Broken Silence (33 page)

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.

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.

He caught Macmillan’s eye. It was a cold, penetrating look that told him he was making the right decision to leave.

Brady turned and swiftly downed what was left of his malt. He decided it was better to leave before he ended up saying something to Macmillan and jeopardising not only his job, but his friendship with O’Donnell.

He had intended to go back to the station, but instead found himself outside Madley’s nightclub – The Blue Lagoon. Running into O’Donnell and Macmillan had really screwed with his head and the last place he wanted to be was sat in his office. His mobile rang as he stood outside debating whether to go in.

‘Yeah?’ Brady abruptly answered.

‘Jack?’

‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’ he asked when he realised it was Kate.

‘No … no. I just wanted to talk …’

Brady sighed, relieved.

‘Sure, but I’m still caught up with something right now …’

‘Oh … OK …’ Kate said hesitating. ‘Jack, is it true? The news has reported that it was her teacher?’

He slowly breathed out.

‘Yeah … The news is right, we’ve just charged him with her murder.’

‘Oh God! I… I never would have thought he was capable of doing something like that. Are you definitely sure?’

‘Yeah, we’re certain.’

‘I can tell Evie that it’s over with then?’

‘Yeah, I think that would be a good idea,’ answered Brady.

‘Jack? You haven’t heard from Jimmy have you?’

‘No … I’m sorry, Kate, but I’ve heard nothing from him.’

‘Oh … Just … it’s just that I feel like I’m going mad … I need … I need someone to talk to … you know? What with Jimmy still gone and … and … Jack? I really need you right now… could you …’ she faltered.

Brady was sure she was crying.

‘Give me an hour, then I’ll come back. Yeah?’ Brady offered.

#x2018;Promise?’

‘You’ve got my word,’ assured Brady before cutting the call.

He quickly shook off any concerns he had about Kate when he looked back up at the nightclub. He was certain he could see Madley’s figure silhouetted in the first-floor office window expecting him.

He attempted to limp past the two meatheads guarding the door.

‘Oi, mate! We’re not open till eleven,’ a fat, thuggish, bald man grunted.

Brady looked at him aware that it was well after eleven. He was dressed in the required black suit and bow tie. His fat fingers were covered in chunky gold rings. Brady presumed they came in handy when he had to throw a few punches. He fixed his dark brown eyes on the bouncer’s threatening glare.

‘I’m here to see Madley,’ Brady gruffly replied. He knew there was no point in being polite; these thugs were bred for violence, it was the only language they understood.

‘He’s not here,’ the bald man gutturally said. ‘So piss off.’

‘I’ll wait until he shows then,’ Brady asserted.

‘Are you thick or what? I said piss off!’ The bouncer grunted as he started to flex his fat, porky fingers.

Brady knew he didn’t stand a chance. He pulled out his wallet and showed his ID.

The bouncer glared at Brady in disgust before jerking his head for him to go through the doors.

Brady limped in. The place stank of stale sweat and sweet, sticky alcohol. Music was pulsating throughout, too loud and too crap for Brady’s liking. He made his way towards the bar where the staff were setting up for the night.

‘I need to speak to Madley,’ Brady shouted to a young girl behind the bar.

He didn’t recognise her and presumed she was new.

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘What’s it about?’

‘I’ll tell him when I see him,’ Brady answered.

She reluctantly sighed. ‘Name?’

‘Detective Inspector Brady.’

‘I’ll see if he’s around,’ she replied irritably.

She put the mixers in her hand down and walked to the end of the bar. She picked up the phone and dialled.

Brady watched as she spoke to someone, presumably explaining that there was a copper looking for Madley. Brady saw her mouth his name. She then nodded and put the phone down.

She walked back to him.

‘He’s expecting you,’ she said. ‘Through the emergency door there and then up the stairs. First door on the right.’

‘Yeah, I know where,’ Brady answered as he made his way to the door.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a mistake.

Brady allowed himself to be frisked by the same two henchmen from his visit on Friday.

‘You’re bleedin’ popular!’ grunted one of them.

‘It’s my good looks. Madley can’t resist,’ replied Brady.

The brute scrunched his face into a frown as he tried to figure out whether to deck Brady or not.

‘Wouldn’t if I were you,’ Brady dryly commented, noting the readied fist.

He walked into the office, leaving the henchman confused and frustrated.

‘I heard the good news,’ Madley coolly stated.

He was stood with his back to Brady looking out the ceiling-to-floor window.

Brady joined Madley and looked out at the scene below and immediately regretted it. The promenade was full of Saturday night drinkers. A group of pissed, raucous girls in knicker-high skirts and bra tops zigzagged their way across the road followed by leering lads. Taxi cars beeped at them as they tottered across the road, gesturing and mouthing obscenities at the cars.

‘Scotch?’ Madley asked as he headed over to the drinks cabinet.

Brady nodded. He knew he’d already had enough to drink, but he had a feeling he was really going to need this one. He turned and looked out at the rowdy gathering below.

‘Business seems good, Martin.’

‘I do all right out of it,’ Madley answered.

‘Yeah.’

Madley joined Brady with the drinks.

‘I was surprised that you got someone for that girl’s murder,’ Madley stated. ‘A convenient open and shut case,’ he added with a tinge of cynicism.