Broken Silence ijb-1

by Danielle Ramsay

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Well, you should bloody know! This is your investigation. If someone’s talking, it’s your job to shut them up!’

  Brady didn’t respond.

  ‘I’m warning you, Jack, don’t make a fool of me!’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’ Gates asked as he scrutinised Brady.

  Brady didn’t answer. He couldn’t without jeopardising his job.

  ‘Have it your way for now,’ Gates dispassionately replied. ‘But if I find out you’ve been holding back on me, you’ll live to regret it.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ answered Brady awkwardly.

  ‘It’s bad enough we’ve got a murdered fifteen-year-old girl. Let alone the implication that one of our own is involved. Sort it! And sort it fast! Before I’m forced to put an arrest warrant out for Matthews!’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brady went back to his office to collect his coat.

  He soon wished he hadn’t when the phone rang.

  ‘Yeah Charlie?’

  ‘Better warn you, bonny lad, Harriet Jacobs from The Evening Chronicle has been doing a bit of digging and she’s found out that Sophie Washington belonged to Facebook as well as some blogging site. Seems that she’s got some unauthorised information on the victim from these sites that she’s threatening to publish.’

  ‘Shit!’ Brady muttered as he logged onto his laptop. ‘How the hell has she managed to get access to the victim’s sites when we’re meant to have removed them?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jack. But she did and she’s wanting to publish it.’

  He should have expected it. The scavenging rats had grown tired of the scraps thrown to them by the Press Office. Now they were starting to do their own kind of dirty detective work on the victim. Digital door-stepping showed just how low journalists would scrape for a scoop. Refused sordid information from the grieving victim’s family or the police, journalists would take whatever material existed on the Web about the victim, regardless of the impact.

  ‘It gets worse, Jack. This Jacobs woman is requesting an interview with you. If you don’t then she’s going to publish the girl’s blog entries and some of those photos.’

  Brady knew exactly which photos Turner was talking about. He sighed heavily. Harriet Jacobs was the same journalist who had shouted out questions at him about Matthews at the crime scene. She was also responsible for The Evening Chronicle‘s front-page story suggesting DI Matthews’ suspension somehow implicated him in the murder.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Brady said before putting the phone down.

  He looked up to see Conrad walk in.

  ‘I found nothing on the CCTV footage that’s unusual, sir,’ Conrad informed him.

  ‘Go on,’ Brady instructed.

  ‘Well, you can see a young woman walking along the bottom road by Wellfield at roughly the time that the victim left Evie Matthews’ house. From what I can make out it’s her. She’s wearing similar clothes, hairstyle etc. She’s definitely alone and no one seems to be following her. But she does use her phone to call someone.’

  ‘Thanks, Conrad,’ Brady replied, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  Brady glanced down at his desk and suddenly remembered what had so riled him before Conrad had walked in.

  ‘Maybe you can tell me what that bloody woman wants?’ he asked looking up at Conrad.

  ‘What woman?’ Conrad asked, at a loss.

  ‘The one who’s intent on losing me my job!’

  Conrad still looked puzzled.

  Brady had to admit his description didn’t exactly narrow it down; he’d pissed off quite a few people in his time.

  ‘Some bloody journalist by the name of Harriet Jacobs.’

  Conrad shook his head.

  ‘Never heard of her, sir.’

  ‘Works for The Evening Chronicle. Wrote that damned front-page story on Matthews being suspended from this murder investigation. What I want to know is who talked to her?’

  Conrad looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you know something?’

  ‘No, just a suspicion,’ Conrad answered.

  Brady didn’t have to ask, he already had his own reservations about Adamson.

  ‘Do me a favour, Conrad, and talk to her will you? Find out exactly what she knows and who’s feeding her this crap?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ answered Conrad, still at a loss as to why Brady was so uptight.

  ‘The bugger’s trying to blackmail me into talking to her,’ Brady explained. ‘But I reckon she’ll be more than satisfied when you turn up. Especially after that press conference you did with Gates this afternoon,’ Brady added, with a laconic smile.

