Blind Alley

by Danielle Ramsay

  She suddenly turned and looked back at the station. He didn’t know whether she had seen him. But he had seen her. Her pretty, perfect-featured face was pale and taut. Pinched even. Her bright blue, lively eyes had lost their joie de vivre. They were dull, filled instead with pain and recrimination. He wondered who the recrimination was directed at – herself or Brady?

  After all, he was the catalyst. Brady was responsible for her life being destroyed. If Gates had had his way, Lisa Sanderson’s day would have been very different.

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Amelia asked.

  Brady turned and walked back to his desk.

  ‘Think of what?’ he asked, sitting down.

  ‘His bloody name. Why didn’t I suggest that he could have changed his name by deed poll?’ Amelia asked.

  Brady knew the anger in her voice was directed at herself rather than at him.

  ‘Because it didn’t seem obvious at the time. Why did DCI Gates let Lee Harris walk? Why did I let it get that far in the first instance? I should have nailed him when I had him here on Sunday. But I didn’t. Why did Kenny not check that they had actually got on the flight the Friday evening Sarah Jeffries was attacked? Why didn’t I double-check that crucial piece of information myself? I even accepted that Kenny had contacted the hotel and verified that Sanderson and Harris had spent the weekend there. He’d checked with the hotel all right. Checked that they had turned up for the weekend. But he had missed one crucial detail. He didn’t double-check what day they arrived. He didn’t think to ask. The worst part is I had a gut feeling but I did nothing.’

  Amelia looked at Brady, surprised by what he’d just said.

  ‘But you turned it around. You did the impossible.’

  ‘Really?’ Brady questioned, his eyes filled with scepticism. ‘You want to try telling DCI Gates that? I don’t think he’ll quite see it that way.’

  Amelia frowned at him.

  ‘Double-edged sword. I resolved this case against Gates’s wishes. He released Harris without my knowledge. He then told me to let it go and move on.’

  ‘What? From the case?’

  ‘No. From my belief that Lee Harris was our suspect.’

  Amelia didn’t say anything.

  Neither did Brady.

  He might have closed the case. But at what price? He had committed career suicide in more ways than one. He had ignored DCI Gates’s advice and then he’d bypassed him and gone higher to get the answer he wanted. He should have gone to Gates and shared the new information he had on Harris, instead of to O’Donnell. Gates would never trust him again.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Brady was sitting opposite Lee Harris. The interview wasn’t going well. The suspect was refusing to talk. He had taken his right to silence one step too far.

  Brady wanted to grab him by the throat and force the answers out of him. But he knew that was out of the question. Instead, he tried his best to rein his anger in. They had enough evidence on this sick bastard to make sure he would never get the chance to hurt another woman again.

  The Duty Solicitor, Harold Oliver, was next to the suspect. It was clear he had better things to do than waste a Wednesday night on Harris.

  Oliver checked his watch and then shot Brady a questioning look.

  ‘Can we speed this along Detective Inspector? It’s clear my client isn’t willing to talk to you. We’ve been here for an hour now. So can I suggest if you’re going to charge him, you do that? Rather than wasting time?’

  ‘In a minute. There’s still some details I’m not quite sure about.’

  Oliver folded his arms as he glared at Brady. He was an average-looking man in his mid-thirties who was only here for the money. He had a wife, a mortgage and expensive tastes in clothes. Simple maths.

  Oliver leaned in towards Brady in an attempt to reason with him.

  ‘Come on, Jack. Do we have to do this? I mean, Lee Harris won’t even talk to me. What chance do you think you have?’

  The look in Brady’s eye told Oliver it might be a long night.

  Infuriated, he sat back, realising he had no choice but to wait it out.

  ‘So, James? It is James Hunter, isn’t it?’

  Harris shot Brady a relaxed, easy-going smile that told Brady he could stay here and sit this out for as long as it took.

  Brady realised that Harris really couldn’t give a damn.

  ‘Why didn’t you report your change of name to the Met?’

  Again Harris didn’t say a word.

