Broken Silence

by Danielle Ramsay

  Brady had left the rest of the team congratulating one another in the Incident Room. Soon they would be moving on to The Fat Ox where they would no doubt get hammered. Brady wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for joining them; he still felt uneasy about Matthews. And then there was Claudia.

  He picked up the note Harvey had left on his desk. Harvey’s barely legible scribble gave the name of the taxi driver and the cab company that had picked Sophie up from The Beacon. Brady fingered the yellow square of paper. Harvey had already talked to the driver. All he remembered was dropping Sophie off in the centre of Whitley Bay. From there she could have wandered into any number of the crass pubs that lined the seaside resort’s streets. The Bedroom pub in the middle of the small town might have been the first stop; aptly named for the scum that drank there. Ironically, once legless, they would end up shagging whatever came their way, but it wouldn’t be in the comfort of a bedroom. A back lane or the beach would do; regardless of the freezing North East conditions.

  Brady had already flagged up with Gates that they didn’t know what Sophie had gotten up to in Whitley Bay before she had met up again with Ellison. But Gates wasn’t that bothered, he was more interested in how she had ended the night in Ellison’s hands; literally. Gates had reminded Brady that the investigation was officially closed. Ellison had been arrested; end of story. Again, it was about meeting targets for Gates and an arrest was money in the bank. His performance-related pay guaranteed that.

  But it didn’t rest easy with Brady. Ellison’s insistence that he hadn’t murdered her disturbed him. Then again, Brady mused, how often did criminals insist they were innocent, even when caught with blood on their hands?

  Brady contemplated what his next move should be. There was still a piece missing from the jigsaw, whether or not it mattered any more was irrelevant. Brady presumed it was the copper in him. He didn’t like loose ends. If he was honest, what he really wanted was to get rid of the niggling doubt he had about Matthews. He still couldn’t get hold of him. He had left God knows how many phone messages on his mobile. He had at least expected him to return his last call. But Matthews hadn’t, despite the news that Ellison had been charged with Sophie Washington’s murder.

  Brady sighed wearily as he scrunched the paper up and threw it into the wastepaper bin.

  Gates was right; it was over.

  He pulled out his phone and before he had a chance to think about it, he made the call.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ Claudia answered.

  Brady could hear glasses clinking in the background.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s not your concern, not any more,’ she coldly answered.

  Brady heard a man’s voice talking to her. He realised it was Michael Travers. Bastard, thought Brady.

  ‘Claudia?’ he attempted again.

  ‘Not now, Jack. This isn’t a good time,’ she replied, cutting him off.

  ‘I bet it’s not.’

  ‘Meaning?’ asked Claudia.

  ‘Nothing … Look, forget I rang, OK?’ Brady said.

  ‘Bye Jack.’

  He heard Michael Travers’ distinctive laugh before she disconnected the call.

  Brady stood alone at the bar and looked on as the team got hammered. He still couldn’t place all the faces; not that it mattered. After today everyone who had been called in to help with the investigation would be returning to their own Area Commands, including DS Adamson.

  ‘Not joining us?’ Harvey asked as he came up to the bar.

  ‘No. Don’t really feel up to it,’ Brady answered.

  ‘Matthews still bothering you?’ Harvey asked as he placed his empty glass down. He signalled to the barmaid. ‘Same again, pet. And one for Jack.’

  She nodded and began pouring the pints.

  Brady turned and faced Harvey.

  ‘I need to find him, Tom.’

  ‘All I know is what I’ve already told you,’ Harvey answered. He shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m not certain, but she might have said she lived in North Shields, if that’s any help.’

  Brady shrugged. It didn’t help; North Shields was a big place.

  ‘What?’ Harvey questioned.

  ‘I just want to make sure Jimmy’s all right. I heard some talk that Madley’s after him. So … you understand,’ Brady replied.

  ‘Shit! Why didn’t you say before?’

  ‘Because Jimmy didn’t want anyone to know. He thought he could handle it himself,’ Brady answered.

  Harvey shook his head.

