Blood Reckoning: DI Jack Brady 4

by Danielle Ramsay

  Shit!

  Brady turned back to Daniels and Kenny. Both were in their early thirties. Unlike Conrad, they were not graduates. Nor were they focused on fast-tracking. That in itself was a problem. They saw Conrad as different. A cut above the rest. They were Geordie blokes and proud of it. Their talk revolved around three subjects outside work: football, drinking and women. In that exact order. Conrad couldn’t have been more different. Newcastle United, lager and lasses were anathema to Conrad. And he made it known when the conversation got out of hand at work. In fact, Conrad only ever talked about the job. Anything else was inconsequential. Whereas Daniels and Kenny enjoyed the job, but not enough to let it take over their lives. Irreverent, testosterone-fuelled talk about women dominated a lot of their conversation. Unlike Conrad. And it appeared that they had noted it. Not only that, Conrad never talked about his personal life. It was a closed subject. His affluent background and his current personal status were subjects he never acknowledged. Never discussed – no matter how much Daniels and Kenny goaded him. But it was clear that something had changed. Their attitude to Conrad had shifted from begrudged respect for a senior officer to out-and-out taking the piss. The question was, why?

  Brady automatically thought of DI Adamson. Five months under that misogynistic, racist, homophobic dickhead could turn two DCs’ casual – and at times politically incorrect – banter into something much more insidious. Brady realised that he could have trouble on his hands. The problem was, he didn’t have time for there to be discord within the team. Not now.

  Daniels was well-built at five foot eleven – a testament to long hours spent at the gym. Good-looking, in a hard way. Women liked him and he knew it and abused it. He and Kenny were inseparable: best mates on the job, best mates off. Kenny was tall, with short, curly dark brown hair. His face already heavily lined. What he lacked in looks he made up for by being a comedian. Brady would constantly find himself telling Kenny to rein it in. But he knew that Kenny’s macabre sense of humour was his way of dealing with the atrocities that they faced. Nor was he unusual. Brady knew a lot of coppers and scenes of crime officers who wouldn’t miss the opportunity to come out with a sick one-liner at the expense of the deceased.

  But what troubled Brady here was whether Kenny’s joke was at Conrad’s expense or the deceased’s. The last thing he wanted was to be dealing with this kind of homophobic crap. He decided to have a word with Conrad later. Test the water. Because if something had happened while Brady had been away, he needed to know. He wouldn’t tolerate any kind of bullying innuendos. ‘Right, you two. Give me what you know,’ Brady fired out. His eyes flashed with menace as he focused on Daniels and Kenny. He was standing in front of them. Needed to be standing, as his left leg had stiffened up and had started cramping. It was involuntary and painful. But being stood in front of these two morons gave him an edge. Reminded them of the hierarchy here. Brady wasn’t their friend. He was their boss. And in the ranking order, so was Conrad – whether they liked it or not. But these two needed that knocking back into them. A reminder that they weren’t working for Adamson anymore.

  Daniels ran a hand over his hair. ‘Well, sir,’ he began. He then looked at Kenny for him to take the lead.

  Kenny frowned at Daniels not sure what he wanted him to say. His eyes darted over to the whiteboard, as if double-checking the case he was supposed to be working on.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! Tell me you two knuckleheads aren’t still pissed?’

  The conference room, despite its size, stank of stale booze. The odious smell emanated from Daniels’ and Kenny’s breath. Clung to their pores.

  Daniels gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry, sir. But this was our weekend off. You’re lucky that you could get hold of us,’ he said with a knowing smile.

  ‘Yeah,’ added Kenny, yawning. ‘We had an all-nighter at this strip club in town. Christ! It was blinding! Adamson took us to it a few weeks back. Private membership and all. You might know it?’ Kenny suggested as he looked straight at Conrad. His eyes were filled with cruel amusement.

  Conrad didn’t bite. He looked at Kenny and shrugged. ‘Can’t say I do.’

  ‘Nah, not your sort of club, is it,’ Kenny stated flatly, the smile gone.