  ‘You’ve got quite a history as James Hunter, haven’t you? I can understand why you’d want to forget about it. Don’t blame you really. I mean . . . let’s see . . .’ Brady said as he picked up the file in front of him.

  He turned to Conrad.

  ‘You want to feel the weight of this file. James Hunter certainly had an interesting life. How old were you when you changed your name? That’s right, eighteen. And in those eighteen years you did some sick, twisted shit. I suppose that’s what the formative years of a serial sadistic rapist look like?’

  Harris smiled at Brady again.

  But the smile did not quite reach his eyes. He looked at Brady with a chilling coldness, which didn’t hide how much he would like to hurt him.

  Brady simply carried on.

  ‘Your prior arrests are fascinating: theft, assault, sexual assault, rape of a minor. This was all under the age of thirteen. Quite precocious for your age, weren’t you?’

  Oliver sighed heavily. ‘Really, Detective? I am sure you’re aware that my client was not convicted of any of those crimes. There was no evidence to charge him. And as far as I am aware there’s no law against changing your name. Especially in such circumstances as my client’s.’

  Brady shot Oliver a sceptical look. ‘And what circumstances would those be?’

  ‘He spent his youth being harassed by the police. He was repeatedly arrested but not once did they have anything concrete to charge him with.’

  ‘Unlike now,’ Brady stated. It was enough to silence Oliver.

  He then turned his attention to Harris. ‘Your mother must have been really proud of you, considering how hard she worked. What was she again, DS Conrad?’

  ‘A prostitute, sir,’ answered Conrad, never once taking his eyes off Harris.

  ‘That’s right, a single mother who worked as a prostitute so she could put food on the table and pay the rent on the shitty little piss-ridden Tower Hamlets flat you lived in. Bet you saw some action there when you were a kid?’

  Brady opened the file and started scrolling down with his index finger. He then stopped and looked up at Harris.

  ‘Ah yes. There it is. You were temporarily removed and placed into social services after a teacher had reported that she had concerns regarding your welfare. Good job she did. Turned out that your mother’s boyfriend was abusing you. How old were you? Ten? Bet it started long before that.’ Brady stopped as he took a drink of water.

  Harris sat back and smiled. The look in his eyes told Brady to do his worst.

  Brady put his glass down. He liked a challenge.

  ‘Remember what your mother looked like? Before someone considerately doused her in petrol while she lay pissed in her bed in that rat-infested flat you shared. Whole flat went up. Only made the local news, though. Pity that. Then again, most people don’t give a shit if a prostitute gets set on fire.’

  Harris didn’t respond.

  ‘Why did you do it, Harris? Did you watch her wake up screaming after you’d soaked her in petrol and struck the match?’

  Oliver sighed in exasperation.

  ‘Really, Detective Inspector! Is this necessary? You know my client wasn’t charged with any involvement with his mother’s death.’

  ‘Sorry. You’re right. My apologies, Mr Harris. Bit of a coincidence that you disappeared around that time and resurfaced a year later with a new identity, though.’

  Brady sat back and looked at him. He was starting to agree with Oliver. This was a
waste of police time. He should charge him and just go to the pub.

  ‘The only question I have is why were we able to recover items from your childhood that should have gone up in flames. Bit of a coincidence that they survived when the whole flat was destroyed. Unless of course, you cleared your possessions out before torching her and the flat?’

  ‘Detective!’ Oliver interjected.

  Brady ignored him.

  ‘We found your secret box. The one you kept in Lisa Sanderson’s flat. Photographs of you and your mother and other pathetic pieces of paraphernalia. You even kept the newspaper cutting that reported her death. Just like you did with your rape victims.’

  Oliver made an exaggerated gesture of pointing at his watch.

  Brady nodded.

