deterrent to any further revenge attacks. It was a deterrent that Braddick knew would stop no one determined enough to reach a target inside. As organised crime families became stronger and more powerful, the thin blue line had never been thinner or more vulnerable to corruption. He flashed his ID and nodded hello. The uniformed officer seemed disinterested but polite. It was nearing shift changeover and Braddick didn’t blame him for not wanting to be stood in a car park guarding a door.

  ‘What did you do at work today, darling?’

  ‘I guarded a door and then filled out a report about guarding it.’

  ‘That’s nice, darling how interesting.’ Braddick imagined as he took a quick look around the parked vehicles but he couldn’t see anything untoward. The Farrells were out there somewhere, watching and waiting. It was just a matter of time. The wreath and the brick were warnings, portents of what was to come. The Evans family were in imminent danger and Braddick wasn’t sure what they could do about it.

  A wide staircase that smelled of antiseptic and floor polish took him up to the first floor. Half a dozen staff were going about their business despite the uniformed police presence, nurses walking at a hundred miles an hour fetching medicine, carrying bedpans and assuring the wellbeing of all under their care. Braddick reckoned it would take more than a brick through a window to ruffle their feathers. As he reached the reception desk, the uniformed sergeant in charge spotted him.

  “DI Braddick?”

  “Sergeant,” Braddick extended his hand. The sergeant was in his twilight years, greying hair and beard. He had the dimpled red nose of a whisky drinker. “How’s the patient?”

  “He’s battered fairly badly, broken nose and cheekbone,” the sergeant gestured towards the room where Bryn had been moved to, “he’s in shock. I don’t think he knows what’s going on to be honest. His family are with him. You’re aware of what’s been happening?”

  “Yes,” Braddick nodded. “I need a few minutes with him, nothing formal, I just need to get a feel for what happened.”

  “I can’t see them having a problem with that.”

  “Are they keeping him in?”

  “I believe so. The cheekbone fracture may need an operation.”

  “What’s been said so far?” Braddick asked.

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know, what are your first impressions of the family?”

  “He seems like a decent kid, Guv. The family are ordinary, polite, no criminal record. I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” The sergeant rolled his eyes and leaned closer. “This is the Farrells after all, Guv. No one will shed a tear about that arsehole dying.”

  “His father might, sergeant,” Braddick said coldly.

  “Of course,” he stuttered a little. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Guv.”

  “Just be careful where you express your opinions. The press will be all over this when the story breaks and the last thing we nee
d is a comment like that in the papers,” Braddick lowered his voice, the sergeant nodded embarrassed. “What are the family’s names?”

  “Father is Robert, mother Barbara and his brother is Mark.”

  “Okay,” Braddick said thoughtfully as he watched two women talking in hushed tones further along the corridor. “Let’s go and have a chat with him. Are they from Social Services?”

  “Yes, Guv.”

  “I need a quick word with them before we go in,” Braddick walked towards them. “Excuse me,” he said as he approached. Both women stopped talking their mouths still a little bit ajar as they appraised him for the first time. “Marcus Braddick, I’m the DI looking after the Bryn Evans case.”

  “Sharon Bower, I’m the case worker on this one,” she blushed as they shook hands. Her business suit gave her the look of professionalism. “This is my colleague, Tina Holden.” Tina grinned like a teenager with a crush. “I’m glad you’ve arrived, inspector. How do you think this will play out?”

  “From what I’ve heard so far, he’s from a good family with no record.”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed. “This appears to be completely out of character.”

  “The CPS will make the final decision but I think he’s looking at manslaughter at the very worst. There’s no mens rea or premeditated intent and if his brief is any good he’ll get him off on a self defence plea. Between now and then we have to go through the motions.”

  “Excellent,” she jotted down some notes. “What is the next step?”

  “We can recommend he goes to HMP Altcourse once the doctors are finished. There’s a vulnerable prisoner unit there for teenagers.”

  “The Reynoldstown Unit?”

  “Yes,” Braddick said impressed by her knowledge. “You’ve dealt with them before?”

  “Often, unfortunately. He should be safe enough there,” she said writing it down. She looked up through her steel rimmed glasses. “What about the family?”

  “We can put their address and phone numbers into the system and put an urgent response marker on them,” he said knowing that it sounded inadequate. “If anything happens we can get someone there in minutes. I can’t do anything more for them.”

  “Oh well, it’s better than nothing,” she sighed. “Thanks.”

  “Nice talking to you, I need to get on.” Braddick smiled and turned away before she could ask him any more questions. She wanted a cast iron plan that would protect all involved in the case and he didn’t have one. Nobody did.

  “Okay, thanks, detective,” she called after him, “we’ll be here until he’s moved.”

  “Good,” Braddick said over his shoulder. “This kid is going to need looking after.” The sergeant led the way to the room and knocked before opening the door. Inside, the Evans family stared at Braddick, nervous and frightened. “Mr and Mrs Evans,” he half smiled at the parents. His first sighting of Bryn and his facial injuries told him a lot of what he needed to know. “I’m Detective Inspector Braddick,” he said removing his gloves, slipping them into his pockets. He undid the leather jacket and walked to the end of the bed. “You must be Bryn.” Bryn nodded almost imperceptibly, glancing at his brother for help. Mark winked at him for reassurance. “How are you feeling?” Bryn shrugged. His shoulders seemed to sag, making him look smaller and more vulnerable. Braddick didn’t think this kid would last more than a few seconds against a thug like Anthony Farrell. “I know this is frightening for you but I’m not here to drag you to jail.” He nodded to his parents to help put them at ease. He could tell from their faces that it would take more than that to settle them. “I need to talk to you to see if what our witnesses have told us is true.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Mark asked. He didn’t want to come across as overprotective but his nerves got the better of him. “Why would they lie?”

