Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

‘I don’t know, sir,’ answered Brady uncomfortably, reluctant to explain that Matthews was worried about the implication of driving the victim home the night she was murdered.

Gates slowly weighed Brady up.

‘And Evie Matthews’ traces of DNA? The hair samples that were found? How do you explain that?’ Gates asked.

‘Sophie left the Matthews’ house wearing Evie’s jacket. So it’s no surprise her DNA was found on the victim’s body.’

‘And the other DNA evidence found on the victim?’

‘I’m hoping it’s Ellison’s, sir. I’m just waiting for word back from the lab.’

‘I hope for your sake, and Matthews', that you’re right. Even if it is just coincidence and poor judgement on Matthews’ part, it still doesn’t look good.’

‘Yes sir,’ replied Brady doing his utmost to maintain Gates’ unnerving eye contact.

‘You have heard the insinuations the press are making about Matthews’ suspension?’

Brady nodded as Harriet Jacobs came to mind.

‘This is the last thing this force needs. I want an arrest and I want one fast!’ ordered Gates.

‘Yes sir. My next move is to interview Ellison,’ answered Brady quickly.

‘Actually, I’d rather you weren’t involved in the interview.’

‘Sir?’ Brady asked, confused.

‘I think Adamson would be better suited.’

Brady sat back stunned.

‘I’ve enough of a headache trying to deal with Paul Simmons after the way you handled his interview to risk any more of your unorthodox methods.’

Brady understood why Gates was so pissed at him. Simmons was considering suing Northumbria Police Force on the grounds that Brady had roughed him up. Brady had shrugged it off when he had first heard, knowing that all he was responsible for was forcibly making Simmons sit back down. In his opinion, Simmons had too much to hide to want to go public. However, Brady accepted that Gates didn’t necessarily share his opinion.

‘With all due respect, sir, Adamson doesn’t have the experience to deal with this,’ Brady objected.

‘I beg to differ. He’s already passed his Inspector exams. It’s only a matter of time before he gets promoted.’

Brady felt winded. He hadn’t been expecting to have to stand back and watch someone else take over. Let alone Adamson.

‘I’ve talked to Ellison twice now. I know what I’m up against. Adamson doesn’t,’ Brady insisted. ‘We’re too close to have someone new come in and mess this up, sir.’

Gates contemplated Brady; his emotionless, cold, intelligent eyes weighing up what was before him.

‘You screw up and that’s it. No second chances. And don’t think Chief Superintendent O’Donnell will bail you out. Not this time.’

Brady shifted in his seat.

Gates’ eyes remained fixed on Brady.

‘Sir …’ attempted Brady, but Gates held up his hand. ‘Save it for the report you’ll be writing up. I get any more complaints about you, Jack, and you’re not only off the case, I will do my utmost to get you off this force!’

Brady looked up at the dark gloom that was the sky. The air felt heavy and damp from the sea fret. It had been drizzling on and off for days now. Then again, mused Brady, what else did he expect from the North East of England? He threw his cigarette butt away and took out his phone.

He tried Matthews again. It cut straight to voice mail.

‘Jimmy? I really need to talk to you. Fuck it, Jimmy! Just ring me, will you?’

Chapter Forty-Seven

Brady held his head in his hands as he mulled over his next move; interviewing Ellison.

A loud knock at his office door broke through his thoughts.

‘Yeah?’ said Brady distractedly.

Harvey walked in.

‘I’ve got Tracy Hamilton’s statement here.’

Brady took the file from him.

‘She understands that if we charge him, she’ll be called as a witness?’

Harvey nodded.

‘And there’s no doubt in her mind that it was Ellison?’

‘She picked him out from Christ knows how many photos.’

Brady sighed with relief.

They had him; they had Ellison firmly by the balls. Whether or not he had murdered Sophie Washington, he was clearly having a relationship with the victim; one that criminally transcended the pupil-teacher norm.

He quickly read through the barmaid’s statement. She had served him in The Beacon pub, accompanied by the victim. She had then passed him on her way home to Seatonville Road climbing over the gate into Potter’s Farm. He paused on the last page.

‘Says here that a taxi was called from The Beacon for Sophie Washington?’

‘That’s what she said,’ replied Harvey.

‘Which explains why Ellison was later seen on his own by the barmaid going into Potter’s Farm.’

Harvey nodded.

‘Find out which taxi company they use and then find the driver. I need to talk to him. We need to know where Sophie was going and why.’

Ben Ellison looked like crap.

Hung over and sleep deprived, he looked worse than Brady had imagined. His confident, relaxed veneer had long gone, replaced by raw, animal fear.

Ellison dragged a shaking hand through his messy hair.

‘Look … I’ve already told you. I didn’t have anything to do with her murder.’

‘But you were having a sexual relationship with her.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do,’ Brady answered.

Ellison’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes darted between Conrad and Brady, trying to figure out what was going on.

‘I have a reliable witness,’ Brady informed him.

‘How do I know that you’re not making this up?’ Ellison demanded edgily.

He looked and smelled like he needed a hot shower and a change of clothes. The windowless interview room was heavy with a dank, acrid smell. Brady had smelled it before;it was the stench of guilt. It sweated its way out of the suspect’s pores, regardless.

‘Our witness saw you in The Beacon having a drink with your fifteen-year-old pupil, Sophie Washington. She then said that as she was making her way home past Monkseaton Metro towards Seatonville Road she passed you as you climbed over the gate into Potter’s Farm.’

‘So?’ Ellison questioned.

‘Do you know what time Sophie was murdered?’ Brady asked.

Ellison didn’t answer.

‘Between 12.30 and 2 am. And,’ Brady paused, giving Ellison enough time to absorb this information, ‘as she looked back you were seen by our witness walking down the farm’s dirt track towards the crime scene at 12.15 am. I wouldn’t describe that as circumstantial, sir.’

‘For fuck’s sake! I didn’t do it! What kind of guy do you take me for?’

‘One who gets off on buggering and fucking his fifteen-year-old pupils,’ quietly answered Brady.

Ellison shot Brady a ‘fuck you’ look.

‘The autopsy report,’ Brady flatly explained.

‘You’ve still got nothing on me,’ Ellison stated with false confidence.

Brady folded his arms as he stared at Ellison. He knew they had him; the stench of sweat was overpowering.

‘I have rights! You can’t do this to me!’

‘Actually, where you’re sat you’ve got no rights,’ Brady evenly replied.

He shrugged apologetically as Ellison looked at him in bewilderment.

‘We can keep you without legal representation for the next twenty-four hours. So I’d get used to it if I were you.’

Ellison’s face paled as he stared at Brady. His healthy, rugged complexion had waned to a jaundiced colour.

Brady wanted Ellison to sweat. And a few more hours in the cell might loosen his tongue.

‘Interview terminated at 2.37 pm.’

Brady turned to the officer stood by the door.

‘Take him back to his cell.’