  ‘I tell you what was clever, befriending Chloe Winters on Facebook. Why didn’t you do that with Sarah Jeffries or Anna Lewis? Or did you become more confident by the time you decided on Chloe Winters? You stalked her, didn’t you? Followed her statuses and even made comments on them. But not as Lee Harris, as James Hunter. You see, when you came in on Saturday I had my team run a check on all three rape victims’ Facebook pages to see if you were there. But you weren’t, were you? We even checked to see if there was a name that matched all three of their accounts. But no. You had only befriended Chloe and that was in the name of James Hunter, with a photograph of you as a small boy with your mother on the beach playing happy families. Chilling really,’ Brady said as he looked Harris in the eye. ‘As disturbing as cutting off Chloe Winters’ tattoo and Anna Lewis’s right nipple and drying the skin out. What did you do with them when you were locked away in your attic playing by yourself? Did you touch them? Did they get you all aroused?’

  Harris was smiling at Brady in a way that told him he was right. The look in his brown eyes said he was impressed that Brady could even understand something so personal.

  It took Brady all his power not to lean over and knock the stomach-turning look of enjoyment off his face.

  Conrad hastily gave the time of 10:01 p.m., calling an end to the interview.

  He could see the look on Brady’s face and had a fair idea what was coming next.

  ‘You’re one fucking sick bastard, Harris. I hope you like your new inmates. A pretty boy like you? They’ll be fighting over who gets you first! At least it will be familiar, eh? Like the good old days with your mam’s boyfriend,’ Brady stated, his voice cold.

  If Brady had wanted a reaction, he got one. Some dark, forgotten memory sparked inside Harris just long enough for the arrogance and assurance to slip. For a second Brady saw a glimmer of something closely resembling pain. Then it was gone. Replaced by the cold, unnerving smile of a psychopath.

  Brady watched him. The look of such pleasure on his face made him feel sick. He suddenly scraped his chair back and stood up. He couldn’t stand another second in the same room as Harris. He turned and walked out, leaving Conrad to charge him.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ‘Another pint, Jack? It’s your money after all!’ laughed Harvey as he slapped Brady on the back.

  Brady had handed over 200 quid for the team to celebrate. They deserved it. It had been a gruelling two months with some serious fuck-ups along the way, but they had somehow managed to turn it around. He was now leaning over the bar in the Fat Ox nursing a pint and not much in the mood for celebrating.

  He turned to Harvey and gave him a weak smile.

  ‘If I start I won’t stop.’ It was an honest answer.

  ‘Doesn’t sound too bad to me. It’s not as if you’ve got to be back in at the crack of dawn tomorrow, is it?’

  Brady shot Harvey a look as if to say: ‘How the fuck did you know?’

  ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘Gates has demanded to see me. His office, eight thirty a.m.’

  ‘What a tight-arsed bastard! You turn three bloody cases round in five days, I mean five fucking days, and he’s calling you in the morning after you’ve maybe closed the biggest investigation of your career? To what? Congratulate you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was nothing more Brady could say.

  ‘Surely he knows that the team . . . no, make that most of the station are here tonight getting bladdered?’ Harvey asked, incredulous.

  ‘Yeah, I think that’s his point.’ The last thing Brady needed right now was Harvey reminding him.

  ‘What the fuck is that about then?’ Harvey asked as he signalled to Gaye for two more pints.

  Brady shrugged. But he knew exactly what it was about. He had kept his head down and had somehow managed to avoid Gates. He had no idea how, but he had. Then Conrad had walked into the pub with the news that Gates wanted to see him at 8:30 precisely.

  ‘There you go, pet. You look like you need it,’ Gaye said as she handed Brady a fresh pint.

  ‘Thanks, Gaye,’ he muttered.

  He liked her. She always had time for a chat when it was quiet. She was a small woman in her early fifties with short blonde hair and a smile for every customer. Despite her size she had a way of handling trouble when it came in. Brady had witnessed her successfully bar four skinheads who were on the lash and out to wreak mayhem. He still didn’t quite know how she did it.

  ‘You want to talk about it?’ she asked, concerned at the state he was in.

  She had known Brady for over ten years. The exact length of time she had run the place.

  ‘No,’ Brady answered with a weak smile.