  “You’re Mark aren’t you?” Braddick looked Mark in the eye. He looked like a fighter, something about his physique, his nose and something else in his eyes. “You do a bit of boxing?”

  “Yes,” Mark replied.

  “Are you any good?”

  “He’s turning pro soon,” Bryn spoke for the first time.

  “Wow,” Braddick said genuinely impressed. “Good for you,” he smiled. Mark stood to shake his hand. Braddick returned his handshake and met his gaze. “Mark, you meet a lot more people who don’t want to fight than who do want to, right?”

  “Yes. Most of the lads at the gym just want to keep fit. They don’t want to fight for real. ”

  “The majority of people are frightened by conflict.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll understand me when I tell you that eyewitnesses are unreliable at the best of times but when someone like Anthony Farrell is killed then they can say one thing today and tomorrow they can’t remember their names,” Braddick said with a narrow smile. “Most people avoid physical confrontation because it frightens them. You know what I’m talking about.” Mark nodded that he understood and sat down. Braddick wanted five minutes with the kid alone but it was more than his job was worth. Social Services would crucify him just for talking to him without a responsible adult present, no matter what they talked about. He had to get something straight in his mind before he spoke to Big Paulie. “I know the sequence of how things happened but I need to understand why Anthony Farrell attacked you, okay?”

  “I don’t know why,” Bryn said quietly. “I argued with the fat man outside his house and the next thing the other guy was chasing me.”

  “I’ve heard that bit but it doesn’t make sense to me, Bryn.”

  “That’s what happened.”

  “I know, but why did he attack you?” Bryn looked confused. “Why didn’t he attack one of the other people in the park?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Farrell wouldn’t just attack someone randomly. He had too much to lose.”

  “What are you getting at,” Robert Evans asked. A sheen of sweat covered his face.

  “Let me explain, Mr Evans. The big man who you argued with,” Braddick walked around the side of the bed. “He runs a business from his house. Not the kind of business that you would want to draw attention to.” He looked at the family one at a time. “It’s a very lucrative business but it’s also a business that could get you locked up for ten years. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “So I don’t understand why they would jeopardise their business by attacking you.” The Evans family looked at each other, faces blank and minds numbed by events. “Why would they do that, Bryn?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. His eyes became watery once more. “I’ve been thinking that it could be mistaken identity.”

  “Could be, I suppose or did you owe them money?” Braddick pushed.

  “What for?” Bryn asked innocently.

  “He’s asking you if you ever bought drugs from them,” Mark intervened.

  “You cheeky bugger,” Barbara snapped. “My boys don’t take drugs and you’re out of order insinuating that.” She stood up but her knees buckled and she had to sit down again clutching her hands to her chest. “What a nerve,” she wheezed.

  “Are you alright, luv?” Robert leaned over and touched her hand. “Don’t get yourself worked up now. Do you want a glass of water?”

  “I’ll need something stronger than that if he keeps asking stupid questions,” she said between breaths. “What a bloody bare faced cheek.”

  “I know you have to ask,” Mark stepped in, “but my brother and I train at Kelly’s gym every day except Sundays. He’s never taken so much as an asprin never mind drugs.” He paused and shook his head, pointing to Bryn. “I don’t know why this guy Farrell attacked my brother but he doesn’t owe anyone any money for drugs. Test him if you don’t believe me.”

  “Yes, test me,” Bryn shrugged. “I’ve never taken anything.”

  “Testing my son for drugs,” Barbara said shaking her head. “Cheeky bugger.” Her face flushed red and
beads of sweat trickled from her temples. Robert handed her a glass of water. And she sipped it.

  “Okay, I believe you,” Braddick nodded. Bryn looked surprised, as did Mark. His parents looked relieved but confused. “Something made Farrell attack you and I think the blame lies elsewhere.” He looked at Mark. “Can I have a word with you outside, please?” Mark stood up and looked at his parents. His father was holding the glass to his mother’s lips, her face darkening to purple at the ears. “We’ll speak again once the doctors give us the all clear to do so,” Braddick said to Bryn. “I’m sorry for the upset Mr and Mrs Evans but a man has been killed and I have a job to do.”

  The parents looked up at him. Robert nodded and Barbara, still clutching her chest tutted, “He’s a cheeky bastard!”

  “Barbara!” Robert said looking shocked by her language. “The detective is doing his job. What will happen to Bryn now?”

  Braddick sighed. “He was arrested on suspicion of murder but once he is released from here, he’ll probably be charged with manslaughter and remanded to HMP Altcourse.” Mrs Evans looked like she was about to vomit. “There’s a vulnerable prisoner unit there designed specifically for teenagers like Bryn. He’ll be safe there until this is all worked out.”

  “Worked out how?” Mr Evans asked quietly.

  “I think there’s a very good case for a self-defence plea. The CPS could well look at the evidence and decide not to prosecute at all but that will be down to your solicitor to prove.” He paused. “I know of Jacob Graff and he’s very good at his job. I think you’ll be fine once they fix his nose.”