  ‘Fuck, I had no idea that Jimmy had pissed Madley off. What’s the stupid sod done?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ replied Brady.

  He picked up his pint and drained it as he thought it over. He was tired. Too tired to think straight. What he needed was a good few drinks and then at least twelve hours’ sleep. After that everything would seem clearer.

  ‘Listen, keep it quiet, yeah? I’m sure Jimmy’s fine. He can handle himself, even against the likes of Madley. Anyway, what’s Madley going to do to him, eh? He’s a copper for fuck’s sake!’

  Harvey nodded.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Bloody Jimmy though. Silly bugger. Knowing him he’s shagged Madley’s girlfriend or something. You know what a daft sod he is where women are concerned!’

  Brady smiled and shook his head. ‘Can’t disagree with you there, Tom.’

  ‘You sure you don’t want to join us?’ asked Harvey.

  ‘Maybe later? I just need some time on my own.’

  Brady watched as Harvey joined the rest of the team. He knew he had done the right thing by keeping away. Especially since Adamson was sat with them. But he wasn’t just sat with them, he had his arm around Fielding, the young SOCO he’d met the other day at the crime scene. He’d seen her when he’d walked in earlier, and since then, like the rest of them she had got more and more drunk. She had somehow ended up with Adamson draped over her.

  He looked up to see why Harvey and the rest were shouting and cheering as Fielding slapped Adamson. Brady was certain Adamson had it coming, but he knew the type of guy he was, and he wouldn’t take that kind of humiliation from a woman lying down. The cheering and whooping continued as Fielding moved away from Adamson and sat down with some other female colleagues. If the bar staff hadn’t known they were coppers, Brady was sure they would have been told to get out.

  Brady just wanted to keep his head down and just finish the day. He remained hunched over a couple more pints. It was only when he saw Adamson making his way to the toilets that he decided he’d order his fourth pint after he’d had a few private words with the sleaze ball.

  He pushed his way into the toilets and saw Adamson with his back to him, relieving himself at the urinal. Brady leaned against the door, blocking anyone from coming in.

  Finished, Adamson zipped up his trousers and turned around.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he snapped irritably when he saw Brady.

  Brady gave him a relaxed smile.

  ‘That’s no way to talk to a senior officer,’ he answered.

  ‘Yeah? Well the investigation’s closed and as of Monday I’m back at North Shields. So you can go fuck yourself!’

  ‘She really got to you, didn’t she?’ laughed Brady.

  ‘Fielding’s just a fucking tease. The bitch better be careful because one day she’ll go too far,’ threatened Adamson.

  Brady resisted the urge to floor him there and then, realising it wouldn’t be a great way to end the investigation.

  ‘And that would be you who would teach her a lesson I take it?’ asked Brady.

  ‘Did I say that?’ answered Adamson.

  ‘You didn’t have to,’ replied Brady.

  ‘Fuck you!’ cursed Adamson as he tried to push past Brady.

  Brady shoved him back.

  ‘What the fuck’s got into you? I just want to finish having a drink with the lads, all right?’

 
Brady realised he had Adamson worried.

  ‘Word of warning, watch your back!’

  ‘What? Are you threatening me?’

  Brady shook his head.

  ‘No, that’s a threat from Trina McGuire. Remember the stripper from the Hole whose mouth you tried to shove round your cock?’ Brady stated.

  Adamson looked surprised, but quickly composed himself.

  ‘She was gagging for it, the bitch. If it hadn’t been for Jenkins then no one would have been the wiser,’ Adamson replied, clearly pissed off that Jenkins had told Brady.

  ‘Anyway, what’s your problem? Wanted some of her yourself?’

  Brady slowly smiled at him.

  ‘Just watch your back, Adamson. If you ever go near her again, it’ll be me you’re dealing with. Same applies to Fielding. I hear of anything happening to her and you’ll find that you’ll never be able to play with that limp dick of yours again,’ Brady warned.

  ‘Fuck you!’ swore Adamson as Brady moved out of the way to let him pass.

