Brady had already alerted the airports and ferries in case this was the scenario. It might have been over-reacting but the last thing he wanted was to be hauled into Gates’s office to have his bollocks chewed off for not being proactive. The fact that Harris had disappeared and wouldn’t answer his mobile was atypical according to his girlfriend. That was enough for Brady.
Brady stretched his arms behind his head and yawned. He was literally dropping from exhaustion. His eyes were so tired that he could hardly read the words on the screen in front of him. He was in the computer room running a search on Lee Harris: twenty-seven-year-old Caucasian male; residing at 28A Marine Avenue, Whitley Bay. Nothing had come up so far. Brady couldn’t shake Amelia’s profile. If this was their rapist, then he had to have had some prior convictions against him. Something in the system, no matter how minor. Brady knew better than anyone that your average law-abiding citizen didn’t wake up one morning and decide to commit a crime. Especially something as heinous and sadistic as these ones. There was always a history of criminal activity. A pattern that showed the gradual escalation. That was lacking here. Completely. And Brady didn’t trust it.
He looked down at the photograph they had of the suspect. The police could access the DVLA and it was this photo Brady had released to the airports and ferries. The picture from Lee Harris’ driver’s licence was similar to their photofit. Apart from the fact that he had a thick head of black hair. But it had been issued six years ago. The similarity was good enough for Brady considering that the three victims who had put the photofit together had all been drunk when the rapist approached. The fact that they had any kind of photofit was a miracle. Brady decided to do some further digging later that morning. Something was missing. But he wasn’t quite sure what. What he did know was that he needed to sleep. He stumbled back to his office, bleary-eyed and in need of eight hours uninterrupted kip.
He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. Despite the fact he was exhausted he couldn’t silence his mind. Too many questions were racing through it. He waited a few minutes but the noise in his head did not abate.
‘Fuck it!’
Resigned, he got up and walked over to his desk. He yanked open the drawer and pulled out a bottle of whisky. It was a Talisker: a twenty-year-old single malt; distilled and matured on the Isle of Skye. It had been a gift from Madley. He looked at the bottle. It was Madley’s favourite whisky. As he opened it, Brady knew it would be the last one he would ever receive from Madley. He poured a liberal measure into his Che Guevara mug. Then he walked back over to the couch and collapsed. He waited a moment before taking a drink. He wanted to savour it.
‘To you, Madley,’ Brady said, raising the mug in honour of his childhood friend. ‘You fucking bastard!’
He took a much-needed gulp. He waited for it to burn the back of his throat as it worked its way down. It was smooth with a subtle kick – just like Madley.
You stupid bastard, Madley. What the fuck are you playing at?
Brady took another drink as he tried to put all thoughts of Madley to the back of his mind. He felt betrayed. He had never thought Madley would distance himself from him. But he had. It was indisputable. Brady had called him countless times. The result? Silence.
Brady sat back and attempted to relax. It was just him and a mug of whisky. No calls. No team needing to be told what to do. Just him in the dark waiting for . . . Waiting for what?
He glanced down at the mobile by his feet. He had left numerous messages with Nick in the vain hope he would get back to him. It wasn’t just Trina McGuire’s attack he wanted to talk to his brother about. It was Jake Munroe. After all, Nick had worked for, or to be more precise, against John De Silvio – AKA Johnny Slaughter. Munroe’s old boss and the same man Madley had warned was after Nick. One of many men who wanted to take him down. Brady wanted to know whether Nick had had any dealings with Munroe. Brady still couldn’t let go of the fact that there was something going on between Munroe and Madley. What, he didn’t know, but he wanted Nick to reassure him.
He swigged back what was left in his mug and contemplated a refill. His head was still buzzing. What he wanted was that numb feeling that would enable him to switch off and fall asleep, even if it was only for a couple of hours. He decided on one more shot and then he would call it quits.
Brady woke up with a start. It felt as if he had suddenly been resuscitated. He gasped with a combination of pain and surprise as he opened his eyes. Dusty shafts of light danced in front of him. It took him a moment to come to his senses and realise that he was still in his office. Then it hit him. The blinding pain in his head.
‘Fuck!’ he groaned.
He closed his eyes again and dropped his arm down by his side as he braced himself against the excruciating pounding where his head was supposed to be. His hand accidentally knocked over the bottle of whisky that was on the floor.
He picked the bottle up. It was empty.
‘Shit!’ he cursed.
He had no recollection of finishing it. He had drunk over half a bottle. No surprise then that his head was exploding.
Brady winced as he attempted to look at the time: 5:33 a.m.
