by Кевин Брукс
I looked at Gram.
She half-shrugged. "Sorry, Tommy ... they want to ask you some questions. You can say no, if you like."
I looked at Johnson. "Questions about what?"
Without asking, he sat down at the table. "So, Tom," he said over-casually, "how's the head? That's a nice- looking scar you've got there." He smiled, winking at me. "The girls are going to like that, you know."
"Yeah," I said. "They all love a guy who's had brain surgery, don't they?"
His smile faded, and for a moment he looked a little embarrassed. He sniffed and cleared his throat. "All right," he said. "Well, the reason we're here ..." He looked up at Gram. "Would you like to sit down, Ms Harvey?"
"Nice of you to ask," Gram said, "but I'm all right here, thanks." She looked at Webster, who was standing behind Johnson with an open notebook and a pencil in his hands. "Would you like to sit down?" she asked him.
"No," he mumbled, glancing at Johnson. "No ... I'm all right here, thanks."
Johnson frowned at Gram, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not, then — after a quick glance at DC Webster — he turned back to me. "So, as I was saying, the reason we're here ... well, basically, we'd just like to ask you a few more questions about your accident —"
"It wasn't an accident."
"No, I know ... well, actually, we don't know if it was an accident or not, but we're assuming it wasn't. We think the mobile phone that caused your injuries was probably thrown out of the window during the attack on Lucy and Ben Walker."
"Yeah," I said, it was."
"You saw it being thrown?"
I nodded. "I couldn't see who threw it, though. The sun was in my eyes. All I could see was someone at the window."
"Can you describe them?"
I shook my head. "They were too far away."
"Was it a man? A boy?"
"A boy, I think."
"Black or white?"
"I don't know."
"How old?"
"I couldn't tell."
"OK ... but you definitely saw a boy at the window, and you think he threw the phone at you?"
"Yeah."
"What time was this?"
"Ten to four."
Johnson raised his eyebrows. "That's very precise." I shrugged. "I remember looking at my watch just before it happened. It was ten to four."
He nodded. "Right. So you'd just left school?"
"Yeah."
"And where were you going?"
"Home."
"Right... you were coming here?"
"Yeah."
"OK." He glanced at Webster, who was busy writing down everything I was saying, then he looked back at me. "Were you aware at the time that an assault was taking place in a flat on the thirtieth floor?"
"No."
"You didn't find out until later?"
"That's right."
"Remind me again how you found out about the attack."
"It was when I was in the hospital," I told him, looking him in the eye. "I was in the toilets and someone had left an old copy of the Southwark Gazette behind. There was report about the attack in the paper."
Johnson nodded, looking at Webster. Webster flicked through his notebook, checked something, then nodded back at Johnson.
Johnson turned back to me.
I said to him, "Have you caught them yet?"
"Sorry?"
"The kids who raped Lucy — have you caught them?"
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I'm afraid we can't reveal any details of an ongoing investigation —"
"You haven't caught them."
He sighed. "We're doing our best, Tom. But with these kinds of cases ... well, it's difficult. You know what it's like around here. People won't talk to us. They're afraid." He looked at me. "You know Lucy Walker, don't you?"
I nodded. "We grew up together."
"I believe you've been visiting her recently. Is that right?"
"Who told you that?"
"How is she?" he asked, ignoring my question. "How's she holding up?"
I shrugged. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."
He looked at me. "Has she talked to you about what happened?"
I glanced at Gram, not sure what to say.
She turned to Johnson. "Whatever Lucy and Tommy have talked about, that's their business. Now, have you got any more questions? Because if you haven't —"
"I'll let you know when we're finished, Ms Harvey," Johnson said, turning away from her and looking at me. "I'd like to ask both of you about a series of incidents that have occurred in Crow Lane over the last week or so."
"Incidents?" Gram said. "What incidents?"
Johnson kept looking at me. "A number of the individuals that we suspect were either involved in or have information about the attack on Lucy and Ben have recently been subjected to varying degrees of assault."
I frowned at him. "Can you say that again, please? In English."
Johnson stared at me. "You heard me. Someone's been taking the law into their own hands. Do you know anything about that?"
"No," I said.
He looked at Gram. "Ms Harvey?"
She looked puzzled. "You mean someone's been attacking the boys you suspect of raping Lucy?"
"Well, it's not quite as simple as that... and because no one's talking to us, most of the information we have is sketchy to say the least. But we think that someone, probably someone local, might be targeting anyone who has connections with the local street gangs." He looked at me again. "So we think it's probably someone who has some kind of grudge against the gangs ... someone seeking revenge, perhaps."
I laughed quietly. "What? And you think that might be me or Gram?"
Johnson shrugged, "I'm just asking if you know anything, Tom. That's all. You're friends with Lucy ... maybe you know someone who might want to punish the people who hurt her. Can you think of anyone like that?"
I slowly shook my head. "No ... no one springs to mind. And, anyway, how would they know who did it? I mean, how would they know who to punish?"