  Brady headed back to the bar to order that fourth pint. But when he saw Conrad coming through the pub’s doors with Jenkins, he decided he’d had enough. It was time to leave. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, especially to a shrink. And one that he found too damned attractive forhis own good. He couldn’t trust himself to continue drinking with her, not after what had nearly happened in his office. It was better to leave and avoid the awkward small talk.

  He looked over at Harvey and the rest of the team and considered going over and letting them know he was off, but then decided the better of it. They wouldn’t notice either way; too busy swapping complaints and anecdotes about their seniors – Brady included.

  He made an attempt to go out the back door before Conrad and Jenkins spotted him. He was too late.

  ‘Sir?’ Conrad called out. ‘You’re not leaving already?’

  Brady turned round wearily. ‘Yeah … things to do and all that crap. You know how it is,’ he replied, shrugging.

  Conrad realised Brady’s run-in with Claudia earlier had understandably dampened his mood. He nodded.

  ‘See you Monday then, sir,’ Conrad replied.

  ‘Yeah, see you Monday,’ Brady answered.

  ‘Didn’t you promise me a drink for all my hard work, Jack Brady?’ Jenkins pointedly interrupted as a smile played on her red lips.

  Jenkins’ arrival was as good a reason as any to leave. Brady didn’t want to give Claudia the satisfaction of proving yet again that she was right about him. He shrugged apologetically.

  ‘It’s been a long day.’

  She looked unconvinced.

  ‘Make sure you get the drinks on me, will you?’ Brady asked as he handed over a fifty to Conrad.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not just avoiding me?’ uncomfortably asked Jenkins.

  ‘I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on, after being off for so long,’ Brady unconvincingly answered, before turning and leaving.

  ‘Jack?’ she called out after him.

  He pretended he hadn’t heard. Instead, let the door swing shut behind him and sighed, relieved to be out in the cold, November night. He fumbled in his jacket for his cigarettes as he tried to decide where to go. The station seemed tempting. It would be quiet and he was guaranteed to run into no one he gave a damn about. They were all getting plastered inside The Fat Ox. Apart from Claudia. He had tried ringing her again, to explain about Sleeping Beauty, but her phone was switched off. Consequently Brady had left a hesitant, awkward message and not surprisingly, she hadn’t returned the call. And he’d be damned if he gave Michael Travers the satisfaction of turning up at his £900k place in Jesmond looking for his wife.

  He lit a cigarette and leaned back against the wall and listened to the celebratory, muffled voices inside. He looked across the road at St Paul’s church. It stood wrapped in a comforting silence; the church and graveyard temptingly lifeless. If the church wasn’t guaranteed to be locked against drunken bums like himself, he might have considered taking time out inside.

  Brady slowly breathed out.

  He decided to walk. It didn’t matter where, he just needed to walk to clear his head.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  He somehow found himself walking along the coast from Whitley Bay to Tynemouth. The sea was having the desired effect on him and was taking the edge off his uneasiness. That, and there was no one around to bother him. Not even dog walkers. It was after well after 10 pm which meant it was too late, and too cold. In the distance he could see the Grand Hotel, one of the most luxurious hotels in the area. An imposing Victorian building, originally built by the Duke of Northumberland in 1872 as a summer residence and then later converted into a hotel. It was dramatically lit up against the blackness of the night. It was not only a stunning landmark out at sea, but from where Brady was stood, it was a proud architectural example of a bygone age of luxury and elegance.

  Before he knew what he was doing he was already walking up the stone steps of the Grand Hotel. He nodded at the doorman who politely held the door open for him as he walked through into the impressive elegant hallway. An ornate, sweeping marble staircase spiralled up to the first floor, hinting of an opulent era of aristocratic balls. Brady smiled at the receptionist who had looked up to greet him and turned right through the double glass doors into the bar.

  He walked over to the barman.

  ‘A Scotch. Make it a double,’ Brady ordered as he placed a tenner on the bar.

