Blind Alley (36 page)

‘You better get that handed over, Harry. The last thing you want is losing Lisa Sanderson’s alibi.’

Brady knew there was something wrong but he had no idea what.

‘Go on Conrad, log it before it gets lost on the back of a shelf somewhere.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Conrad replied before leaving.

Brady waited until the door was closed before turning to Amelia.

‘OK. What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Amelia answered, unable to look Brady in the eye.

‘Don’t bullshit me, Amelia. I know you well enough to know when something’s wrong.’

Amelia looked at him.

‘Let’s just say that I’m not that impressed with myself. I should have done more with this investigation.’ She shook her head and turned away.

‘Like what? Lee Harris fits your profile perfectly. You did everything you could.’

‘Did I?’

Brady didn’t reply. He waited for Amelia to fill in the silence. If she needed to off-load he had time – plenty of it. Lee Harris was going nowhere.

He got up and walked over to the window to give her time to compose her thoughts. He lifted the old Victorian sash window up to let the cool October evening into the stuffy room. As he did so he looked down at the street below. He caught sight of Lisa Sanderson leaving the station. Fragile and vulnerable, led on either side by her father and lawyer. The world as she had known it had evaporated. She was now part of a serious investigation. She would be called to court and questioned about her knowledge of Lee Harris and his crimes. Every word, every reaction would be scrutinised. Her alibis would be ripped apart. She would become guilty by association. Whether it was the press who took that angle or some barrister, it was inevitable. Not that she had been charged. Not as an accomplice, or for withholding evidence, or even wasting police time. As far as Brady was concerned she was only guilty of being duped by Lee Harris. She was another one of Harris’ victims. He may not have raped and tortured her. But Brady was certain the mental scars would torment her for the rest of her life. Especially when she found out Lee Harris’ actual identity and what she had unwittingly been storing.

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.