Brady had already had Bentley on the phone wanting to know what Chloe Winters had wanted to say. Brady had downplayed it. The last thing he was going to do was give Bentley crucial information. He needed to give his team time to see if they could find anything. Brady had also told Conrad to try and get hold of the CCTV footage, if there was any, of the silver taxi that Trina McGuire had seen shortly before her attack.
Before Bentley had the chance to cut the line, Brady had challenged him about why he had suddenly changed direction when he had been so sure that Martin Madley was responsible for Trina McGuire’s assault. Especially since Bentley had questionable evidence – the Blue Lagoon business card with the victim’s name scrawled on the back. However, Bentley was as forthcoming as Brady had been with him. He had simply stated that the victim had identified her attacker from the photofit of the serial rapist. That in itself was enough for him to follow it up.
Brady slowly drank what was left of his coffee. It didn’t matter that it was cold. He just needed some caffeine to help clear his head before giving Daniels and Kenny a hand looking through the CCTV surveillance tapes. He wanted to know whether this silver taxi had been around the nights the first two rape victims were attacked. If not, maybe Chloe was clutching at straws and it was false memory syndrome. After all, McGuire’s rape had been committed by a different offender altogether – one who seemed to be trying to emulate the Whitley Bay serial rapist based on the scraps doled out in the Northern Echo.
Brady had already had word back from Kodovesky that Sarah Jeffries and Anna Lewis had no recollection of a silver taxi on the nights they were attacked. Whether they had been too drunk to notice, or Chloe Winters had remembered wrong, Brady couldn’t be sure.
He dragged a hand back through his hair. He needed to wake himself up. He was tired and running on empty. That, and he was in dire need of a cigarette. But he was fighting the urge. Not that successfully. He’d lost count of how many nicotine patches he had plastered to his arm.
He looked at the time on his mobile: 10:55 p.m. He was ravenous, which was no surprise. He hadn’t eaten since last night. He had planned on getting a bacon stottie from the cafeteria that morning, but events got in the way. The team had ordered a Chinese take-away in after 9:00 p.m. at Brady’s expense. Not that it had counted for anything. When he’d made his way to the Incident Room, half an hour after the food arrived, every carton had been stripped bare. Aside from two bags of cold prawn crackers that no one ever ate. Everyone had blamed Tom Harvey. Of course, Harvey wasn’t there to defend himself. But considering Harvey’s rapidly expanding gut, Brady wouldn’t have put it past him to polish off every last morsel. Tiredness made people hungry, which was no doubt why Brady’s stomach felt as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.
Brady stood up. He needed to keep working. He had no choice. If there was a chance that the silver taxi was connected somehow, Brady had to make sure his team found it.
‘Seen anything yet?’ Brady asked, yawning.
‘Nothing,’ Conrad answered, rubbing his eyes.
Brady turned to Daniels and Kenny. ‘What about you two?’
‘Nope, nothing,’ Daniels said.
‘Same. Zilch,’ Kenny added as he stretched his hands behind his back.
‘All right, let’s call it a night,’ Brady said. It was after 2:00 a.m. and everyone was exhausted. It was no surprise they hadn’t found anything yet. They were all beat.
‘Back here seven a.m. sharp. We continue where we left off with these tapes. OK?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Conrad replied, grateful that Brady had given them a couple of hours respite.
The best Brady got from Daniels and Kenny was a combination of tired yawns and groans of exhaustion.
Brady watched the three of them get up and shuffle out of the room. Amelia had gone home hours ago. It had seemed pointless keeping her back. As for Kodovesky and Harvey, Brady was about to ring and tell them to call it a night. But before he had a chance, Harvey beat him to it.
‘Yeah? Tom, I was just about to call you,’ Brady said, leaning back in his chair. He closed his eyes and massaged them. His vision was blurred from scrutinising too many hours of surveillance tape.
‘Yeah . . . yeah,’ Brady muttered as he listened.
It suddenly struck him what was being said. He opened his eyes and sat forward.
‘Run that by me again?’ he demanded.