  ‘Right!’ Brady exclaimed. ‘You two pissheads shut your mouths and sober up. One more word of crap and I’ll have both your bollocks nailed to your bloody foreheads. And then I’ll personally see to it that you’re both up on a disciplinary. Are we clear on this? You have a problem with Conrad? Then bloody spit it out now! Otherwise shut the fuck up and show some respect for a superior officer!’ Brady caught Amelia’s eye. She looked surprised by his outburst. As for Conrad, he didn’t look impressed that his boss had jumped in to his defence. But Brady didn’t care. It had to be said. He would not tolerate homophobic innuendos and if that embarrassed Conrad, so be it. He would rather have it out in the open than ignore something that could end up forcing Conrad out of the force. And he was too good a copper for Brady to lose.

  ‘It’s just a bit of harmless piss-taking, sir,’ Daniels muttered as he nudged his partner.

  ‘Yeah,’ Kenny agreed reluctantly. He folded his arms and sat back as he looked across at Conrad. ‘Bit of banter between grown men. Nothing personal.’

  Brady sighed. As far as first days back on the job went, this was the worst one yet.

  ‘Victim? What do we know so far?’ Brady asked, the question directed at Kenny and Daniels.

  ‘Alexander De Bernier. Twenty-two-year-old politics student at Newcastle Uni, finishing off a Masters. Fourth year there. Already has a first degree in politics,’ Kenny answered.

  Brady waited.

  Kenny looked back down at the scrawl in front of him that passed as notes and frowned as he searched for something else to say.

  ‘And?’ He was in no mood today to be carrying these two. He had fifteen other officers and detectives currently being called in from other Area Commands. In other words, he could afford to lose two. And the way they were acting, it didn’t seem like a bad idea.

  ‘Lives in Heaton in a student share,’ Daniels added.

  Again, Brady waited. Nothing.

  Conrad stepped in. ‘We’ve contacted his parents. They live up in the north-east of Scotland. A few miles from Elgin.’

  ‘Who informed them?’ Brady asked.

  ‘The police there. Seemed more appropriate.’

  Brady nodded. A phone call wasn’t the best way to deliver this kind of news.

  ‘I’ve got their statement here for you,’ Conrad said gesturing to a file in front of him. ‘But neither parent could shed any light on why their son had been murdered. Perfect student. Lots of friends. No enemies. As far as they knew he was well-liked by everyone.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ Brady commented.

  Conrad shook his head as he looked over at the graphic photos of the victim on the whiteboard. He turned back to Brady. ‘Only child. They’re devastated, as you can imagine. Can’t understand how or why it happened to him.’

  ‘Have you talked to them since they found out?’ Brady asked. He wasn’t one for second-hand knowledge. Would rather get a feel for it himself than trust someone else’s instincts.

  ‘Not yet. But I was planning on phoning them. Explain what we’re doing to help find their son’s murderer.’

  ‘Good. Do that. And organise transport down for them and a hotel in Newcastle, not Whitley Bay. I want them close, but not on my doorstep. I imagine once they’ve got over the shock they’ll want to be here. Organise a family liaison officer to be with them at all times. I don’t want them harangued by the bloody vipers from the press.’

  Brady didn’t think they would be speeding down the A1 to identify their son. The fact that the victim’s photo driver’s licence was in his wallet was enough proof of identity. No. They would want to be here to be close to the investigation. To feel as if they were doing something. Anything, to avoid them facing the inevitable – a future without their child.

&nb
sp; ‘Anything else?’ Brady asked.

  ‘Girlfriend. Molly Johansson. She’s from Johannesburg. She came over to take a Masters at Newcastle. Studying on the same course as Alexander De Bernier. That’s how they met, according to the victim’s parents.’

  Brady nodded. No surprise he had a girlfriend. His driver’s licence photo showed him to be handsome. Brady assumed he would have been even better looking in the flesh. Not that he’d looked so hot when Brady had been introduced to him.

  ‘Do they share the same student house?’

  Conrad shook his head. ‘Not from the details I’ve got here. They both lived in Heaton but at separate addresses.’

  ‘Has she been informed?’ Brady asked.

