Broken Silence (25 page)

‘Yes sir,’ agreed Conrad, knowing not to question Brady in the middle of a tirade.

‘She was crying out for help, but no one was listening to her, Conrad. Her father bailed out on her by committing suicide, her mother chose to drown out her suspicions with alcohol and finally her doctor and counsellor literally accepted what she told them. She was a smart girl. She told them what they wanted to hear, too ashamed, too guilt-ridden and scared to admit to them what was really going on in her life,’ Brady explained. ‘When she really needed help, there was no one around. Surely if they had made that extra effort with her, then maybe she wouldn’t have ended up in the morgue.’

Sophie’s short, tragic life had really got to him.

‘No one really listened to her.’

Conrad nodded.

‘All it would have taken was one person in her life to notice … to really notice what was going on …’

He looked up at Conrad who was stood, patiently waiting for Brady to finish his diatribe.

‘I’ll get him, Conrad. Mark my words, I’ll get the bastard that did this to her,’ Brady threatened, as he looked at her
medical files. ‘He may be roaming free but I’m not done looking for him yet.’

Brady took a mouthful of lukewarm coffee before he realised that Conrad was waiting to tell him something.

‘Go on then?’

‘You know you wanted me to run some checks on Ben Ellison?’ Conrad questioned.

Brady nodded, still distracted by the victim’s medical files.

‘He actually lives five minutes from The Beacon and a few minutes from Potter’s Farm.’

‘You’re kidding me?’ Brady spluttered.

‘Gets better,’ Conrad added. ‘We received a call that might interest you.’

‘Go on,’ Brady instructed with a degree of cynicism. Since
The Northern Echo
had increased the reward money to £50,000 they had had hundreds of crank calls.

‘Caller works at The Beacon pub and was in on Thursday night. She said that she was certain she saw a girl come in who looked similar to the victim.’

‘Didn’t Harvey and Kodovesky take statements from everyone who worked that shift?’

‘Yes sir. But what threw her were the victim’s clothes and make-up. They made her look much older than the school photo we put out. So she kept quiet. But the more she’s thought about it afterwards, the more she became convinced it was her.’

‘What time?’

‘She said it was definitely after 10.30 pm.’

‘Did she meet anyone in there?’

Conrad nodded.

‘Yes sir, this is the part that will interest you.’

‘Go on?’

‘The man described matches Ben Ellison.’

Brady felt a rush of blood as he digested the words. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

‘You can tell me the rest later. Go get the car. I’ll meet you outside,’ ordered Brady as he grabbed his coat.

As Brady came out of the station his eyes were fixed on the trouble at the top of the street. A group of drunken louts were aggressively mouthing off at one another.

So much so he didn’t see the lingering, dishevelled figure until it was too late.

‘You got a tab on ye, son? For old time sakes?’ asked the old drunk as he staggered towards him.

Brady felt his body tense up as he instinctively clenched his fists. He mutely shook his head, unable to even look at him.

‘What about giving me some money for a drink then, eh?’ the short shabby figure rasped holding out his grime-encrusted, gnarled hand.

Repulsed, Brady backed away towards Conrad’s waiting car.

‘What’s yer fuckin’ problem? Too good to talk to me, eh? Is that it? Think yer better than me now, do ye? I’ve been waiting for ye to show!’

Brady yanked open the car door keeping his back to the old man.

‘Fuckin’ look at me, will ye? Ye bastard I’m talking to you!’ the old drunk shouted.

Brady slammed the door shut just as an empty vodka bottle exploded against the passenger window.

Conrad picked up the car radio.

‘Just drive. We haven’t got time to piss about with this.’

‘Easy to say when it’s not your car, sir,’ Conrad stated as he revved the engine.

‘Fuckin’ bastard! I’m not going away! You hear me?’ shouted the staggering old man at they drove away.

‘You all right, sir?’ asked Conrad as he turned and looked at him.

Brady realised he was covered in a cold, clammy sweat. He looked at his hands and saw that they were trembling uncontrollably.

‘Yeah, it’s nothing,’ answered Brady.

The last thing he could tell Conrad was the truth. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the old man’s ravaged face. It was a face that he recognised from years ago. One he had never expected to see again.

‘Why am I not surprised that he’s not home?’ Brady cynically asked.

Conrad didn’t risk stating the obvious.

