Broken Silence (28 page)

In the seventies and eighties and even as late as the nineties the harbour and the pubs lining it were notorious for crime and prostitution. If you were looking to have your throat slit, then a night visit to North Shields harbour would do the trick. The no-go area was frequented by hardened, bloodthirsty sailors from all corners of the world, prepared to kill a man if the mood took them. By the time the police were called, the sailors in question would have long since set sail for other nefarious quarters while the victim lay turning very cold.

He walked over to Conrad’s car which was parked up facing the bleak, swirling waters of the Tyne. Seagulls screeched and dive bombed one another as fishing trawlers dredged up whatever crap filled the frothing black water. Brady climbed into the car and helped himself to one of Conrad’s hot, greasy chips. The quayside had the best fish and chips in the North East which explained why it was always so damned busy regardless of the bitter weather.

‘Do you want me to get you some, sir?’ asked Conrad.

‘Nah, not hungry,’ answered Brady as he took a few more.

He looked out the windscreen and thought about what he was going to do about the old drunk. He was trouble, always had been. Maybe now was the time to put an end to it, once and for all.

‘Ready?’ Brady queried, as he turned to Conrad.

He checked his watch. It was just before 2 pm and they still had a hell of a lot to do before the day was over.

‘Yes sir,’ answered Conrad as he scrunched up his vinegar-soaked remains.

He buzzed his window down and threw the scraps out for the birds.

‘Better watch you don’t get done for littering,’ noted Brady as he watched as scavenging seagulls descended upon the offering.

‘By who, sir? This is North Shields.’

‘You’re lucky this time. Come on then. We’re needed back at the station.’

Gates had requested to see him. Immediately. It was now 1.33 pm and Gates had been expecting him since 1.15 pm.

Brady was under no illusions what it was about. But he had other things on his mind. He had just returned to the station and the first thing he needed to do was to call the lab. He was still waiting for the results on Ellison’s DNA and prints. He wanted to be able to walk into the interview room with as much evidence against Ellison as possible.

Brady punched in the relevant numbers and waited as his eyes drifted over to his office window. Grey shafts of dusty light stabbed through the Venetian blinds. He still couldn’t shake the shabby, old drunk from his mind. He didn’t know which way to turn and bitterly wished that he could talk to Matthews.

‘How can I help you?’ answered a female voice.

‘DI Brady here. I’m waiting for some results?’

‘Can you hold please, sir?’

‘Sure,’ he answered absentmindedly as he waited.

‘Just the man I’ve been wanting to talk to.’

‘Ainsworth?’ Brady questioned.

‘You’re not going to like this but you’ve got a problem.’

‘Go on?’

‘We’ve got the lab results from the murder victim’s body and Jimmy Matthews’ DNA was all over her.’

‘No, that can’t be right. Are you certain?’

‘Hundred per cent. And I don’t just mean the kind of contamination that happens when you lot turn up at a crime scene. I would have expected some from Matthews since he was the first one there, but not to this level.’

Brady shook his head.

‘You do know he put his coat over her body?’ questioned Brady in an attempt to explain Matthews’ DNA on the victim.

‘Yes I know. Silly sod, what the hell was he playing at, eh?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Brady.

‘But even that still doesn’t explain the degree of contamination, Jack. And then there’s his handprints at the bloody crime scene. I mean, a man of Matthews’ rank knows the protocol at a murder scene. Bloody hell, Jack, he’s not some wet-behind-the-ears DC here.’

‘Does Gates know?’ Brady asked.

‘What do you think?’ replied Ainsworth.

‘Bugger. Why didn’t you let me know first?’

‘Why do you think? You’re bloody lucky I’m warning you,’ replied Ainsworth.

‘I realise that. Thanks,’ apologised Brady quickly.

‘I should bloody think so.’

‘As soon the lab has the DNA results on Ellison you’ll let me know, yeah?’

‘Yes, yes. I’ll give you a call,’ concluded Ainsworth before cutting the line.

Brady contemplated the news. It was no surprise then that Gates wanted to see him ASAP. Matthews’ inexplicable DNA evidence all over the murder victim who was also his daughter’s best friend explained Gates’ urgency.

‘Shit!’ he cursed as he realised the enormity of the situation.