  ‘I believe his parents were going to tell her. They wanted that, rather than leave it to strangers. From what they’ve said in their statement, they were close to his girlfriend. Seems that the victim and Ms Johansson had been planning on getting engaged once they had both completed their postgraduate degrees.’

  This interested Brady. If the victim had been vulnerable, then that would make him an easy target – or at least an easier one. There was a reason that prostitutes – male or female – were at high risk when it came to being attacked, and even murdered. But this victim was different. He wasn’t high risk. He came from a good background and seemingly had everything going for him.

  ‘All right. We need to talk to her. Tell me if I’m wrong here, but why would the victim be spending a Saturday night in a hotel in Whitley Bay when he had a girlfriend he was planning on marrying at some point? Doesn’t quite add up.’

  ‘Depends . . .’ Daniels began.

  Brady inwardly steeled himself for yet another inane comment.

  ‘I know blokes who have a long-term girlfriend but still screw around. You know? It’s human nature. They may have the woman they want to marry but that doesn’t mean they want the same boring meal every day, if you get my drift. Variety is what keeps you sane,’ Daniels said with a grin.

  ‘Great to get an inside view of what goes on in that Neolithic brain of yours, Daniels. But not everyone is a serial shagger like you.’

  Brady could feel Amelia’s eyes on him. He didn’t want to look at her, to see what she thought of him. After all, hadn’t he stood her up in front of the team? Left her alone at the bar, without a word, to console Claudia. But one thing had led to another and he had ended up in bed with Claudia. It was inevitable. Brady was still desperately in love with her. Perhaps always would be.

  He cleared his head. Pushed thoughts of what could have happened with Amelia to the back of his mind.

  ‘It’s crucial we talk to his girlfriend. ASAP,’ Brady said, looking pointedly at Conrad.

  He then turned to Daniels and Kenny. ‘You two need to shape up. By the time I get back the rest of the team will be working this case. Don’t embarrass yourselves. More importantly, don’t embarrass me. Understand? In the meantime, you two will go through all the statements taken from the hotel staff and guests. Check for any priors. Anything suspicious, report it back. CCTV footage is crucial. The hotel receptionist said that they don’t have a security system. Check it out. And check out the surveillance cameras along the Promenade. My gut feeling is that the killer walked through the double doors into reception. And then, sometime later, walked back out.’

  Daniels made a point of exhaling noisily at the workload he had been given.

  ‘Within the hour this team will comprise fifteen detectives and officers. Use your brain, Daniels. Delegate. It’s going to be a long night, so I recommend you two get some coffee to help you sober up.’

  Brady mentally prepared himself as he turned to Amelia. He had to; she hadn’t yet said one word. It unnerved him. It was as if she had her shrink head on. Observing, analysing and judging.

  ‘Amelia . . .’ Brady paused. There was no mistaking the coolness. Her eyes lacked any warmth or familiarity – her whole demeanour was one of professional detachment. ‘Could you take a look at the spate of murders in the Seventies that took place throughout North Tyneside and compare them to this one? Charlie Turner, the desk sergeant, will help you locate the files. Have a chat with Charlie. He was a young copper at the time these murders took place. He might have some details or insight that you won’t glean from the files on the case.’

  ‘It’s filed under what?’

  The detached professionalism in her voice stung him.

  ‘The Joker murders.’

  Without looking at him, she made a note. ‘Is it a cold case?’

  ‘Yes,’ Brady replied. She still had her head down. ‘I’d be interested to know your take on it.’

  She finally raised her head to meet Brady’s eyes.

  ‘The Seventies murderer was named “The Joker” by the media,’ he explained. ‘For good reason. He left a Joker card with each of his victims’ bodies. There were seven in total from the beginning of the summer of ’77 to the end of it. He mutilated his victims, the injuries identical to those sustained by our victim last night, and then, after suffocating them, he left his calling card. The Joker. His way of playing with the police. The Joker card left with Alexander De Bernier is identical to the ones left with the Seventies victims.’

  Amelia looked mildly surprised at this information. ‘You seriously think this could be the same perpetrator?’

