Blind Alley

by Danielle Ramsay

  ‘No, sir. I was informed she was discharged late this morning,’ Kodovesky answered.

  Brady was surprised by this news. Given the severity of her attack he had assumed she would have been kept in for longer. He wondered whether the dire state of the NHS was the driving force behind freeing her hospital bed rather than an expedient recovery.

  ‘See how she is first. But if she’s agreeable, you and Amelia visit her at her parents’ home.’

  Kodovesky simply nodded.

  Brady turned to Amelia. ‘You don’t mind do you? I know it’s a Friday night and—’

  ‘I don’t have plans,’ Amelia interrupted. ‘So no, I don’t mind. It would be good to feel as if I’m doing something more than just talking at everyone whenever we have a briefing.’

  ‘You know you do a hell of a lot more than that,’ Brady corrected.

  ‘Really?’ Amelia asked. ‘Sometimes I’m not so sure.’

  Brady looked at Amelia, not knowing what she wanted from him.

  ‘Right, sir, I’m ringing Chloe Winters now,’ Kodovesky told her boss, unintentionally breaking up the conversation. She had her mobile pressed to her ear as she walked to the other end of the room.

  Brady watched her as she talked. He couldn’t hear the conversation; all he could do was wait. It was pointless trying to read Kodovesky’s face to glean what was happening. It was typically expressionless. She had a professional look that never betrayed her emotions – no matter how difficult the job at hand. She finished her call and walked back over to Brady.

  ‘She did call, sir. And yes, she recognises the description of the silver car.’

  Brady didn’t say anything. He waited for Kodovesky to tell him what was happening next while he absorbed what this new development meant.

  ‘She actually wants to come into the station to make a statement. As long as I’m present during her interview.’

  ‘Is she up to it?’ Brady asked, surprised.

  ‘She suggested it,’ Kodovesky said.

  ‘All right, bring her in,’ Brady instructed. ‘And thanks, Kodovesky.’

  ‘What for, sir?’ she asked, her voice as neutral as the expression on her face.

  ‘For saying whatever it was you said to convince her to come in.’

  Brady knew that she must have persuaded Chloe Winters to talk to him. She had developed a good relationship with her. She trusted Kodovesky. The key was making the victim feel as if they were not being exploited, and convincing them to believe in the judicial system. Convictions of offenders charged with rape or another serious sexual offence had increased in the last year, which was encouraging. The Crown Prosecution Service statistics showed that 63.2 per cent of cases where someone was charged with rape had resulted in a conviction, up from 62.5 per cent the previous year. This was good news for the victims and the police. But it was still a difficult process getting a victim of rape or sexual assault to report it. The figures were still demoralising when research showed that 473,000 women and men in the UK suffered a sexual assault every year but only one in twenty came forward, resulting in only 54,000 sexual offences recorded annually. It was understandable why victims were so reluctant to come forward. Even when they did, it was incredibly difficult for them to relive the humiliation, pain and even guilt they felt. Reporting it to the police was just the first step of a difficult process. Brady appreciated everything that Kodovesky had done to reassure and support Chloe Winters, as well as the first two victims. Whether Kodovesky realised how invaluable she was on this investigation was something Brady couldn’t answer. She kept her cards very close to her chest. To the extent that it was difficult to tell what she was thinking most of the time.

  Kodovesky nodded. Without comment she turned and left.

  ‘Do you still want me to go with her?’ Amelia asked Brady.

  Brady nodded. ‘You might glean something from her that she wouldn’t necessarily feel comfortable mentioning in front of me.’

  ‘All right. That’s if Kodovesky hasn’t already left.’

  Brady watched as Amelia quickly gathered up her belongings and headed out the door to catch up. He wondered whether she would actually get anything useful out of the victim on the way back to the station. His mind turned to the silver taxi that Bentley had mentioned. He wondered whether it was relevant, and why Chloe Winters hadn’t mentioned it before.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was now after 7:00 p.m. Brady had been waiting to interview Chloe Winters. She had arrived at the station fifteen minutes before but wanted time with Kodovesky to compose herself. Brady would give her all the time she needed. This was on her terms, not his. Brady was just relieved that she’d volunteered to come in with this new information – information that Bentley would have wanted first.

  Suddenly there was a knock at his office door.

  ‘Yeah?’ Brady looked up from the files on his desk. He’d been familiarising himself with Winters’ original statement.

  Amelia Jenkins walked into the room.

  ‘She’s ready if you are,’ Amelia informed him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Brady said, pushing his chair back and standing up.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked her.

  ‘I would say she’s telling the truth, Jack. Initially, I was concerned she could have been suffering from false memory syndrome, which wouldn’t be surprising given the traumatic ordeal she suffered. I was curious as to whether it was a reaction to having seen Bentley’s news interview and wanting to do everything in her power to help find her rapist, who she now thinks has struck again. When Bentley mentioned the silver car, it was something tangible to cling on to. More than we’ve had throughout the entire investigation,’ Amelia stated.