‘Ahuh, yeah . . . yeah. Shit!’
Brady listened.
‘I know we can’t ignore this, but my hands are tied until the morning.’
Brady massaged his temples as Tom argued with him.
‘Bloody hell, Tom! I want to arrest him as much as you do. But there’s nothing I can do right now. All right? Go home, get some sleep and we’ll bring him in for questioning in the morning,’ Brady instructed. He then cut the call, not giving Harvey a chance to argue.
It was 3:01 a.m. precisely. Despite Harvey’s objections he needed to clear it with Gates first. The last thing he was about to do was call Gates at home at this Godforsaken hour. The suspect could wait. His team needed to rest – including Brady. He lay down on the couch in his office and gratefully closed his burning eyes. He just needed a couple of hours and then he would be all right. Munroe wasn’t going anywhere. After he had showered, changed into the spare jeans and white T-shirt he kept at the station for such occasions and polished off one of Dora’s renowned canteen breakfasts, swigged down with a strong, black coffee, then he would see about bringing Munroe down to the station.
As Brady started to drift off, the only thought going through his mind was whether he would be overstepping the mark if he brought Jake Munroe in for questioning. Did they have enough on him to warrant it? Brady wasn’t sure. Not now. He had been when he’d talked to Harvey. But maybe he’d been too tired to think straight. He’d worry about it in the morning. Brady yawned and turned over onto his side.
The next thing he knew, Conrad was standing beside him with his Che Guevara mug filled with steaming, black coffee.
‘Shit! What time is it?’ yawned Brady as he blinked. It was still dark.
‘It’s seven seventeen, sir. I left you as long as I could. Daniels and Kenny have picked up where they left off last night and Harvey and Kodovesky will be here in the next thirty minutes. And this,’ Conrad gestured at the mug, ‘is from Amelia. She insisted on making it herself, telling me that you like it “strong enough to feel like you’ve been kicked in the balls by a mule”. Especially first thing in the morning. Her words, not mine.’
Brady blinked blearily at Conrad as he swung his legs off the couch and attempted to sit up.
‘Shit!’ he muttered. His head was pounding and this time he didn’t have the excuse of having polished off a bottle of whisky.
‘Not the most eloquent of risers are we?’ Conrad said.
‘Fuck you,’ Brady answered with a wry smile.
‘Maybe this will help?’ Conrad said, offering the mug to Brady.
Brady took it and attempted a sip. It was scalding hot.
‘Seems things have changed quite a lot while I’ve been off sick,’ Conrad stated.
Brady looked up at him and frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Well, let’s just say I always thought you liked the way I made your coffee, sir. You’ve never complained.’
Brady attempted another sip as he looked up at Conrad.
‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous?’ he asked, feigning surprise.
‘No, sir,’ Conrad answered in a flat tone. It was his way of signalling that the conversation was over. That and his clenched jaw told Brady that he had hit a nerve.
‘Where is our forensic psychologist this fine morning?’ Brady asked.
‘She’s looking over Jake Munroe’s prior convictions. Seems he’s got quite a few.’
Brady nodded as he took another sip.
‘All right, I need to get showered and change into some fresh clothes. Do me a favour will you? Can you get me one of Dora’s b
acon stotties from the canteen and another coffee to wash it down with?’
‘Will do.’
‘Just leave it on my desk. I want everyone ready for a briefing at eight a.m. sharp. Then we’ll see about bringing Jake Munroe in for questioning.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brady had just finished the bacon stottie and coffee that Conrad had left for him. It was 7:50 a.m. and he had a ten-minute briefing scheduled before ordering Munroe’s arrest. The team had already assembled there – even Harvey and Kodovesky were waiting.
Brady walked into the large conference room. The energy couldn’t have been more different from the briefing yesterday. Sunlight streamed through the two large Victorian windows, defying the Venetian blinds that tried to block the light out. It was a rare sight. Especially after the miserable summer they had endured.