  ‘Ignore him, Gaye. He’s just being a miserable bastard for the sake of it! Likes the job too much. That’s his problem. Look at the rest of the team, eh? Celebrating because we’ve closed an investigation and what’s this miserable sod doing? Looking depressed! Some people are never happy!’

  Harvey laughed as he clapped Brady on the back again before walking off towards the raucous crowd shouting and cheering at the back end of the pub. The troublemakers belonged to Brady. It was a collection of his team members and other officers who had been called in to help work the serial rape case.

  Brady looked over for Conrad. He seemed to be having a good time. He was already on his third pint. Conrad had worked up quite a thirst – they all had. But for some reason Brady was struggling to drink. He swilled the dregs at the bottom of his glass around. He couldn’t shake his mood. It was the knowledge he had to face Gates in the morning.

  Shit . . .

  Brady had no idea what he was going to say. Let alone how he was going to excuse his actions. He would just have to wait and find out what Gates wanted. But he knew that the outcome wouldn’t be good.

  ‘Hey, penny for them?’ Amelia said as she joined Brady.

  ‘You’d want your money back if I told you,’ he replied.

  He turned and looked at her. She was leaning over the bar trying to catch one of the bar staff’s attention.

  She looked as stunning as ever.

  ‘What? What’s wrong? Have I smudged my lipstick or something?’ Amelia asked, realising he was staring at her.

  ‘No . . . You look perfect,’ Brady answered without thinking. ‘I mean . . . no you . . . you’re fine. Your lipstick’s fine.’

  He suddenly focused his attention on the dregs in the pint glass in front of him. He picked it up and drained it.

  Brady’s awkwardness made Amelia feel embarrassed.

  She turned away and tried to catch the eye of one of the bartenders again. She failed.

  ‘Large white wine, please, Gaye?’ Brady called out as the proprietor walked past.

  ‘Thanks,’ Amelia said.

  ‘Doesn’t say that much about me though, does it?’

  Amelia didn’t get his drift.

  ‘That I’m on first term names with the bar staff?’

  She broke into a smile. ‘I see.’

  Brady handed over a tenner to Gaye as he gestured that the wine in her hand was for Amelia. ‘Keep the change.’

  Gaye shot him a winning smile in return but handed him his change back.

  ‘Keep y
our money, Jack. You’ve already spent enough tonight on that lot,’ Gaye said as she looked over at the group of rowdy drinkers.

  ‘So, who’s this lovely young lady, then?’ Gaye asked, turning her attention back to Brady. It had been a long time since she’d seen Jack Brady with an attractive young woman. The last woman who actually suited Brady had been Claudia, his ex-wife. She hadn’t seen Claudia since they’d separated but in a funny way this woman reminded her of Claudia.

  Brady’s face became flushed. ‘No one,’ he quickly answered. Too quickly.

  He felt Amelia’s eyes on him. ‘I mean . . . Yes, this is Amelia. She’s a work colleague. Amelia this is Gaye – who likes to embarrass me. And Gaye, this is—’

  Gaye smiled at his discomfort. ‘Amelia,’ she cut in. ‘I know. Don’t you just love him?’

  Amelia turned to Brady. She bit her bottom lip, getting red lipstick on her teeth. ‘I don’t know. Is he worth loving?’

  Gaye laughed. ‘The jury’s still out on that one, pet.’

  Brady had his head bent down and focused on the second pint Harvey had ordered for him.

  ‘It’s OK. I’m going now. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.’ She shot Brady a mischievous smile before walking off to serve another customer.

  ‘She seems to know you well,’ Amelia commented.

  ‘Knows everything about me. So if there’s anything you want to ask, Gaye’s the woman.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Amelia replied as she watched Brady.

  He still had his head bent down, staring into his pint.

  ‘You all right, Jack?’

  He shrugged. ‘I dunno. Depends what happens tomorrow with Gates.’

  ‘Oh . . .’

  ‘Yeah. He wants to see me first thing.’

  ‘That’s shit.’

  Brady turned and looked at Amelia. It was the first time he had heard her swear.

  ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. It was shit.