  Since the press conference, Conrad had been getting ribbed by everyone about his TV performance. But Brady had to admit Conrad had looked the part.

  ‘I don’t understand. What’s she got over you?’

  ‘This,’ Brady said as he turned his laptop towards Conrad. ‘She wants to publish everything, including the photos. Unless I talk to her.’

  ‘I thought Jed had removed her Facebook page and blog?’ Conrad asked, surprised.

  ‘So did I,’ said Brady.

  He watched as Conrad scrolled down Sophie Washington’s blog entries and photos.

  Even Conrad seemed as surprised as Brady by the number of tributes posted on the victim’s wall and on her blog. It seemed that bad news travelled fast in the cyberworld. Sophie Washington was now being hailed as a tragic heroine whose short life had been romanticised into something it wasn’t. Brady had gleaned enough unpalatable facts about her life to know the picture these people were painting couldn’t have been further from the truth. But she had nearly a thousand tributes posted on her wall. Brady doubted that most of these people even knew her. But he recognised that Jenkins was right; they’d have to look at every single one of them.

  When Conrad had finished reading he looked the way Brady felt.

  Brady shook his head.

  ‘Why is nothing ever straightforward?’ he asked as he stared at a photograph of the victim brazenly downing shots in one of Whitley Bay’s nefarious bars.

  The pub was easy to recognise; he’d been in it enough times himself, arresting underage drinkers. But what Brady hadn’t banked on was seeing a photo of Jimmy Matthews’ daughter with the victim, knocking back shots in the same damned bar. Worse than that, Evie Matthews had recently posted it as a tribute to her deceased best friend, Sophie Washington.

  Brady had asked Conrad to get the car ready while he made a quick call.

  He needed to talk to Jed, their forensic computer analyst. They only had one full-time computer geek. Money was short and Gates was tight which meant that Jed was always up to his knees in work.

  Brady listened, unimpressed as Jed tried to bullshit him again with computer jargon.

  ‘I don’t give a shit about any of that! I want it taken off the net, regardless. I don’t give a damn if the blog’s on American Bloggers! I want it removed!’ Brady insisted. ‘I mean it, Jed, our jobs are on the line here. If any of this stuff gets published it’s not only me who’ll be answering to Gates. You know that don’t you? So tell me why the hell it’s taken so long to remove it?’ he demanded.

  ‘What do you mean it’s not that easy?’ Brady incredulously asked.

  He sighed as Jed started again.

  ‘Fuck civil liberties and privacy rights and all that crap!’ Brady interrupted, losing his temper. ‘This is a fifteen-year-old girl we’re talking about here. What about her civil liberties and right to privacy now, huh? For fuck’s sake! What about her family’s rights in all of this?’

  Brady took a deep breath as Jed kicked off. Brady knew he was one of the best forensic computer analysts around, but he was a pedant when it came to sticking to the rules.

  ‘Damn it, Jed! Half the shit she posted on her blog is bloody illegal anyway! Sh
e was just a kid! And believe me, if those photographs of her getting off her face, never mind the bloody half-naked ones aren’t removed from that site immediately then some bloody unscrupulous paper’s going to have them covering their front page tomorrow. Not to mention Jimmy Matthews’ kid!’

  He rubbed his forehead as he listened to Jed’s ever patient voice. Jed often got it in the neck; hazards of the job, Brady presumed. There was a whole cyberworld out there that facilitated the sick and twisted in every imaginable way. It was Jed’s impossible job to nail them with whatever illicit and unsavoury material was stored on their hard drives.

  ‘What about the victim’s computer and her step-dad’s? Found anything yet?’ Brady asked in vain, hoping for some good news.

  ‘Yeah, I know you’re backed up,’ he replied, wearily. ‘I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. It’s just that I’m waiting to see if anything shows up on Paul Simmons’ computer. I’ve got a feeling about that guy if you get my drift?’

  Brady nodded.

  ‘Yeah, I know it’s a Friday night. And yeah, I do appreciate it.’