His leg kicked off again; a constant reminder of why he shouldn’t be there.

He limped over to the window and peered through the Venetian blinds. Police cars and vans blocked most of the street. He looked up at the black, ominous clouds overhead and wondered if the day could get any worse.

Brady tried his best to look relaxed in front of Gates.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ Gates asked.

The problem was, he didn’t know where to start. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead as he thought about his conversation with Ainsworth.

‘Then start by explaining to me why they found Matthews’ DNA all over the victim’s body?’

‘I can only assume it’s because he covered the victim’s body with his overcoat, sir,’ Brady replied.

‘And how do you explain his handprints?’

Even Brady had to admit that it didn’t look good, a man of Matthews’ rank contaminating a murder scene.

‘He knelt down to look at the body, placing his hands on the ground?’ surmised Brady as casually as he could.

But he knew he was fooling nobody.

‘Without gloves? For God’s sake, Matthews is one of my most experienced DIs!’

Brady remained silent. There was nothing he could say. Matthews had recognised the victim, and had, understandably, lost it.

‘No, I’m having trouble explaining it myself,’ stated Gates in response to Brady’s awkward silence.

‘How do you account for the call the victim made to his mobile?’

‘Evie Matthews’ statement clearly explains why, sir. Evie gave Sophie the number so she could call Matthews if she felt things were getting out of hand at home with Simmons. I presume that’s what happened, sir.’

Gates deliberated for a moment.

‘What troubles me is that it should be Matthews sat in front of me explaining this, not you.’

Brady didn’t answer.

‘What’s he hiding?’

‘I know as much as you, sir.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

He sighed as he stared at Brady.

‘We both know Matthews recognised the victim. His erratic behaviour gave him away. What I want to know is why he didn’t come forward with her identity as soon as he realised it was her?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ answered Brady uncomfortably, reluctant to explain that Matthews was worried about the implication of driving the victim home the night she was murdered.

Gates slowly weighed Brady up.

‘And Evie Matthews’ traces of DNA? The hair samples that were found? How do you explain that?’ Gates asked.

‘Sophie left the Matthews’ house wearing Evie’s jacket. So it’s no surprise her DNA was found on the victim’s body.’

‘And the other DNA evidence found on the victim?’

‘I’m hoping it’s Ellison’s, sir. I’m just waiting for word back from the lab.’

‘I hope for your sake, and Matthews', that you’re right. Even if it is just coincidence and poor judgement on Matthews’ part, it still doesn’t look good.’

‘Yes sir,’ replied Brady doing his utmost to maintain Gates’ unnerving eye contact.

‘You have heard the insinuations the press are making about Matthews’ suspension?’

Brady nodded as Harriet Jacobs came to mind.

‘This is the last thing this force needs. I want an arrest and I want one fast!’ ordered Gates.

‘Yes sir. My next move is to interview Ellison,’ answered Brady quickly.

‘Actually, I’d rather you weren’t involved in the interview.’

‘Sir?’ Brady asked, confused.

‘I think Adamson would be better suited.’

Brady sat back stunned.

‘I’ve enough of a headache trying to deal with Paul Simmons after the way you handled his interview to risk any more of your unorthodox methods.’

Brady understood why Gates was so pissed at him. Simmons was considering suing Northumbria Police Force on the grounds that Brady had roughed him up. Brady had shrugged it off when he had first heard, knowing that all he was responsible for was forcibly making Simmons sit back down. In his opinion, Simmons had too much to hide to want to go public. However, Brady accepted that Gates didn’t necessarily share his opinion.

‘With all due respect, sir, Adamson doesn’t have the experience to deal with this,’ Brady objected.

‘I beg to differ. He’s already passed his Inspector exams. It’s only a matter of time before he gets promoted.’

Brady felt winded. He hadn’t been expecting to have to stand back and watch someone else take over. Let alone Adamson.

‘I’ve talked to Ellison twice now. I know what I’m up against. Adamson doesn’t,’ Brady insisted. ‘We’re too close to have someone new come in and mess this up, sir.’

Gates contemplated Brady; his emotionless, cold, intelligent eyes weighing up what was before him.