  He was tired, but not tired enough to be able to fall asleep on the couch at his office. His head was still spinning and he needed a drink to try to switch off. For some reason he couldn’t accept the outcome of the investigation. Something was niggling at him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. He kept remembering what Jenkins had said about the overkill aspect of the murder. She had clearly stated that the murderer had destroyed Sophie’s face out of pure, vengeful jealousy. So, why would Ellison do it? It didn’t make sense. Brady could understand why he would murder Sophie. She had become a liability to him. But, why mutilate her face beyond recognition? Brady had initially assumed that Ellison was still emotionally involved with the victim. So even murdering her wouldn’t have satisfied his rage. But it was clear from his interviews with Ellison that the man had no emotional attachment to the victim. She was just another underage conquest that he had used and abused for his ego’s sake. One that he needed to get rid of, without drawing attention to himself.

  The bartender handed Brady his drink. He took a deep, long gulp before turning to look out of the majestic windows that faced directly out onto the sea. He took another much needed sip and savoured the view. The walk along the coast was worth it for the relaxed ambiance in the bar. A stark contrast to what he’d left behind in The Fat Ox.

  Someone’s deep voice caught his attention. Brady realised the distinctive voice belonged to Chief Superintendent O’Donnell. He turned round and caught O’Donnell’s eye as he made his way to the bar.

  Brady was surprised to see him in black tie, and presumed he was at some social function.

  O’Donnell beamed at him.

  Brady smiled back.

  ‘Jack? What are you doing here? If I’d known I would have asked you to join us for dinner,’ O’Donnell greeted.

  He came up to Brady and warmly embraced him.

  ‘You know me, sir, I don’t do formal dinners,’ Brady replied.

  ‘I know, I know and I daresay you never will,’ O’Donnell replied as he smiled at him paternally.

  Brady felt a pang of regret as he looked at O’Donnell. He was still a huge bear of a man with enough presence to scare most people. But he was getting old. His black curly hair was more silver than black and his heavily-lined green eyes looked watery and tired. Brady knew the word was out that he would be retiring soon, but Brady wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, even if O’Donnell looked more than ready to step down.

  Brady watched as they were joined by another man dressed in the same
formal attire as O’Donnell.

  ‘Jack Brady, Mayor Macmillan,’ O’Donnell said as he introduced Brady to his dinner companion.

  But Brady didn’t need any introduction. He knew Macmillan well enough.

  Macmillan shot him a slick, oily smile as he bared his perfectly whitened and straightened teeth at Brady. It was a politician’s smile; soulless.

  Macmillan was a slender five feet ten, in his early forties with sharp, penetrating blue eyes. This, coupled with his blond hair and smooth, tanned skin were his charm arsenal. The public and the press couldn’t get enough of him. But to Brady, Macmillan’s handsome face lacked compassion and empathy. And there was always a coldness in his eyes, even when he was smiling directly at you.

  ‘Good to finally meet you, DI Brady,’ Macmillan said as he offered his hand.

  Brady reluctantly accepted his overly firm grip. Word had clearly got back to Macmillan that Brady wasn’t his biggest supporter.

  ‘And congratulations are in order I hear? Well done!’ he said, as he gave Brady an insincere smile. ‘Bill here has only the highest praise for you,’ he added as he playfully thumped O’Donnell on the back.

  Brady didn’t reply. He had a feeling that Macmillan was being disingenuous. Add to that the fact he was feeling very uncomfortable about the relationship between O’Donnell and Macmillan. It seemed that they were very familiar with one another; too familiar. Brady tried to ignore what Matthews had said to him earlier about O’Donnell being in Macmillan’s pocket.

  Brady looked at O’Donnell and couldn’t bring himself to believe it. The man had too much integrity, surely? He couldn’t be bought. Not by a sleaze bag like Macmillan.

  ‘What’s it to be then, Bill?’ Macmillan asked as the bartender dutifully waited on them.

  ‘The usual,’ answered O’Donnell. ‘Jack? Another?’ he asked.

  Brady shook his head.

  ‘Sorry, can’t stay. I need to go back to the office.’

  ‘Surely you’re done for the night?’ O’Donnell asked, disappointed.

  ‘You know me,’ Brady answered apologetically.