Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

‘There’s only one way to guarantee that,’ Madley said, lowering his voice. ‘But it has to be your decision, not mine.’

‘I know …’

Chapter Forty-Six

Brady breathed in the salty, decaying stench of North Shields quayside. It may have gone upmarket with all the fancy Italian restaurants and café bars, not to mention the expensive new apartments that now dominated the harbour backdrop. But one thing hadn’t changed and that was the nauseating smell of rotting fish.

Brady stood and watched the sailing boats as they passed by, heading out to sea. He could see a ferry docked further up the Tyne. He turned and stared across at South Shields and the row of brightly-painted Victorian houses that looked out over the river. Even he had to admit it was a beautiful spot to just stand and watch life moving around you.

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?’