They both knew whose bed Ellison was sleeping in.

‘Can’t we just leave, sir?’ Conrad asked. ‘Let that lot bring Ellison in when he shows,’ he suggested, gesturing towards the four plain-clothes coppers parked nearby. ‘We both could do with a few hours’ sleep.’

Brady shook his head.

‘No, I want to be here to greet the bugger!’

Conrad reluctantly turned the car engine on in an attempt to defy the bitter northern November wind whipping up outside.

‘Look, sir. It’s highly probable he’s gone back with your …’ Conrad was about to say it and stopped himself. ‘The girl who was at your place yesterday morning,’ Conrad corrected.

‘So?’

A heavy, awkward silence filled the car.

They had already checked out the other band members’ whereabouts. Ellison wasn’t with them. The only information they had was that he had gone on with a girl fitting Sleeping Beauty’s description.

Brady felt sick at the thought of him with Sleeping Beauty. Not to mention the danger that she could be in right now. And there was nothing he could do about it.

‘We could try and find him,’ Conrad suggested.

‘No,’ muttered Brady.

‘But we both know where he’s likely to be. Surely anything’s better than being sat waiting in the freezing cold for him to show? The sooner we bring him in for questioning, the better for all concerned.’

‘We wait here,’ Brady firmly repeated.

Conrad turned and looked at him. Brady’s face was unrelenting.

‘What about if we send someone else to check whether he’s at her address?’

Brady shook his head as he stared daggers at Ellison’s house.

‘Why not, sir?’ Conrad asked.

‘I don’t know it,’ Brady muttered, refusing to look at Conrad. ‘I don’t know where she lives.’

Conrad considered this.

‘We can run a check on her name then, sir? That will bring her address up.’

Brady remained silent. His eyes now locked on the two unmarked police cars parked outside Ellison’s house.

Conrad waited awkwardly.

‘Oh shit,’ he murmured, suddenly aware of why Brady wasn’t forthcoming. He realised that Brady didn’t even know her name.

‘Do you really think I would be sat here if I knew where I could get hold of that son of a bitch? Do you?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realise. I just presumed that you would know her …’ Conrad faltered.

Brady tensed up. The last thing he needed was Conrad’s pity.

‘Yeah? Well, now you know what kind of a bastard I am.’

He sighed heavily as he realised how much he’d fucked up his life. What made it worse was having Conrad sat next to him, presumably thinking exactly the same thing.

Brady fumbled in his jacket for cigarettes. His head was thumping again. He needed something to calm him down and take the edge off the pain. He shakily lit one.

Conrad automatically buzzed Brady’s electric window down, sucking damp, chilling air into the car.

The stinging cold air slapped him hard in the face making him feel even more wretched.

He checked his watch; 3.30 am. He turned and looked at Conrad’s tired, taut face. Conrad was right. it was pointless waiting for Ellison, the others could handle it. And if Ellison did show up, there was a chance that Brady would end up killing him. Better to put some distance between his fists and Ellison’s pretty boy face. After a few hours’ sleep he’d be able to think straight and forget about Sleeping Beauty. Just now, he couldn’t stop torturing himself with thoughts about what Ellison could be doing to her and there was nothing he could do to protect her. Add to that that he was sleep-deprived, in pain and freezing. Not a good combination.

‘All right, Conrad. Let’s go.’

‘Yes sir,’ answered Conrad, relieved.

‘Drop me back at the station and then go home and get some sleep. You look like crap.’

‘You don’t look so great yourself, sir.’

Brady sighed with a combination of exhaustion and defeat as Conrad pulled out from Thorntree Drive onto Earsdon Road. He needed to get his head down for a few hours and the battered couch in his office was starting to look inviting.

He closed his eyes just as his phone buzzed.

‘Yeah?’ he mumbled. ‘Amelia?’ Brady forced himself awake.

‘Have you got him?’

‘No,’ muttered Brady. ‘It seems he’s sleeping in someone else’s bed tonight. But we’ll get him when he returns home in the morning.’

‘Damn,’ cursed Jenkins.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ replied Brady.

‘I’m sorry, Jack. I feel really bad about this …’

‘About what?’ asked Brady.

‘When we interviewed Ellison. I didn’t see it …’

‘Don’t worry about it. You’re just not as cynical about the world as I am. Anyway, we had nothing on him then,’ Brady replied.