Johnson shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe Lucy told them, or Ben ... or maybe they witnessed the attack themselves but are too afraid to tell us. Or perhaps they've just been listening to all the rumours going round the estate. Or maybe they don't know who did it, they're just assuming it was the Crows or the FGH —"
"This is all getting a bit ridiculous, isn't it?" sighed Gram.
Johnson looked at her. "You think so?"
"I do."
"Why's that, Ms Harvey?"
"Well, firstly ..." Gram held up a finger. "The gangs are always fighting each other. It's what gangs do — they beat each other up, stab each other, shoot each other. They've been doing it for hundreds of years, and they'll carry on doing it until they're all gone ... which won't ever happen. So I don't see why you suddenly seem to think that any of it means anything. I also don't understand why you're wasting your time looking for someone who's attacking the bad guys, when you still haven't found the bad guys yourself."
"Well ..." Johnson started to explain, "as I said before —"
"And secondly," Gram said, holding up another finger, "even if there is some kind of vigilante out there, which I very much doubt, I don't see what that's got to do with us." She stared at Johnson. "Do I look like I'm capable of terrorizing gangsters?"
Johnson shook his head. "I never said —"
"Do you think Tommy's capable? I mean, he's still recovering from a life-threatening operation, for God's sake. And even if he wasn't... well, look at him. He couldn't terrorize a fly." She smiled at me. "No offence, Tommy."
"None taken."
She turned back to Johnson. "So, unless you've got anything more relevant —"
"A number of youths were assaulted near Fitzroy House yesterday evening," he said sternly, turning to me. "Two of them are still in hospital, one in a critical condition. During the assault, a van was set on fire. We have a witness who saw you at the c
hildren's playground minutes before the attack. Do you deny being there?"
"No, I was there."
"Hold on, Tommy," Gram said. She turned to Johnson. "What's going on here? You can't just —"
"Yes, I can, Ms Harvey. Your grandson is a potential witness to a very serious assault that may end up as a murder case. I need to ask him some questions. All right?"
Gram looked at me.
"It's OK, Gram," I said.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
Johnson said to me, "Did you see what happened?"
"No."
He tutted and sighed. "Come on, Tom ... you were there. I know you were there
"Yeah, I was at the playground," I said. "But I wasn't there for long, and I didn't see anything happening at Fitzroy House. I didn't go anywhere near there."
"You didn't see anything?" he said incredulously. "How could you not see anything? There were about a dozen FGH boys, and six of them got knocked out, so there must have been a hell of a fight... and even if you didn't see that, a van was set on fire, for God's sake. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you didn't see anything?"
"I didn't," I said simply.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Can I see your hands, please?"
"What?"
"Your hands ... please. I'd like to see the palms of your hands."
"What for?" asked Gram.
Johnson sighed. "Please, Ms Harvey. We can either do this here, with no fuss, no bother, or I can take Tom down to the station with me. It won't take a minute. All I'm trying to do is eliminate Tom from our enquiries. Believe me — if he's innocent, he's got nothing to worry about."
Gram looked at me. "It's up to you, Tommy."
I shrugged and said, "I don't mind," and I held out my hands, palms up, for Johnson to study. He didn't touch them, he just leaned down and looked very closely at them. I think he even sniffed them too.
"Turn them over, please," he said.
I turned them over.
"What happened there," he said, pointing to a patch of singed hair on the back of my forearm.
"Nothing," I shrugged. "I got too close to the fire, that's all."
"What fire?" Johnson said, glancing over at the radiator against the wall.
"At Lucy's," I told him. "She's got an electric heater. I sat too close to it."
He stared at me for a few moments, disbelief showing in his eyes, and then eventually he said, "Thank you ... now, just a few more questions, and I promise that's it. All right?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Right..." he said, hesitating slightly. "I need to know ... and I realize that this might sound a bit strange ... but I need to know if you own a mask."
"A mask?" I said. "What do you mean?"
"A mask ... you know, a toy mask. Superman, Spider- Man, anything like that."
Gram laughed. "Is that who you're looking for — Superman?" She laughed again. "You really think Superman's going to move from Gotham City to Crow Town?"
"That's Batman, Gram," I said.
"What?"
"It's Batman who lives in Gotham City, not Superman."
"Really? Where does Superman live then?"
"I don't know."
"Metropolis," Webster said.
We all turned and looked at him.
Blushing slightly, he said, "Superman lives in Metropolis."
"For Christ's sake," Johnson sighed. "Can we please stay in the real world?" He looked at me. if you could just answer the question, Tom."
"Sorry," I said, grinning. "What was it again?"
"Do you own any masks?"
"No," I said, still grinning. "I don't own any masks."
"Would you mind if DC Webster took a quick look in your room?"
"No, no problem." I turned to point out which way my bedroom was, but Webster was already leaving the kitchen. Gram started to follow him, but Webster said, "It's all right, Mrs H. I'll be fine, thanks," and he shut the kitchen door behind him.
As I turned back to Johnson, he said to me, "Do you know what a Taser is, Tom?"
