Blind Alley

by Danielle Ramsay

  Without a word Brady walked out of the office and straight into Conrad.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Conrad said, quickly moving out of Brady’s way.

  Brady ignored him and marched off. Better that, than throw a verbal punch at the wrong person.

  Conrad looked at Amelia, who had joined him in the corridor.

  ‘Why?’ Conrad asked her. He had overheard the conversation. And what he’d heard he didn’t like. He had known Amelia since they’d both been graduates and this was out of character for her.

  ‘Because he needed to hear the truth.’

  With that, Amelia turned on her heels and headed in the opposite direction to that which Brady had taken.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  If Brady was honest, he was taken aback. The suspect was not what he had been expecting. Amelia’s warning about him kept going through Brady’s mind.

  Lee Harris was surprisingly good-looking. His driver’s licence photo didn’t do him justice. Harris was reminiscent of a young Brad Pitt. Everything about him said that he couldn’t possibly be a suspect in a serial rape investigation. Jake Munroe – no question about it. But as Brady looked at Harris, he could understand why people would have a difficult time accepting that someone of his looks and charm could be connected to such sadistic crimes. His face was too handsome, with his dimpled cheeks and his gentle dark brown eyes.

  Brady could imagine that few women would be able to resist Harris. He was extraordinarily handsome but seemingly without ego. He also had a way with him of putting people at their ease. Of reassuring them that everything was going to be all right. This was exactly what he was doing now. Reassuring Brady and Conrad that they had nothing to worry about; nothing to fear. He was here willingly because this was all a simple mistake – Brady’s mistake. But Harris wasn’t angry. Far from it. He was understanding, even sympathetic. After all, they had a serial rapist at large. And that was why he was here. To help them with their enquiries.

  ‘So, you see why I came straight in?’ Harris asked innocently.

  Brady didn’t answer.

  Looking at him, he bore no resemblance to the taxi driver that Chloe Winters had described to them. Chloe had said that the taxi-driver had ‘creeped’ her out. But sitting opposite Harris with his disarming good looks and gentle manner, it was hard to believe that he could possibly creep anyone out. Brady didn’t like the fact that there was a slither of doubt in his mind as to whether Harris could be their man.

  Harris’ response to Brady’s silence was to relax back against his chair and give him an easy-going smile. It had the right balance of being friendly, but not over-friendly. Confident without being arrogant. If anything, Harris’ whole demeanour was one of embarrassment and apology at wasting police time.

  ‘I’m sure the two of you would have done the same thing in my shoes,’ Harris said as he looked from Brady to Conrad, who was silently sitting next to him.

  Brady was fascinated by him. He wanted them on side. In fact, he wanted more than that. He wanted Brady and Conrad to like him. Understand him. And ultimately, release him. He had refused his right to a solicitor – even the duty solicitor. Stating quite emphatically that he had no need for legal representation. He was here of his own free will.

  Brady looked up at the surveillance camera recording the interview. He wondered whether Amelia was actually watching this; and if she was, what the hell she made of it.

  Harris ran a long, strong hand over the couple of centimetres of black stubble covering his scalp. Few men could pull such a hard look off without looking intimidating. Harris, on the other hand, looked as if he should be a model on the front page of Esquire magazine. Not sitting in Whitley Bay police station being questioned as a suspected serial rapist.

  He was dressed in a smart black suit and white shirt with the first two buttons undone. His attire added to the suave charismatic air about him.

  Brady was aware that Conrad hadn’t said a word.

  ‘So Mr Harris—’

  ‘Please, call me Lee, Detective Inspector,’ Harris interrupted.

  ‘So, Mr Harris,’ Brady said as he looked him in the eye.

  He gave Brady another friendly smile, which implied he understood. It was all right. Brady had to play by the books.

  ‘You say that you spent last night driving from Newcastle to Gatwick airport and then back again?’ Brady asked.

