Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

Brady grabbed his jacket and limped towards the door, reluctantly accepting that the worst was yet to come.

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘Pull in here,’ Brady demanded suddenly.

‘What about Matthews’ daughter?’ Conrad questioned.

‘There’s something I need to do first.’

He still couldn’t get hold of Matthews. But that wasn’t his only concern.

He steeled himself before getting out of the car.

‘Where are you going, sir?’ Conrad called out, confused.

‘To see what those little bastards know about the murder,’ Brady replied before slamming the car door shut.

He wasn’t in the mood for trouble. But the frenzied screaming and high-spirited jeers told him he’d come to the wrong place. He headed through the trees, away from the safety of the street lights towards the pitch-black area that was Whitley Bay Park. It was after 8 pm and no resident or dog walker in their right mind would go near the park at night. The raucous shouting and swearing started to get louder as Brady closed in.

‘What the fuck do you want, mister? Looking for a fucking shag? Is that it?’ shouted one lad before he cockily dragged on his cigarette.

He instinctively yanked his hood forward as Brady turned to look at him.

‘It’ll fucking cost you though. My lass ain’t cheap!’

Brady couldn’t help but smile. The scrawny little bugger looked no older than fourteen and here he was giving him lip.

Brady stood his ground, undeterred by the jeers and catcalls coming from the twenty or so teenagers who had now gathered around him. He realised that most of the kids were high; whether it was alcohol or drugs it didn’t matter. The air was thick with the smell of cannabis while cans of cheap lager and bottles of wine clinked as they did the rounds. The outcome was still the same; kids too high to realise the consequences of being off their faces.

Adrenalin surged through Brady as he checked out Conrad’s whereabouts.

He was relieved to see Conrad watching from a safe distance. It was reassuring to know that back-up could be called if things suddenly got out of hand.

‘So, what’s it to be, mister, eh? Twenty quid say?’ leered the lad with the tab.

Brady could smell the cheap beer on the kid’s breath.

‘I just want to ask a couple of questions,’ Brady answered firmly.

‘Nah, mister. Don’t work like that,’ the lad replied with a cold glint in his eye.

He dragged on his tab before handing it to a giggling lass stood nearby.

‘You give me forty quid and maybe I’ll let you go,’ he added menacingly as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve.

‘You don’t want to do that,’ warned Brady.

‘Don’t I?’

‘Fucking shaft the perv!’ excitedly cried the lass as the lad suddenly jumped at Brady, knife outstretched.

Brady deftly grabbed the kid, twisting him into a deadlock before he had a chance to realise what had happened.

‘Ow … you’re fucking psycho you are! Let me go or I’ll fucking kill you!’ rasped the lad as Brady restrained him under his right arm.

‘Drop the knife or I’ll fucking choke it out of you!’ Brady threatened.

The kid limply dropped the blade to the ground. Brady stepped on it, aware that there were twenty more teenagers waiting to finish the job.

‘Fucking let him go, mister!’

‘That’s fucking assault that is! And he’s a fucking kid he is! I’m going to call the fucking police on you!’

‘I am the fucking police! And if you don’t want me nicking the lot of you, you’ll bugger off!’ Brady ordered as he gestured towards Conrad’s waiting figure.

He watched as the kids belligerently dispersed, mouthing off as they went.

‘Ahhh … you bastard! You’re fucking choking me!’ the lad hissed, as he struggled in vain to get free.

‘What do you know about Sophie Washington?’ Brady demanded.

‘I don’t fucking know nowt!’

‘Try harder,’ Brady suggested as he tightened his grip.

The kid started spluttering and kicking.

‘Let him go, will you?’ cried out the lass still holding his tab.

Brady ignored her.

‘She used to come down here with her mate, all right?’ he spluttered.

Brady already knew who the mate was without asking.

‘Was she here last night?’

‘Nah, haven’t seen her around for a while.’

‘Did she have any boyfriends that you know of?’

‘Who knows? She was a right fucking slapper she was! Half of Whitley have shagged her!’

Brady relaxed his grip on the kid. He fell to the ground.

‘You fucking need your head seeing you do!’ screeched his lass.

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

Brady turned to the kid as he started to get to his feet.

‘You’re coming with me,’ Brady ordered.

‘I’m going nowhere, you fucking pig!’

Brady suddenly felt something hard and jagged hit his forehead.

‘You little shit!’ Brady swore as he realised that the kid had got him good.

Before the kid had a chance to leg it, Brady grabbed him.

‘Taken to beating up kids now have we, sir?’ Conrad asked as Brady dragged the reluctant youth over to the car.

‘Other way round. Little shit got me a good one,’ Brady said as he pressed his shirt sleeve to his bleeding forehead.

‘You want to get that seen to,’ Conrad suggested as he took a look at the cut.

‘It’s nothing,’ Brady muttered.

He had more to worry about than a wound.

‘You sure about this, sir?’ Conrad asked as he sceptically looked at the kid.

‘Yeah, he knows something all right!’

‘How can you be certain?’ asked Conrad.

‘Because that’s bloody Shane McGuire.’

Chapter Thirty Five

‘Bloody hell, Jack! What happened to you?’ asked Turner as Brady limped into the station.

Brady shrugged.

‘See if you can get hold of a social worker for me, will you?’

‘Why would you—’ Turner stopped short when Conrad came through the double doors with the lad.

‘What the bloody hell have you done this time, McGuire?’ Turner demanded as he raised his bushy, white eyebrows at the kid.

‘Pissed me off,’ muttered Brady.

‘Aye, I can see that, bonny lad,’ answered Turner as he shook his head at the nasty cut above Brady’s left eye.

‘Why the fuck should I talk to you? You fucking wanker,’ growled Shane McGuire.

Brady casually leaned back against his chair.

‘You wait till my fucking dad hears about this, then you’ll fucking see!’ McGuire threatened.

‘Where is your old man again? That’s right, he’s bangedup. So tell me, what’s he going to do to me from behind bars?’

The social worker that Turner had called in gave Brady a withering look.

Brady returned it with a lame smile. He’d worked with Linda Johnson on numerous occasions. She knew what hardened little buggers they were as much as Brady did. She was under no illusions; unlike some of the newly qualified bloody do-gooders.

‘Can we cut straight to the point, DI Brady?’ Linda asked as she raised a narrow pencilled eyebrow at him. ‘It is a Friday night after all.’

‘Sure, but I reckon you should be telling McGuire here that,’ Brady replied.

McGuire responded by spitting a glob of phlegm at Brady.

It missed and hit the table in front of him.

‘So, let’s go over last night again, shall we?’ Brady repeated.

‘Like I said, I was at home with my nan,’ McGuire cockily replied. ‘So you’ve got nowt on me!’

‘Apart from your girlfriend’s murder.’

McGuire sucked in air.

‘She wasn’t my fucking girlfriend …’ he nervously replied.

‘What was she then? Just some shag?’