‘Good to see you all and thanks for reconvening so early. It was a long day yesterday, so I’m impressed to see you back here looking refreshed and eager to get started.’
Kodovesky and Harvey were hanging on Brady’s every word. He knew what they wanted. What they were secretly hoping for – to interview Munroe once he’d been brought in. But Brady couldn’t let that happen. Under different circumstances he would have given them free rein. But not today. And definitely not with Jake Munroe. Brady had managed to spend five minutes going over his history of prior convictions and it made for an ugly read.
‘Firstly, I’ve got to thank Harvey and Kodovesky for putting in all those hours last night. I know you had four uniformed officers with you, but between the six of you that was a lot of ground covered. And you found us a suspect – Jake Munroe.’ Brady paused as he looked around the table. ‘It’s no surprise that you never found him when we first ran a check on all the employees at the Blue Lagoon after the first rape. He was on a two-week trial back then and hadn’t yet been put on the payroll. If it hadn’t been for you two turning up at the Blue Lagoon last night and actually realising that . . .’ Brady broke off, acutely aware of how close they had come to fucking up. ‘Anyway, we’ve got him now. Or at least we will do after this briefing.’
Everyone was hopeful that he was their rapist. Whether he was or not, Brady would soon find out.
‘I’m sure you’ll all be interested to know that Jake Munroe has a list of priors as long as my arm. Including three counts of rape and seven counts of aggravated assault.’
The air in the room became electric. Brady even had Daniels’ and Kenny’s full attention.
‘He has a clear history of violence. So, not the kind of guy you want to piss off on a Friday night. But he is the type of bloke that you would want working for you as a bouncer. That’s what he’s been doing for the past two months. He’s currently employed by Martin Madley as a part-time bouncer at the Blue Lagoon.’
Brady’s eye caught Amelia’s as she watched him talk. He knew she was already aware of all of this as she had been the first one to read Munroe’s files.
‘By his own admission, he only works from a Thursday to a Sunday night. He’s originally from London. From what I can make out from his records he was released eight months ago so I assume he’s relocated up here to start afresh. To date he hasn’t been charged with any offences here.’
She seemed to take her time on deciding whether she should speak. When she eventually did she surprised not only Brady, but the rest of the team.
‘Look, I don’t want to dampen your spirits here. But I’m not so sure he’s your rapist.’ She looked around the table and then finally back at Brady. She’d done exactly what she had wanted to avoid – dampened their spirits. In fact she had soaked them.
‘Look, I’m sorry, all right? But I’d rather be honest with you. That’s why you pay me.’
‘What makes you so sure it’s not Munroe?’ Brady asked.
From the tone of Brady’s voice, Amelia knew he was pissed off with her. She should have told him this in private. Not shown him up in front of the team. But she hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to him before now. She would be the first to admit that Munroe ticked some of the boxes. But not all of them. Obviously he needed to be brought in for questioning, but Amelia wanted to make sure that the team didn’t get too excited.
‘All right, I’ll agree with you that his history fits perfectly. He’s violent and he’s a convicted sex offender. He relocated here from London two months ago, which ties in perfectly with the first rape. Also, he has the ideal job. Works in the heart of where these rape victims were drinking and socialising. He could watch them come and go every weekend. He finishes at two a.m., which again fits, as all three rapes happened later. He travels to London on the four days he’s not working as a bouncer. What he does in London, who knows? But we do know that there haven’t been any crimes reported there that fit with the rapes here,’ Amelia said.
She looked around the room.
The feeling had gone from hopeful to out-and-out resentful.
‘And those are the precise reasons we’ve brought Jake Munroe in for questioning,’ Brady said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
‘I know, Jack. I know exactly why he’s a suspect.’
‘So, what’s your problem then?’ Brady asked, his expression darkening. He didn’t have time for whatever game Amelia was playing. This was not the time to suddenly backtrack.
‘OK. I would say we’re all in agreement that he looks like the photofit? Yes?’ Amelia asked.
Everyone agreed in one way or another. Some made muffled noises that constituted a ‘yes’, others nodded. But no one looked Amelia in the eye. They didn’t trust the direction she was leading them in.