  Harris shot him another winning smile as he slowly nodded. ‘Yes. I did it as a private job. I made more money last night than I’ve done working for East Coast in the past month.’

  ‘And who was this client?’

  ‘Gareth Rochdale. Businessman. Absolutely minted.’

  Brady nodded.

  ‘And can he verify your whereabouts last night?’

  Harris fumbled around inside the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  ‘There you go,’ he said throwing Gareth Rochdale’s business card down on the table. ‘Great guy. I’m sure he would be happy to help. Only problem is he’s on his way to the Bahamas right now. Some property deal over there,’ Harris said. ‘I’m due to pick him up from Gatwick when he lands in four days’ time.’

  ‘I see,’ Brady said.

  ‘Sounds like the kind of job that you’d be crazy to refuse, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered Conrad.

  ‘But an overnight job like that, you’d tell your girlfriend, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you, Mr Harris?’ Brady asked as he turned to face him.

  Harris ran a hand over the stubble on his chin.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry her,’ he answered.

  ‘But that’s exactly what you did,’ Brady replied. ‘She had no idea where you were. In fact, when you didn’t return any of her calls she was adamant that you had been in an accident.’

  Harris held Brady’s gaze.

  ‘And I feel really bad about that. But I didn’t tell her because she’d have worried that I’d lose my job with East Central if they found out. Obviously they now know I lied when I rang in sick yesterday.’

  ‘Yes,’ Brady answered, thinking that was the least of Harris’ problems.

  ‘Look,’ Harris said as he made a gesture of opening his hands. ‘I’m here now. As soon as I found out that the police were looking for me, I came straight to the station. I could have gone home, explained myself to Lisa. But I didn’t. I chose to come here.’

  ‘How did you find out we were looking for you?’ Brady asked.

  ‘I rang East Central and talked to Eileen. I wanted to see if my shift was still available tonight or if she thought I’d still be off sick and had given it to one of the other lads. And that’s when Eileen told me that the police had been in looking for me. Checking up on all the shifts that I worked over the past few months.’

  Brady nodded. They had specifically instructed East Central not to say anything if Lee Harris got in touch. That they just had to tell the police he had contacted them. Brady assumed Eileen had helped Harris because she couldn’t believe that someone like him could possibly be in trouble with the police.

  ‘Do you shave your head, Mr Harris?’ Brady asked.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Simple question. Do you shave your head?’

  Lee Harris looked at Brady. He gave him a slow, assured smile as he thought about it.

  ‘No. I know it’s short but I’ve never shaved it,’ he answered with mild amusement.

  Brady knew that he had seen the photofit of the rapist. They were plastered up all around Whitley Bay; including in the police station.

  Brady thought about it. If it was dark, and you were a bit the worse for wear, would it be possible to mistake Lee Harris’ aggressively short haircut for being bald? Maybe.

  ‘So, when can I go?’ he asked, breaking into a smile. ‘I’ve got some apologising to do.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that Mr Harris. Your girlfriend’s on her way here.’

  �
�To meet me?’

  ‘No, Mr Harris. To see if she can corroborate your story,’ Brady answered.

  For a delicious moment, Brady noted that Lee Harris looked surprised. His charming, easy-going manner slipped. A flash of uncontrolled anger briefly betrayed him.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Harris said, quickly assuming his usual calm manner.

  ‘The three nights in question that we asked you about,’ Brady replied, looking at the dates on the notepaper in front of him. ‘You said you were working. But East Central have already informed us that you didn’t cover those shifts for various reasons.’

  ‘Maybe? I can’t remember,’ Harris answered, giving Brady an apologetic smile. ‘You know how it is. I work all week away and then I come back and work a weekend nightshift to pay towards a deposit for a house and our wedding next year. I hardly have time to sleep let alone make a note of what I do every day.’

  ‘Even last weekend?’ Brady questioned.