  Brady looked at her face, realising that this was not an attack against him and the team. It was just an observation. But it was correct. This could be the team’s first real lead. They’d had countless phone calls since Bentley’s news stunt. All false leads – so far. Brady had uniformed officers staffing telephones to check out the reports from the public relating to the silver taxi. Whether anything concrete would materialise, Brady was unsure.

  ‘What about DI Bentley? Has he got any leads yet on the car?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘Not as far as I know. I’m relying on Conrad for updates as I don’t think Bentley will be that forthcoming with me.’

  ‘I’ll give him a call later, shall I?’

  ‘Feel free,’ Brady answered, but it was clear from the tone of his voice that he resented even the idea of her calling Bentley.

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ Amelia said, frowning at him. ‘We’re all in this together. Same intention. To get whoever is hurting these women. Does it matter who gets the result as long as we get one?’

  It took a moment for Brady to digest what had just been said. He couldn’t believe she would even have the audacity, let alone insensitivity to say it. Bentley was a self-obsessed dick who was currently intent on fucking up Brady’s investigation for his own gain. It had nothing to do with Trina McGuire, or the first three rape victims. So of course it bloody mattered. It mattered to him more than he was willing to admit.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Brady said. His face said it all as he walked towards his office door. He held it open. A sign for Amelia that her professional words of wisdom were not needed, and more to the point, not appreciated.

  Kodovesky sat beside Chloe Winters. They had been in the small, claustrophobic interview room for ten minutes now. The air was tense and heavy, filled with expectation and resentment – both emanating from the victim. Expectation that Brady and his team would find the rapist with the new information she had; resentment that after so long they still hadn’t found him. Brady had been shocked by the physical change in Chloe. Her appearance told people to look the other way. That she had nothing – was nothing. Her long, dark blonde hair was scraped back from her face in an unruly, straggly ponytail. She wore no make-up. Instead, her face was uncomfortably naked – the pain etched for all to see. Her ey
es were bloodshot and puffy, and her skin blotchy from crying. Brady assumed that Bentley’s stunt would have brought everything back. Brady knew that the effects of her attack would always be there with her. A constant worry and unease in the background that she could never quite drown out. But Brady was sure that hearing the news second-hand on the TV that the rapist had struck again would have thrown her straight back to the night he had tortured and raped her.

  She was a victim; there was no disputing that. Whether Chloe Winters could turn this around and become a survivor was as much down to Brady and his team as it was to her. If they could catch the man who had so damaged her, both physically and mentally, it would change things. She could rest assured that he would not finish off the sadistic, torturous game he had started with her and she could perhaps move on and rebuild her life.

  If Brady hadn’t known it was her, he wouldn’t have recognised her. She looked like she had lost nearly a stone since her attack. It was as if she was shrinking in front if him. Physically disappearing. Not that Brady was surprised by this; every victim had a coping mechanism, and Chloe Winters appeared to be starving herself to death. Whether it was the ‘old’ Chloe she was punishing, he didn’t know. Or perhaps she was removing every trace of her old self so her assailant would never recognise her, would not target her again. All Brady knew was that the physical result of what had happened to her, let alone the mental effect, was unsettling even for a copper like Brady who had seen it all.

  The photographs of Chloe Winters prior to her attack could not have been more different. Her hair had been sleek and long, cascading freely down her shoulders and back. Her make-up had been flawless but precise. She had worn her clothes with ease and pride – she had a good body and had not been ashamed to show it.

  That was then. Now she wore a large, baggy burgundy Hollister hoodie that hid anything from below her neck. Brady didn’t know whether this was a reaction to the brutal stab wounds and the scars that covered her chest from the countless skin grafts she had undergone. He had no idea whether they’d taken. Nor was he in a position to ask. He was treading as carefully as he could. His eyes glanced down at her small, bony fingers, clutching onto Kodovesky’s hand as if she feared that without her, she would drown. He noticed that her nails had been chewed and bitten well below the tip.

  Brady breathed in deeply. He caught Kodovesky’s eye. She was waiting for him to take charge. To finish off what he’d started. He looked at Chloe. But she had her head down. Throughout the interview she had refused to look him in the eye. Her answers had been directed at the table or the bottle of water beside her hand. Not that he could blame her. He represented everything that scared her to the very core of her being – he was a man who wanted something from her. He knew how to change the dynamics. How to get her to trust him and society again. That was by apprehending the man who had done this to her. But whether Brady would be able to do that was another matter entirely. To do it, he needed her help.

  ‘Chloe? This taxi you mentioned? It was definitely a silver car?’

  ‘I already told you that,’ she answered, an edge to her voice.

  It was anger. Brady took that as a good sign. Anger was better than defeat. And she had every right to be angry with him. In her eyes, Brady and his team had betrayed her. She should have been forewarned that the rapist had struck again, instead of hearing it on the news.

  ‘I know you have, I just need to be clear. So it was a silver car. Definitely a taxi?’

  She nodded without looking at him.

  Brady could see her grip tighten around Kodovesky’s hand.

  ‘Do you know what firm the driver worked for?’ Brady asked. His voice was gentle and unobtrusive.

  ‘No. I saw the markings on the side and the taxi sign on top but I didn’t recognise the firm,’ she answered.

  ‘When you say you didn’t recognise the taxi company, is that because it wasn’t a local taxi?’

