Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

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.

Chapter Forty-One

‘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.