  Harris shrugged. ‘You know how it is? One weekend blurs into another when you’re working night shifts.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing that your girlfriend is prepared to talk to us. Quite efficient, isn’t she? I suppose as a doctor’s receptionist she must be very organised. Anyway, she’s offered to help us with our enquiries. I’m sure she has an excellent memory for dates.’

  Brady called an end to the interview before Lee Harris had a chance to talk. He wanted to let the suspect sweat for a while. Then they might get some truth out of him.

  He still had the CCTV footage of him talking to Winters shortly before she was abducted. He was saving that vital piece of evidence until after he had talked to Lisa Sanderson; the girlfriend. He wanted her version of where Lee Harris was on the nights in question.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was now 6:20 p.m. Brady had left Harris to rot in a holding cell for the past six hours while he regrouped with his team. He had asked the Custody Officer if he could extend the twelve-hour holding limit to a further twenty-four hours. He was nowhere near ready to charge him – if at all. Luckily for Brady it had been granted, because he was in dire need of extra time. At this point they were in trouble. Serious trouble. It looked as if Harris could walk. Nobody wanted that; least of all Brady.

  Gates had already been breathing down his neck. The press were crawling everywhere wanting an update. However, Gates was reluctant to release any details until they were in a position to press charges.

  Amelia had surprised Brady by agreeing that there was a very strong possibility that Lee Harris could be there suspect. There had been a ‘but’ – of course. This was Amelia Jenkins after all. But she had raised what everyone else on the team were thinking; that the suspect, surprisingly, had no prior convictions. He had no history. If Amelia’s profile was to be believed, he should have had some kind of charges in his past. But they had drawn a blank.

  Then there was the fact that he was everything that you would not expect. Exceptionally good-looking, articulate, polite and even charming. Tom Harvey had made the obvious point: ‘Why would he rape?’

  This, of course, was like showing the dog the rabbit where Amelia was concerned. She had gone on to another one of her lengthy lectures about the fact that rape is not about sexual fulfilment; so Harris’ good looks and charm were inconsequential. Harvey had made the fatal mistake of not seeming convinced, so Amelia had gone on to cite Ted Bundy as an example of a good-looking man who was friendly and charismatic and had no trouble in attracting female attention. Nevertheless, between 1974 and 1978, Bundy had managed to kidnap and murder thirty young women in the US. Amelia had pointed out that the only reason Harris troubled them was because, ordinarily, serious offenders tended to be very ordinary. The police dealt with them on a daily basis, so when someone like Harris strolled through the station doors volunteering to help the police with their enquiries, it was no surprise that people struggled with the concept of him being a serial rapist. If he was, why would he offer himself up?

  Amelia may have been talking to the team, but the question had been levelled directly at Brady. He didn’t have an answer.

  Brady had concluded the briefing when news that Lisa Sanderson, Lee Harris’ fiancée, had been brought into the station to be interviewed. But then the investigation took a turn for the worse. The suspect’s lack of priors and his willingness to help the police with their investigation had been nothing compared to the bomb that Lisa Sanderson had dropped on them. She had provided a water-tight alibi for Lee Harris’ whereabouts on the night of the first rape.

  Afterwards, Brady had got Conrad to run checks against her information. It had come back conclusive – she was telling the truth. He had then updated Gates before informing his team. Deflated and discouraged, Brady had dismissed them for the evening. There was nothing else they could do. He had given Harvey enough money to buy them a couple of rounds in the Fat Ox and then an Indian in the Ahar in Whitley Bay. It was a good old-fashioned North-East Sunday night tradition – a couple of pints followed by a chicken tikka masala. The team were demoralised, so Brady had to dig deep into his pocket to try and lift their spirits. He needed them back in the morning in a better mood than when they had left. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring and that worried him as much as it did them.

  The DNA swab that had been taken from Lee Harris had come back negative. No DNA evidence had been recovered from any of the attacks but he had been hoping that it would bring some prior convictions to the surface.