‘But if I had taken you more seriously rather than thinking it was just your male ego being threatened, then another girl’s life wouldn’t be at risk,’ admitted Jenkins.

Brady remained silent. He’d been thinking about nothing else. But to hear it verbalised made him feel sick.

‘Jack? Are you still there?’

‘Listen, Amelia, if anyone’s to blame it’s me. I left him in The Fat Ox chatting the girl up. If I’d only known …’ Brady said, trying to ignore the horrible images going through his head.

When he got back to his office Jenkins was waiting for him.

‘Here you go,’ she offered as she handed him a mug with a generous measure of malt. ‘You look like you need it.’

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, surprised but grateful for her company.

He drained his mug and then walked over to the couch.

Jenkins carried the bottle of Scotch over and joined him.

‘Refill?’

‘What the hell, it’s been a shit day,’ he relented, holding out his mug for her.

He watched as Jenkins then poured herself a liberal measure.

‘What kind of good time did Adamson show you then?’ Brady asked.

‘Don’t,’ replied Jenkins as she rested her head back against the couch.

Brady couldn’t help but look at her. She was striking; even at 3.50 am. He watched as she closed her almond-shaped, dark brown eyes, sighing wearily. He was trying to ignore the fact that he was starting to enjoy her company and more than he wanted to admit.

‘Remind me never to work with that man again!’ she said.

‘I tried to tell you,’ Brady stated.

‘Yeah, yeah … Don’t fool yourself. You just didn’t think I could handle myself in that stinking strip club. It had nothing to do with Adamson,’ pointed out Jenkins.

Brady didn’t reply. There was nothing he could say. Instead he watched her relaxing on his couch, in his office, drinking his Scotch. He wanted to ask why she was there, but knew if he did, she’d leave.

She opened her eyes and turned to him.

‘Thank you.’

‘What for?’ Brady asked.

‘For not being an arsehole like your colleague, DS Adamson,’ she answered.

‘Is that what you expect of me?’

‘From what I know of you, Jack, what else should I expect?’

She was right; most of the time he had been an arsehole, at least where she was concerned. As his psychologist he hadn’t given her a chance. He had been too scared that if she took him apart she would never be able to put him back together again.

‘I take it Adamson must have really pissed you off?’

‘You could say that. Well, technically, he didn’t piss me off, as you say, but he did offend Trina McGuire.’

‘What did he do to upset Shane’s mam then? From what I remember of Trina it’s normally the other way round,’ Brady replied.

‘Let’s just say Adamson was asking a bit too much from her.’

‘How so?’

‘He treated her like a piece of shit,’ Jenkins explained. ‘Thought because of what she did he owned her. We asked her about the whereabouts of her son Shane, but she had no clue. Genuinely had no clue, you could tell. But Adamson wasn’t having any of it. I don’t know who he thought he was, but it wasn’t acceptable.’

Brady took a drink. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Jenkins was about to tell him.

‘After we’d finished questioning her about Shane’s whereabouts, Adamson said he wanted a private word with Trina and told me to go wait in the car. So, I left the office and headed back through the bar. But you know when you have
a bad feeling that something isn’t right?’ she asked as she looked at Brady.

He nodded.

‘So, I went back to the office and opened the door which he’d closed behind me and there he was with Trina pinned against the wall, pants round his ankles, demanding that she suck him off or he’d start to make life difficult for her.’

Brady sighed. He wasn’t surprised by what Jenkins had just told him. He’d heard the rumours that Adamson liked to play dirty which was why Brady wanted nothing to do with him.

‘Adamson doesn’t realise who he’s dealing with when it comes to Trina McGuire. She’ll make sure he pays for that stunt. And believe me, Amelia, if you walked in a few minutes later, either Adamson would have been rolling around in agony on the floor after Trina had kneed him in the balls or if he had forced her head down on him, then he would now be missing a big part of his manhood.’

Jenkins looked at Brady quizzically.

‘I know Trina from old, and when a punter gets a bit too heavy, like Adamson, she’s been known to fight back. And when she fights, it’s dirty. One guy nearly lost half his dick by shoving it down her throat,’ Brady stated. ‘Trina has a shit life, but at least the sleazy bastards who go into the Hole know not to touch her, unlike that idiot Adamson. She’s a pretty little thing, and so she’s had to learn to handle herself.’