‘You screw up and that’s it. No second chances. And don’t think Chief Superintendent O’Donnell will bail you out. Not this time.’

Brady shifted in his seat.

Gates’ eyes remained fixed on Brady.

‘Sir …’ attempted Brady, but Gates held up his hand. ‘Save it for the report you’ll be writing up. I get any more complaints about you, Jack, and you’re not only off the case, I will do my utmost to get you off this force!’

Brady looked up at the dark gloom that was the sky. The air felt heavy and damp from the sea fret. It had been drizzling on and off for days now. Then again, mused Brady, what else did he expect from the North East of England? He threw his cigarette butt away and took out his phone.

He tried Matthews again. It cut straight to voice mail.

‘Jimmy? I really need to talk to you. Fuck it, Jimmy! Just ring me, will you?’

Brady held his head in his hands as he mulled over his next move; interviewing Ellison.

A loud knock at his office door broke through his thoughts.

‘Yeah?’ said Brady distractedly.

Harvey walked in.

‘I’ve got Tracy Hamilton’s statement here.’

Brady took the file from him.

‘She understands that if we charge him, she’ll be called as a witness?’

Harvey nodded.

‘And there’s no doubt in her mind that it was Ellison?’

‘She picked him out from Christ knows how many photos.’

Brady sighed with relief.

They had him; they had Ellison firmly by the balls. Whether or not he had murdered Sophie Washington, he was clearly having a relationship with the victim; one that criminally transcended the pupil-teacher norm.

He quickly read through the barmaid’s statement. She had served him in The Beacon pub, accompanied by the victim. She had then passed him on her way home to
Seatonville Road climbing over the gate into Potter’s Farm. He paused on the last page.

‘Says here that a taxi was called from The Beacon for Sophie Washington?’

‘That’s what she said,’ replied Harvey.

‘Which explains why Ellison was later seen on his own by the barmaid going into Potter’s Farm.’

Harvey nodded.

‘Find out which taxi company they use and then find the driver. I need to talk to him. We need to know where Sophie was going and why.’

Ben Ellison looked like crap.

Hung over and sleep deprived, he looked worse than Brady had imagined. His confident, relaxed veneer had long gone, replaced by raw, animal fear.

Ellison dragged a shaking hand through his messy hair.

‘Look … I’ve already told you. I didn’t have anything to do with her murder.’

‘But you were having a sexual relationship with her.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do,’ Brady answered.

Ellison’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes darted between Conrad and Brady, trying to figure out what was going on.

‘I have a reliable witness,’ Brady informed him.

‘How do I know that you’re not making this up?’ Ellison demanded edgily.

He looked and smelled like he needed a hot shower and a change of clothes. The windowless interview room was heavy with a dank, acrid smell. Brady had smelled it before;
it was the stench of guilt. It sweated its way out of the suspect’s pores, regardless.

‘Our witness saw you in The Beacon having a drink with your fifteen-year-old pupil, Sophie Washington. She then said that as she was making her way home past Monkseaton Metro towards Seatonville Road she passed you as you climbed over the gate into Potter’s Farm.’

‘So?’ Ellison questioned.

‘Do you know what time Sophie was murdered?’ Brady asked.

Ellison didn’t answer.

‘Between 12.30 and 2 am. And,’ Brady paused, giving Ellison enough time to absorb this information, ‘as she looked back you were seen by our witness walking down the farm’s dirt track towards the crime scene at 12.15 am. I wouldn’t describe that as circumstantial, sir.’

‘For fuck’s sake! I didn’t do it! What kind of guy do you take me for?’

‘One who gets off on buggering and fucking his fifteen-year-old pupils,’ quietly answered Brady.

Ellison shot Brady a ‘fuck you’ look.

‘The autopsy report,’ Brady flatly explained.

‘You’ve still got nothing on me,’ Ellison stated with false confidence.

Brady folded his arms as he stared at Ellison. He knew they had him; the stench of sweat was overpowering.

‘I have rights! You can’t do this to me!’

‘Actually, where you’re sat you’ve got no rights,’ Brady evenly replied.

He shrugged apologetically as Ellison looked at him in bewilderment.

‘We can keep you without legal representation for the
next twenty-four hours. So I’d get used to it if I were you.’