  Brady leaned forward on his desk and held his head in his hands. He was certain that Lee Harris was their rapist. There was something disturbing about him. If you scratched beneath the surface you could see it. Brady had seen a flash of it. And it was enough to convince him that they were dealing with a psychopath. The problem Brady had was they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him, let alone impound his car so Forensics could search it.

  ‘Sir?’ Conrad asked as he walked into his office.

  Amelia followed behind him.

  ‘Sorry, the door was open,’ Conrad apologised.

  Brady dragged his head up and looked at them. They both looked sheepish. Embarrassed that they had caught Brady out.

  ‘I thought you two were heading out with the rest of the team for a beer and a curry?’ Brady asked, trying to sound light-hearted. It failed.

  ‘No. We thought you might want some company?’ Conrad replied.

  Brady looked at them. The last thing he needed right now was company. He was in a lousy mood. All he wanted to do was go home, open a bottle of wine or two and put some music on to drown out his shit day.

  Conrad ignored the look in Brady’s eye. It was obvious that he wanted to be alone. But given the day’s events, that was the last thing Conrad was going to do.

  He walked over to the beat-up leather couch and sat down. Amelia looked unsure. Brady’s dark expression told her she was the last person he wanted to deal with on a Sunday night. Especially at the end of a torturous day. But then there was Conrad who, loyal as ever, wanted to work through Lisa Sanderson’s interview. He wanted to make sense of it. See if they could turn it around for tomorrow. But from the look in Brady’s eye, it was clear that he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

  ‘I don’t know about you two, but I need a drink,’ Amelia suggested. It was her way of breaking the ice. She thought Brady looked like he could do with one.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve got some scotch that I keep as an emergency.’

  He stood up, walked over to his filing cabinets and pulled out a top drawer. Inside were six bottles of scotch – all unopened. These were Christmas gifts that he had filed away. This stuff wasn’t the Talisker whisky that Madley drank. It was middle-of-the-road bottom-shelf piss. But under these circumstances it would do.

  Brady picked up a blended malt and cracked it open.

  ‘Do me a favour, Conrad, go fetch some mugs?’

  Conrad jumped up and left the office.

  There was an awkward silence betwe
en Brady and Amelia with Conrad gone. Brady busied himself with reading the labels on the other bottles of scotch he had stashed away, while Amelia hovered by the open office door waiting for Conrad.

  They both inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when Conrad finally returned.

  ‘Sorry, had to give them a wash first,’ Conrad said as he walked over to Brady.

  Brady poured a liberal measure in both mugs before turning to fill his own.

  He then went back and sat down behind his desk.

  ‘Cheers!’ he said, raising his mug to Conrad and Amelia, who were sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

  ‘Cheers!’ mumbled Conrad and Amelia together.

  Brady took a drink. It tasted like shit. But it was the best he had to offer.

  He watched as Amelia winced at the harsh, burning taste. But she persevered with it, forcing herself to take another mouthful.

  Nobody spoke. The atmosphere in the room was chillier than a walk-in refrigerator.

  ‘So,’ Brady began, deciding he had no choice but to get it over with: ‘Lisa Sanderson?’

  Amelia looked up at Conrad, unsure of who should speak first.

  Conrad gestured for Amelia to answer.

  ‘Well, she’s an intelligent, attractive, twenty-two-year-old young woman. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone like Lee Harris,’ Amelia stated.

  Brady took another mouthful of Scotch as he contemplated Amelia’s summary. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted. But she was right. Lee Harris’ girlfriend suited him in more ways than one.

  She was petite with long, straightened blonde hair, pretty, delicate features and trusting bright blue eyes. Everything about her was charmingly innocuous. She was a doctor’s surgery receptionist and consequently came over as polite, professional and courteous. She had never been in trouble with the police, or even been in a police station. She came from a good, respectable family, had a reasonable college education behind her and held down a responsible job. Lisa Sanderson was perfect alibi material.