  Brady could feel Kenny and Daniels watching him.

  ‘We have to keep our options open. It could be that the original killer has resurfaced or it could be a copycat killer. There is a possible third scenario. That we have a killer who has chosen to murder Alexander De Bernier in the same manner as the Seventies victims to confuse us. To make us believe it’s either the original Joker or a copycat killer.’

  Amelia frowned at this suggestion.

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ Brady responded. ‘I’m really hoping you can help us on this by narrowing down the potential suspects and giving us a profile to work with. Why was Alexander De Bernier murdered? What was it about him that made him a victim? And then, why was he murdered in this unique way?’

  Amelia nodded at Brady. ‘All right. I’ll do my best,’ she answered. ‘Can I have a look at the list of suspects from the original case?’

  ‘Yeah, Harvey will sort you out with those details. From what we’ve gathered so far the original investigative team didn’t really have much to go on. The team was headed by DI McKaley. At the time, he was crucified by the press for not catching the killer. From what I’ve gathered he’s the only surviving member of the investigative team. The others are all deceased.’

  ‘Have you told him?’ Amelia asked.

  It was an obvious question, and one that Brady would have asked if he had been in her position. What better person to glean information about the Joker killings from than the original SIO? However, it wasn’t that simple.

  ‘We thought he was also dead, but then it turned out that he’s in a care home in Preston Village, North Shields.’

  Amelia looked interested.

  Brady shook his head. ‘Unfortunately, he has severe Alzheimer’s. The care home specialises in patients with advanced symptoms of the disease.’

  ‘Oh . . . I see,’ Amelia answered.

  She looked as disappointed as Brady had felt when he had found this out. DI McKaley could have been a very useful source. He hadn’t written off talking to him – not yet. Despite the nurse’s insistence that McKaley point-blank refused visitors.

  ‘Over the course of the Joker investigation, McKaley brought in four suspects for questioning. They were each detained for a short period but were eventually released without charge. If I’m honest with you, I’ve had a brief look at the case notes and the reasons for bringing them in were fairly tenuous. Out of the four there’s now only one of the original suspects remaining. Two of them are deceased. Harold Walters died a couple of years after he had been released without charge. Suicide,’ Brady explained. ‘Then Roger Sawyer died in the early Eighties. He contracted HIV and then
went on to have full-blown AIDS.’

  Amelia looked at Brady. ‘Am I guessing that these men were all gay?’

  Brady nodded. ‘Each of them had been charged with obscene acts in public toilets.’

  Amelia sighed. ‘I understand now why the original investigative team’s reasons for bringing them in were tenuous.’

  Brady couldn’t help but notice Amelia shooting Conrad a look of disbelief.

  ‘The other two suspects?’

  ‘Martyn Jenkins has cancer. Lung cancer. Prognosis doesn’t look good. From what I’ve been told, he’ll be lucky if he lasts the next twenty-four hours. He’s currently in a hospice in Newcastle.’

  ‘And the fourth?’ Amelia asked, frowning.

  ‘Sidney Foster. Left the North East in 1977 after he was released without charge. Can’t say I blame him. He moved around for the next twenty years and from what we’ve gathered he settled down in Cornwall. He’s seventy-one now. I can’t really see him as a likely suspect but we’ve got to follow it through.’

  ‘Did Sidney Foster have any other priors than obscene acts in public places?’

  Brady nodded. ‘He was charged with raping a fifteen-year-old boy in 1977. He was thirty-seven at the time. He was then charged with various sexual offences. All boys under the age of sixteen.’

  ‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Maybe that’s why he moved around so much? Might be worth questioning him.’

  ‘Like I said, we’re still trying to track him down,’ Brady said. But he had a gut feeling that Sidney Foster wasn’t their suspect. Even the fact that he had seemingly disappeared did not raise any alarm bells. There was a huge discrepancy between being charged with rape and actually cutting someone’s penis off and choking them to death on it.

  ‘One element in all of this bothers me,’ Brady admitted. ‘Only the police knew the precise details of the case in the Seventies.’ He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking. Her eyes were cool and detached as they held his steady gaze.