Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

He chucked the paper in the waste bin and reached over and picked up the photograph of the victim and her form tutor. Regardless of what Kate had said, it just didn’t feel right.

Brady looked at his watch. It was just before 5 pm. He picked up his mobile phone and started dialling.

‘Kate? It’s me …’

‘Have you heard from Jimmy?’ she quickly asked.

‘Not yet,’ Brady said, trying his best to sound calm.

He looked over at the dusty, grey shafts of light stabbing through the Venetian blinds.

‘What the hell is going on? Why isn’t he answering his mobile?’

‘I … I’m not sure, Kate.’

‘You really don’t expect me to believe that, do you? I know he tells you everything, so stop bullshitting me!’

‘Honestly, I’m as much in the dark here as you. But Jimmy’s not the reason I rang. There have been some new developments regarding Sophie’s murder.’

‘What? Oh God, have you found out who did this to her?’

‘No … But we’ve got some new leads which means I’ll need to talk to Evie again.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea. She’s still in a really bad way.’

‘Kate, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to, you know that. Believe me, if there was another way …’

Kate sighed.

‘If you upset her, Jack …’

‘I promise I won’t. I’ll call round in a couple of hours?’ Brady suggested. ‘I really appreciate this—’

Kate interrupted him before he could end the conversation and hang up.

‘Thanks for the warning about your girlfriend. She didn’t look too happy about meeting us either, not just after she crawled out of your bed wearing virtually nothing!’

‘Oh shit,’ muttered Brady.

Conrad had been right; Sleeping Beauty had still been in bed when Kate had let herself in. What the bloody hell had she been drinking last night? Brady wondered bitterly. More to the point, what the fuck had he been drinking?

He cursed inwardly as an image of a tousled Sleeping Beauty standing at the top of his stairs in skimpy knickers and a short, thin T-shirt came to mind.

‘I’m sorry about that, Kate. Really I am,’ Brady apologised, wincing. ‘Really, she didn’t mean anything …’

He buried his head in his hands. The last person he wanted to find out how low he’d sunk was Kate. He wasn’t like Matthews, but she’d never believe that. Not now. Notafter finding Sleeping Beauty half-naked in his bed. He was suddenly thrown back to the frantic, panic-stricken conversation he had had with Claudia over DC Simone Henderson. He had desperately tried to convince her that it had meant nothing. That he had made a foolish, idiotic mistake. But she hadn’t listened. And after six painful months of going over it again and again, he now accepted that he had no right to expect her to. Claudia deserved better. He had always known it, but had somehow convinced himself that he had cheated fate.

‘You’re a shit, Jack, you know that? Since when did you start liking them so young? I’d be surprised if she’s even sat her GCSEs.’

Kate’s abrasive words suddenly hit him. He felt winded by the accusation.

‘I’m sure she was over eighteen,’ Brady hoarsely replied, the words choking in his throat.

‘I seriously doubt it. Maybe if you’d been sober you would have realised she’s just a kid.’

‘What do you take me for?’ he demanded, immediately regretting asking.

‘A low-life bastard, that’s what. Christ, of all the things I expected from you, this wasn’t it.’

‘Kate? It was just a one-off, that’s all. I … I …’

He faltered as the line went dead. He held the phone in his hand unsure of what to do.

An assertive knock at the door shook him out of his reverie.

‘Yes?’

Brady looked up distractedly as Conrad walked in.

‘I reckon you should take a look at this,’ Conrad said as he held out a file.

‘What is it?’ Brady asked.

‘It’s a log from the phone network of all the calls made to and from the victim’s mobile over the past three months,’ answered Conrad gravely.

‘That’s good isn’t it?’ asked Brady, concerned by Conrad’s demeanour.

‘The last call she made was at 1.31 am. Lasted less than a minute. Ten minutes later the phone was switched off.’

Brady felt sick. He knew from Conrad’s expression what was coming next.

‘Tell me it’s not Matthews’ mobile she called?’

Conrad’s look said it all.

‘Oh fuck! Who else has seen this?’ Brady asked, his mouth dry.

‘No one … I thought you’d want to see it first.’

‘Keep it that way, will you? Just for now?’

Conrad looked uncomfortable.

‘I know I’m asking a lot … but just give me some time?’ Brady insisted. He couldn’t imagine the day getting any worse.

‘The victim also rang Evie Matthews’ mobile at 12.51 am,’ Conrad added.

Evie had failed to mention the call. But given the state she was in when he talked to her Brady wasn’t surprised.

But it was Matthews’ omission that was bothering him.

‘Do you notice that other mobile number, sir? The unidentified one?’

Brady looked back down at the sheet.

‘Can’t trace it because it’s a top-up phone,’ Conrad explained. ‘The number only started showing up two months ago, but the frequent number of calls and the duration suggests the victim was intimate with this person.’

Brady looked at the list of earlier calls and realised what Conrad meant. It seemed that this unidentified caller liked to phone Sophie. A lot. He momentarily forgot Matthews as he took in the fact that the caller had rung the victim on the night she was murdered. Once at 10.20 pm for 5 minutes and 27 seconds and then at 12.02 am for a further 3 minutes and 14 seconds.

Brady began to add up the numbers and didn’t like the answer.

‘Is it just coincidence?’ Brady muttered.

‘You’ve lost me, sir?’

‘The victim and her form tutor,’ explained Brady as he handed Conrad the photograph. ‘I’ve checked the dates of a school trip to Germany the victim recently went on and those calls begin the same night Sophie and her teacher returned from that trip.’

‘That’s her teacher?’ questioned Conrad sceptically.

Brady nodded.

‘I think we need to ask him a few questions, don’t you?’

Chapter Thirty-One

‘I take it that you’re here about Sophie?’ asked Ben Ellison, politely standing aside to let Brady in, followed by Conrad and Jenkins.

Brady nodded. ‘DS Conrad and DI Brady,’ he flatly stated. ‘And this is Dr Jenkins who is assisting us with the investigation.’

Jenkins moved towards him and shook his hand.

Brady couldn’t help noticing Ellison turning on his boyish charm for Jenkins.

‘Sorry for the mess,’ he apologised as he cleared a pile of books from a chair for her benefit.

‘Thanks,’ said Jenkins as she sat down.

She slowly crossed her long, slender legs, forcing her skirt to ride further up than she had intended. Brady realised his weren’t the only eyes on her. Embarrassed, Ellison quickly diverted his gaze.

Brady had asked Jenkins along to get a second opinion. He already had a gut feeling that there was something more than a teacher-student relationship between Ellison and the victim. But he wanted Jenkins’ professional opinion before he started making any accusations.

‘You’re lucky you caught me. I normally leave by 5 pm,’ Ellison said as he looked at Jenkins. ‘Especially on a Friday.’

Brady ignored him as he quickly took in the pokey, cluttered, first-floor office. Two desks sat at either side of the room, strewn in papers, books and piles of folders. He then turned his attention to the victim’s form tutor. He was the kind of guy you hated at school. Tall, athletically built and a natural on the sports field. He made ordinary guys feel like dicks. Which meant he was the kind that typically got the girls. Brady could see why. It wasn’t just his boyish, chiselled good looks and messy, short blond hair. He had startlingly bright, compelling, azure-blue eyes. Altogether, it was a fatal combination; particularly around hormonal teenagers.