  ‘No . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t register it. You know? It’s a taxi, like? They all look the same late at night.’

  Brady took ‘late at night’ as a euphemism for being drunk – extremely drunk.

  ‘Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t be able to recognise one firm from another. Not if it just pulled up beside me,’ Brady replied.

  He waited for a response. Nothing.

  ‘You rang East Central taxis on that night?’ he asked.

  ‘You know I don’t remember that. I’ve already told you,’ she replied, her voice thick with accusation at him for forcing her to repeat it again. Forcing her to experience the waves of humiliation and guilt that came with going over the same old ground.

  ‘I know . . . I’m sorry. I just wondered whether it could have been an East Central taxi?’

  Brady knew that the dispatcher who logged her call at 2:53 a.m. on Saturday, 19th October hadn’t actually sent a taxi out. That Chloe Winters had been so drunk that the dispatcher hadn’t been able to make sense of her request. The team only knew about it because they had traced every call made from and received by the victim’s mobile phone in the vain hope of finding something connected to the offender.

  ‘OK,’ Brady said, collecting his thoughts. ‘You say that this taxi pulled up beside you when you started walking home, yeah?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And this was just outside the Blue Lagoon nightclub?’

  Again she nodded, without looking at him.

  ‘He pulled up beside you, wound the window down and asked if you needed a lift somewhere?’

  ‘Something like that. I can’t remember exactly, you know?’ she said, turning to look at Kodovesky.

  Kodovesky nodded in return.

  ‘And you said no. Why, Chloe? You’d already tried ringing a taxi to get home so why wouldn’t you get into one when it turned up?’

  For the first time in the entire interview, she raised her head and looked directly at him. Her bloodshot eyes were narrowed and filled with distrust.

  ‘Because he creeped me out. OK?’

  Brady looked at her, willing her to expand on what it was about the driver that so unnerved her.

  She shrugged as if in response to Brady’s questioning silence.

  ‘You know? There was something about him. His eyes . . .’ she frowned as she tried to recall the driver. ‘I can’t remember what he looked like. It was dark and all. But there was something about his eyes. They scared me. Just creeped me out like I said.’

  ‘What colour were his eyes? Can you remember?’ Brady asked.

  ‘Brown,’ she answered. ‘Dark brown.’

  ‘Anything else about his face? His hair?’

  ‘It was dark. He was in his car so I couldn’t really make anything out. Apart from his eyes . . . I didn’t like the way he looked at me. You know?’

  Brady nodded in appreciation. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  He gave her a moment to compose herself.

  Then, accepting that the interview was over, he cleared his throat.

  ‘That’s great Chloe. Look, if you remember anything else about this taxi driver let us know. Doesn’t matter what the time is, just call either DS Kodovesky or me. You’ve got our numbers haven’t you?’

  Chloe Winters nodded.

  ‘Is it him? I know DS Kodovesky said it’s not him. The attack last night. But the news report said it could be?’

  ‘It’s not him, Chloe. The attack is very different. I know we said they were similar but actually there’s some subtle differences. Differences that only we and the man who attacked you know about,’ answered Brady, giving it his best shot. But he wasn’t so certain it had worked.

  ‘But she had been raped, right?’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately she had been raped.’

  ‘Then why did DI Bentley say that they were similar?’

  Brady steeled himself. ‘I think last night’s assailant had read the article in the Northern Echo earlier that evening. This is only supposition, but I believe he took what details had been printed about you
r attack and applied them. But it was clear that he was just copying what had been printed, otherwise the victim’s injuries would have been more in keeping with yours.’

  ‘What exactly happened to her?’ Chloe Winters asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Chloe. But believe me when I say that last night’s attack is totally unrelated to yours.’

  Chloe Winters nodded slowly as she digested the news. She looked Brady straight in the eye. Her face was filled with anger and incredulity. The anger was clearly directed at Brady.

  ‘So that means there’s two violent rapists out there? One who’s copying the other? All within a three-mile radius? You can’t be serious. I still can’t sleep at night after what he did to me because I’m so scared that he’ll find me again. But now . . .’ She shook her head as she stared at Brady, tears of both fury and fear welling up in her eyes. ‘Now what?’

  Brady hadn’t thought about it that way. And why would he? He was only interested in solving his own case. Not worrying about the cold, hard reality – they now had two dangerous rapists at work. Both exhibiting murderous tendencies.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brady sat in his office. He took a slug of cold, bitter black coffee. It had been on his desk since before the interview with Chloe Winters. Kodovesky had returned her to her parents’ home and was now with Harvey, working on identifying and eliminating all the bar staff who worked in Whitley Bay at the weekend. They were starting with the Blue Lagoon. It was a task that Brady did not envy. But it was a necessary one. Something told Brady that the rapist worked in Whitley Bay. That he knew the place better than anyone, and that he was in the ideal location to watch his victims and wait for the right moment to strike. He was clearly clever – otherwise he would not have been able to elude the police for so long. Kenny, Daniels and Conrad were busy analysing hours and hours of CCTV footage from the night that Chloe Winters was attacked. They were looking for the silver taxi.