‘I’d say that’s fairly obvious,’ Brady interjected.
He checked the time on his phone. He didn’t have time for this.
‘Look, Amelia. We’ve all got a lot to do so why don’t you get straight to the point?’
Amelia looked at Brady, caught off-guard by his abruptness. She understood that tensions were running high. They all wanted Jake Munroe to be guilty. To put an end to this investigation. They were no different from her. Except that she believed he wasn’t the Whitley Bay rapist and that they were in danger of conveniently making him into something that suited them.
‘OK. My point is he’s too old. Look at my profile. Think about what the victims said. We are looking for a suspect in his mid-to-late twenties. Yes, Munroe is tall, well-built and bald but he’s too old.’
Brady tried to hide his surprise.
‘That’s it? That’s your only objection to him? The fact he doesn’t exactly fit your profile?’
‘Or the victims’ statements,’ Amelia pointed out.
‘So?’ asked Brady. ‘We get one small detail wrong. How old is he?’ Brady asked, turning to Kodovesky and Harvey.
‘Thirty-six, sir,’ Kodovesky immediately answered.
‘Thirty-six years old. What’s the difference between thirty-six and his mid-to-late twenties?’
‘There’s a big difference, Jack. You can’t make him something he’s not,’ Amelia answered. Her voice was calm and steady as she held Brady’s dark gaze. ‘All three victims categorically stated that he was in his mid-twenties. And given that they are all under twenty-three, to them anyone above thirty would seem old. Not one of them said their assailant was old, or even older than them. They all unknowingly came up with the same age – roughly twenty-five.’
Brady picked up the file in front of him. It contained a printout of all of Jake Munroe’s prior convictions.
‘You’ve read these? All of these? Yeah?’
Amelia nodded.
‘So you know that he has a history of violence and sexual violence. He came from an abusive background, raised by a single mother. She was an alcoholic and a prostitute. There’s a hint that Munroe’s father may have been a John. That Munroe was eventually placed in foster homes for his own safety because he was being sexually abused by some of his mother’s clients. While he was in foster care he was known for torturing
animals and abusing the other children in care with him. He was repeatedly relocated to new foster homes because of his behaviour. Not surprisingly, he ended up in a remand centre for teenagers. And that’s us just getting started,’ Brady said, dropping the heavy file on the table for effect.
Amelia shook her head. She resisted the urge to applaud Brady’s performance.
‘Come on. He fits everything you described in your profile. Damaged by his mother, socially deviant as a child and a violent sex offender as an adult. What more do you want? Physically he fits our photofit and he’s in the right location at the right time when these attacks took place. Or is that all coincidence?’ Brady asked.
‘He’s the wrong age. It’s like making a house out of a pack of cards. If one card is out of place the house falls down. Same deal,’ Amelia answered with a tone of finality.
‘Right, people,’ Brady said as he turned his attention to the rest of the team. ‘I appreciate Dr Jenkins’ concern regarding our suspect, as I am sure you do.’ He turned back to her. ‘We’ll keep an open mind when we interview him, Dr Jenkins. Just in case we’re wrong.’
He intended it to appease her. But the sudden flush of her cheeks told Brady she had taken it the wrong way.
Despite her crimson cheeks and the flash of irritation in her eyes she simply nodded, then folded her hands on the table in front of her and waited for the meeting to conclude.
Even she had doubted herself and had spent over an hour evaluating the police files and social services reports. He did tick all of the boxes, apart from his age. If the team had purely been relying on her profile, she would have discounted it. Simply dismissed it as her mistake. After all, Brady was right. What was a couple of years? But this was more than a couple; it could be up to ten years’ difference.
Brady looked at Amelia. She looked really pissed off. He thought about her reservations and understood that she was just playing safe. She was the forensic psychologist for a reason. It was her job to keep them grounded. To make them question everything. Could he be wrong? Brady wouldn’t know until he’d interviewed Munroe. But first they had to arrest him.
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