  He wasn’t angry with Jed. He was angry at the immorality of it all. The fact that depraved journalists could make money out of someone else’s misery was beyond him. Especially when it involved a fifteen-year-old murdered girl.

  Brady grabbed his jacket and limped towards the door, reluctantly accepting that the worst was yet to come.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  ‘Pull in here,’ Brady demanded suddenly.

  ‘What about Matthews’ daughter?’ Conrad questioned.

  ‘There’s something I need to do first.’

  He still couldn’t get hold of Matthews. But that wasn’t his only concern.

  He steeled himself before getting out of the car.

  ‘Where are you going, sir?’ Conrad called out, confused.

  ‘To see what those little bastards know about the murder,’ Brady replied before slamming the car door shut.

  He wasn’t in the mood for trouble. But the frenzied screaming and high-spirited jeers told him he’d come to the wrong place. He headed through the trees, away from the safety of the street lights towards the pitch-black area that was Whitley Bay Park. It was after 8 pm and no resident or dog walker in their right mind would go near the park at night. The raucous shouting and swearing started to get louder as Brady closed in.

  ‘What the fuck do you want, mister? Looking for a fucking shag? Is that it?’ shouted one lad before he cockily dragged on his cigarette.

  He instinctively yanked his hood forward as Brady turned to look at him.

  ‘It’ll fucking cost you though. My lass ain’t cheap!’

  Brady couldn’t help but smile. The scrawny little bugger looked no older than fourteen and here he was giving him lip.

  Brady stood his ground, undeterred by the jeers and catcalls coming from the twenty or so teenagers who had now gathered around him. He realised that most of the kids were high; whether it was alcohol or drugs it didn’t matter. The air was thick with the smell of cannabis while cans of cheap lager and bottles of wine clinked as they did the rounds. The outcome was still the same; kids too high to realise the consequences of being off their faces.

  Adrenalin surged through Brady as he checked out Conrad’s whereabouts.

  He was relieved to see Conrad watching from a safe distance. It was reassuring to know that back-up could be called if things suddenly got out of hand.

  ‘So, what’s it to be, mister, eh? Twenty quid say?’ leered the lad with the tab.

  Brady could smell the cheap beer on the kid’s breath.

  ‘I just want to ask a couple of questions,’ Brady answered firmly.

  ‘Nah, mister. Don’t work like that,’ the lad replied with a cold glint in his eye.

  He dragged on his tab before handing it to a giggling lass stood nearby.

  ‘You give me forty quid and maybe I’ll let you go,’ he added menacingly as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve.

  ‘You don’t want to do that,’ warned Brady.

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘Fucking shaft the perv!’ excitedly cried the lass as the lad suddenly jumped at Brady, knife outstretched.

  Brady deftly grabbed the kid, twisting him into a deadlock before he had a chance to realise what had happened.

  ‘Ow … you’re fucking psycho you are! Let me go or I’ll fucking kill you!’ rasped the lad as Brady restrained him under his right arm.

  ‘Drop the knife or I’ll fucking choke it out of you!’ Brady threatened.

  The kid limply dropped the blade to the ground. Brady stepped on it, aware that there were twenty more teenagers waiting to finish the job.

  ‘Fucking let him go, mister!’

  ‘That’s fucking assault that is! And he’s a fucking kid he is! I’m going to call the fucking police on you!’

  ‘I am the fucking police! And if you don’t want me nicking the lot of you, you’ll bugger off!’ Brady ordered as he gestured towards Conrad’s waiting figure.

  He watched as the kids belligerently dispersed, mouthing off as they went.

  ‘Ahhh … you bastard! You’re fucking choking me!’ the lad hissed, as he struggled in vain to get free.

  ‘What do you know about Sophie Washington?’ Brady demanded.

  ‘I don’t fucking know nowt!’

  ‘Try harder,’ Brady suggested as he tightened his grip.

  The kid started spluttering and kicking.

  ‘Let him go, will you?’ cried out the lass still holding his tab.

  Brady ignored her.

  ‘She used to come down here with her mate, all right?’ he spluttered.

  Brady already knew who the mate was without asking.

