Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

‘You sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

He shrugged.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. As Brady’s psychologist, she knew that because of his past he couldn’t handle emotional intimacy. Her dark brown eyes said it all, they both knew that their professional relationship had just crossed the line.

Chapter Forty-Two

Brady pushed his plate away. Ordinarily, a bacon and egg stottie was the only way to kick-start a bad day. But today wasn’t like any other bad day. It was worse, much worse.

He took a mouthful of black, bitter coffee as he looked around the decrepit basement cafeteria. It was long due an overhaul. The red, chipped laminated sixties tables had seen better times, as had Brady. He looked at the barred windows. The grey, drizzling day bleakly called out to him to make a move.

It was only 8.36 am and he felt exhausted. He had had less than three hours’ sleep. Disturbed sleep at that. The old drunk who had accosted him earlier had troubled him more than he wanted to admit. And when he finally did fall into a restless slumber, it was only to be beset by nightmares about the old drunk.

Brady rubbed his tired face. His rough stubble caught him by surprise. He needed to straighten himself out. He knew that at some point he’d be facing Gates, if not the press, and he needed to look halfway decent.

But he couldn’t go home. Not with Kate there.

He had arranged for a patrol car to drive by every halfhour during the night to ward off Madley’s henchmen. But when he had called Kate earlier, she had made it clear that she couldn’t be bought off with a patrol car. She wanted Matthews and was convinced that Brady was protecting him. Brady had tried his best to persuade her that he was as much in the dark about Matthews’ whereabouts as she was, but she wasn’t accepting it.

The conversation had ended badly. Enough for him to want to keep out of her way for a while. He couldn’t blame her for being angry; a lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours and he still had no answers.

Brady always kept a razor and clean clothes at work for unexpected situations like this. As soon as he had finished his coffee his next visit would be to the dilapidated shower rooms hidden in the basement. He had no choice; he stank from the crap he’d been dealing with for the past thirty hours. And there was still more crap to deal with before the day really got going.

But at least they had Ellison in custody, albeit still drunk. He had rolled home at 7 am. From what Brady had heard Ellison had got quite a shock when CID showed up.

But Brady was painfully aware that Sleeping Beauty spending the night with Ellison hadn’t exactly helped his judgement. And in the cold light of day he was now wondering whether he had been over-zealous in dragging Ellison in? He already had Gates questioning his decision to bring Simmons in. But Brady knew it was more than male pride where Ellison was concerned. He had a photo and a flyer with his gig circled in red. That and a barmaid stating that she had seen someone of his description with the victim hours before she was murdered.

Brady was now waiting for news on Ellison’s DNA andprints to see whether they matched the forensic evidence found at the crime scene. And he also had Jed, their computer forensics officer, searching Ellison’s laptop and desktop computers that would tie him to the victim.

Brady’s phone rang.

‘Yeah?’ he answered.

‘It’s him all right,’ answered Conrad.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, sir. He definitely has the same tattoo as the victim covering his back.’

‘Thank fuck,’ said Brady, relieved. ‘All right Conrad, as soon as the bugger’s sober let me know.’

Brady disconnected the call. He forced himself to move, aware that it wouldn’t be long before Ellison was clearheaded enough to interview.

‘Who are you trying to impress?’ Harvey laughed as he took in Brady’s clean-shaven face and change of clothes.

For once, Brady was wearing a shirt and a suit. It was the only change of clothes he had at the station in case he suddenly had to give a press conference.

Brady gave him the finger before going into his office.

He knew Harvey was talking about Jenkins. He was sure half the station would have been talking about them by now. It wouldn’t have gone undetected that she had been in his office with him until well after four in the morning.

‘Touched a nerve have I, Jack?’ Harvey called out after him jovially. ‘By the way, you don’t happen to know where Dr Jenkins is, do you?’ he laughed.

Brady slammed his office door shut.

He pulled out his BlackBerry as he limped over to his desk.

He sat down and waited for her to pick up.

‘Amelia?’

‘Yes?’ answered Jenkins.

‘It’s Jack,’ added Brady.

‘I know,’ she answered.

‘Where are you?’ Brady asked.

‘At work,’ she evenly replied.

‘I haven’t seen you around,’ Brady stated.

‘You wouldn’t. I’m in my own office dealing with my own backlog of work.’

‘Is that it? You’re off the investigation?’ Brady asked, trying to hide his disappointment.

‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed me any more. You’ve got Ben Ellison, so there’s nothing more I can do. Anyway, I’ve got a pile of work I need to catch up on.’

‘I see,’ said Brady.

‘Look, Jack… this is… well… it’s becoming difficult… for both of us,’ Jenkins attempted. ‘I think it’s better this way.’

‘Sure, you’re the doctor,’ answered Brady lamely.

Someone knocked at the door.

‘Got to go,’ Brady said.

‘I’m sure you do,’ answered Jenkins before she disconnected the call.

‘What!’ Brady called out as he eyed yet more paperwork that had surreptitiously made its way to his in-tray.

Conrad walked in.

Brady noted that Conrad looked more refreshed than he did. He presumed Conrad hadn’t tried sleeping three hours on a lumpy, old sofa.

‘Trina McGuire rang wanting a word with you, sir.’

‘Yeah?’ asked Brady, surprised. ‘Why the bloody hell would she want to talk to me? Oh, don’t tell me,’ he muttered. ‘She wants to make an official complaint about bloody Adamson.’

‘Shane McGuire’s in hospital, sir.’

‘What happened?’ Brady asked.

‘That’s what she wants to know,’ answered Conrad.

‘Yeah?’ Brady said as he answered his mobile.

He looked over at the hospital’s main entrance.

Numerous patients were stood outside the revolving door tabbing away. One old guy with gaunt, sunken cheeks and sagging yellowing skin even had a drip attached to his large, bony hand. In between his skeletal fingers he tremulously held a cigarette. His other bony hand was gnarled around a portable oxygen tank. His blue lips sucked greedily at the cigarette, oblivious to the people walking past. He then yanked at the oxygen mask flaccidly hanging around his scrawny, chicken neck before taking another puff.

Brady hoped for his sake that the portable oxygen tank was switched off. Otherwise, the daft old bugger might end up going a damned sight quicker than he expected.

Fuck, Brady thought. Life can’t get worse than that.

‘Got a message for you, Jack,’ Turner, the desk sergeant, said hesitantly.

‘Spit it out then,’ replied Brady.

‘It’s from Claudia,’ Turner began.

Brady immediately stiffened.

‘And?’

‘She wants you to call her as soon as you can.’

‘Why not call my mobile if she wanted to talk to me?’ questioned Brady.

‘I don’t know, all she wanted me to do was pass the message on,’ Turner explained uncomfortably.