In an instant, an article from a website flashed into my head:
A Taser is an electroshock weapon that uses electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of muscles. Its manufacturer, Taser International, calls the effects "neuromuscular incapacitation" and the device's mechanism "Electro-Muscular Disruption (EMD) technology". Someone struck by a Taser experiences stimulation of his or her sensory nerves and motor nerves resulting in strong involuntary muscle contractions ...
"Yeah," I said. "I know what a Taser is."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"No."
"Do you know anyone who owns one or has seen one?"
"No."
"Aren't you curious as to why I'm asking you about Tasers?"
"Not really, no."
He didn't say anything for a while then, he just sat back in the chair, crossed his arms, and looked at me. I could almost hear his mind ticking over — trying to work out if I was telling him the truth or not ... and if not, why not? Did I know anything? Was I too scared to tell him anything? What could I be hiding? Who could I be hiding?
I emptied my head, emptied my eyes, and stared back at him.
After a minute or two, DC Webster came back in. Johnson glanced at him, his eyebrows raised expectantly, but Webster shook his head — letting him know that he hadn't found any superhero masks or Tasers in my room.
Johnson sighed and got to his feet. "All right, Tom. That'll be all for now, thank you. We'll be in touch."
"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," Gram said to me after she'd shown Johnson and Webster out. "Are you OK? You look really tired."
"Yeah ... I am a bit. I've got a really bad headache coming on too. Maybe I'll go back to bed for a while."
"I think you should. Have you still got enough of those painkillers that Mr Kirby gave you?"
I nodded.
She said, "OK, well, take two of those and get yourself off to bed. Do you want me to get you anything else before you go?"
"No, thanks," I said, getting up.
She gave me a hug and a kiss on top of my head, and I went down the hall to my room.
I really was tired. All those questions, trying to work out how to answer them ... and all that lying to Gram too. It had really drained all the energy out of me.
That and the last ten days.
As I lay down on the bed, there were so many things I had to think about, so many unknowns — what did Johnson know? what did he suspect? what did he think? what was I going to do about the money in Gram's bank account? what was I going to do about everything? — and I knew that I ought to start looking for answers right now. I ought to start scanning and hacking and searching and listening ...
But as soon as I closed my eyes, that was it.
I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
10011
No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.
Buddha
I must have been even more tired than I thought, because when I finally woke up — and when my brain finally started working properly — I realized that it was 11:26:54 on the following day.
I'd slept for almost twenty-four hours.
And I still felt tired.
But at least the dreaminess/non-dreaminess seemed to have gone.
In fact, I almost felt quite normal.
Almost...
In the kitchen there was a note from Gram telling me that she'd gone shopping, and that she'd be back in a couple of hours.
I made myself some toast.
Ate it.
Made some more (I was really hungry).
Ate it.
Drank some orange juice.
Put the TV on ...
Turned it off.
Then, not quite ready to do anything else yet, I went over to the window and gazed down at the estate below. It was a really nice day — clear and bright,
birds singing, the sun shining — and even the estate itself seemed a lot less depressing than usual.
There wasn't much going on down there. A bunch of little kids were messing around on bikes, an old man in a battered old hat was walking his dog, and across Crow Lane a group of young girls were dancing and singing along to their iPods.
There was something about the estate that felt kind of strange — but strange in a good way. It's hard to describe, but it felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, as if, somehow, everything about it was the same as ever — the same buildings, the same roads, the same colours, the same shapes — but something else, something that was above and beyond the physical reality of the estate, had changed.
Or maybe it was just the weather ...?
Or just me ...?
Or maybe it was nothing at all?
Just one of those days.
After a while, I went back into my room, lay down on my bed, and — somewhat reluctantly — closed my eyes.
I didn't really want to do any cyber-surfing/iBoy stuff today. I was sick of it all now, to tell you the truth. Sick of knowing everything, sick of not knowing anything. Sick of hurting people. Sick of all the secrecy and the lies and the utter pointlessness of what I was trying to do ... whatever that was.
And that was the thing ... what was I trying to do? Destroy the Devil and all his cohorts? Rid the world of all violence and evil? Turn Hell into Paradise?
That was never going to happen, was it?
For a start, as Gram had said, gangs are always fighting each other — it's what they do. They fight, they rape, they kill. They've been doing it for hundreds of years, and they'll carry on doing it until they're all gone ... which won't ever happen. Because there'll always be gangs of some kind or other — tribes, families, religions, nations, football supporters — because, quite simply, humans are social animals. We naturally form ourselves into groups. We seek protection and security in groups. We find safety and status and purpose in groups. And, in order to reinforce everything we get from our group, we fight and kill and rape individuals from other groups.
It's what humans do.
How could I possibly hope to change that?
And another thing ... even if all I was trying to do was flush out Howard Ellman — and maybe that was all I was trying to do — what was I going to do with him when I found him? Or when he found me? Would I kill him? Lock him up for ever? Beat him up? Fry his brains? Was I capable of doing any of that? Did I have it in me?