  ‘Was she here last night?’

  ‘Nah, haven’t seen her around for a while.’

  ‘Did she have any boyfriends that you know of?’

  ‘Who knows? She was a right fucking slapper she was! Half of Whitley have shagged her!’

  Brady relaxed his grip on the kid. He fell to the ground.

  ‘You fucking need your head seeing you do!’ screeched his lass.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  Brady turned to the kid as he started to get to his feet.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ Brady ordered.

  ‘I’m going nowhere, you fucking pig!’

  Brady suddenly felt something hard and jagged hit his forehead.

  ‘You little shit!’ Brady swore as he realised that the kid had got him good.

  Before the kid had a chance to leg it, Brady grabbed him.

  ‘Taken to beating up kids now have we, sir?’ Conrad asked as Brady dragged the reluctant youth over to the car.

  ‘Other way round. Little shit got me a good one,’ Brady said as he pressed his shirt sleeve to his bleeding forehead.

  ‘You want to get that seen to,’ Conrad suggested as he took a look at the cut.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Brady muttered.

  He had more to worry about than a wound.

  ‘You sure about this, sir?’ Conrad asked as he sceptically looked at the kid.

  ‘Yeah, he knows something all right!’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Because that’s bloody Shane McGuire.’

  Chapter Thirty Five

  ‘Bloody hell, Jack! What happened to you?’ asked Turner as Brady limped into the station.

  Brady shrugged.

  ‘See if you can get hold of a social worker for me, will you?’

  ‘Why would you—’ Turner stopped short when Conrad came through the double doors with the lad.

  ‘What the bloody hell have you done this time, McGuire?’ Turner demanded as he raised his bushy, white eyebrows at the kid.

  ‘Pissed me off,’ muttered Brady.

  ‘Aye, I can see that, bonny lad,’ answered Turner as he shook his head at the nasty cut above Brady’s left eye.

  ‘Why the fuck sho
uld I talk to you? You fucking wanker,’ growled Shane McGuire.

  Brady casually leaned back against his chair.

  ‘You wait till my fucking dad hears about this, then you’ll fucking see!’ McGuire threatened.

  ‘Where is your old man again? That’s right, he’s bangedup. So tell me, what’s he going to do to me from behind bars?’

  The social worker that Turner had called in gave Brady a withering look.

  Brady returned it with a lame smile. He’d worked with Linda Johnson on numerous occasions. She knew what hardened little buggers they were as much as Brady did. She was under no illusions; unlike some of the newly qualified bloody do-gooders.

  ‘Can we cut straight to the point, DI Brady?’ Linda asked as she raised a narrow pencilled eyebrow at him. ‘It is a Friday night after all.’

  ‘Sure, but I reckon you should be telling McGuire here that,’ Brady replied.

  McGuire responded by spitting a glob of phlegm at Brady.

  It missed and hit the table in front of him.

  ‘So, let’s go over last night again, shall we?’ Brady repeated.

  ‘Like I said, I was at home with my nan,’ McGuire cockily replied. ‘So you’ve got nowt on me!’

  ‘Apart from your girlfriend’s murder.’

  McGuire sucked in air.

  ‘She wasn’t my fucking girlfriend …’ he nervously replied.

  ‘What was she then? Just some shag?’

  ‘You fucking know nowt!’ McGuire replied edgily.

  Brady raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  ‘What about these then?’ Brady asked as he laid out photographs.

  ‘Where the fuck did you get those?’ McGuire spat as he snatched the photos.

  Brady shrugged.

  McGuire quickly flicked through the digital images of him and Sophie.

  ‘So fucking what? It wasn’t as if we were serious or nowt. We both just hung out sometimes. There was nowt in it!’

  ‘But now’s she dead,’ Brady stated.

  ‘Look, I haven’t seen Sophie for a while now. All right?’

  ‘What happened? Another schoolgirl catch your eye?’ Brady asked laconically.

  ‘It’s none of your business. Anyhows, she and her mate always had booze on them, and weed. So don’t fucking make out she was innocent. Cos she was far from fucking innocent!’