Preparing himself, he swung his legs around and sat up. It took him a moment before he felt he could actually stand. He needed painkillers, coffee and a tab. In that order. It was a perfect remedy for any hangover. He was undecided whether or not he would be slapping a nicotine patch on instead of smoking a cigarette. Maybe he would do both. Anything to stop himself feeling so crap.
He needed an update on the suspect. It was obvious they hadn’t apprehended him yet. Otherwise Brady would’ve known about it. Then he would go home, get showered and dressed and make a point of bringing a change of clothes back into work.
First, he had to find some painkillers.
It took Brady less than an hour to sort himself out before heading back to his office where he was waiting for Conrad to show. His headache had finally eased off with the help of aspirin and copious amounts of black coffee. As yet, they had no news on the suspect. Brady was mentally preparing himself for taking what paltry scraps he had to Gates. He was also waiting for Amelia Jenkins. Admittedly, it was early on a Sunday morning. He had no idea when she would show up. He’d left a message on both her landline and mobile asking her to come in. But she hadn’t answered. He imagined she had plans the night before. Why would she not? She was a clever, attractive woman in her early thirties who could get any man she wanted. The last thing Brady imagined her doing was sitting in on a Saturday night with a bottle of Pinot Grigio, an M&S meal for one and X Factor on for company.
Brady slowly breathed out. Thinking about Amelia Jenkins and some hot date was not helping his headache. But he did need her in ASAP. He wanted her opinion on Lee Harris. Jake Munroe was yesterday’s problem. Brady was prepared to move on and accept that she’d been right about him. He had no choice. He had other priorities now. Not that Munroe didn’t worry Brady. He did. It felt as if he’d let a dangerous animal loose back onto the streets of Whitley Bay, but without any concrete evidence against him, Brady had no choice but to go against his better instincts.
There was a knock at his door.
‘It’s open,’ Brady called.
Conrad walked in.
‘Sir.’
‘Anything?’ Brady asked without looking up. He was busy searching through what they had on the suspect, which was effectively nothing. The mortgage, council tax and water rates were all in his girlfriend’s name. Lee Harris didn’t even have credit cards. He had one bank account – a Co-operative cash account. No cheque books – nothing. But nor did he have any bad credit history. In fact he had no history.
‘You know something, Conrad?’
‘Sir?’ Conrad asked as he walked over to stand in front of Brady’s desk.
‘Sit!’ ordered Brady. Sometimes Conrad was too damned stuffy for his own good.
Conrad did as instructed.
‘What are we missing here?’
‘I mean, this Lee Harris has nothing on him. So how the hell am I going to convince Gates that he’s our suspect?’
‘We have him pulling up to our third victim and talking to her. She refuses and walks away. He sits in his car for a few moments. Then he drives off in the direction she was heading. His car disappears. The victim disappears,’ Conrad answered.
Brady shook his head.
‘I wish it was that straightforward. But we’re ignoring the glaringly obvious here – he’s a bloody taxi driver. Of course he’s going to be driving around. He’s working. It’s his bloody job!’
Brady dragged his hand back through his hair as he looked at Conrad.
‘Christ, when Amelia finally walks in it will be the first point she picks up on. He’s a taxi driver. He works weekends. He drives people home. He gets paid to do that. Shit! He probably saw Winters and pulled over worried about the state she was in. I mean, she was so pissed she couldn’t walk straight. At one point she fell over. I’ve got no idea how the hell she didn’t break something.’
Brady shook his head.
‘I mean I’ve tried to make this work. I went through the surveillance footage from the nights of the first two attacks to be sure he wasn’t there. But there’s no sign of him. Nothing. All we have to go on is him stopping and seeing if our victim needed a lift home. Given the state she was in he comes over as more of a good Samaritan than serial rapist.’
‘I agree, sir. She was exceptionally drunk. And yes, Lee Harris is a taxi driver. And it would be expected that he would be driving around the streets of Whitley Bay.’
‘My point exactly.’
‘Except, sir, he wasn’t.’
‘Wasn’t what, Conrad?’ Brady was not in the mood for games.
‘Working.’
‘What? Run that by me again?’ Brady demanded, leaning forward.
‘I checked the nights in question with East Central. On all three nights our suspect wasn’t working. He cancelled the first one because of a scheduled holiday and the other two were due to illness.’
Brady sat back and absorbed the news. His mind was racing through what it meant.
‘Not exactly in our favour then, is it?’ Brady stated. ‘He’s on holiday or off ill on those nights. We know that all three victims were attacked as they walked home. The first two victims believed he followed them on foot. Neither one heard a car. But did he need a car, Conrad?’ Brady asked as he looked at him. Before Conrad had a chance to answer, Brady continued. ‘No. Why? Because he raped them where he attacked them. He didn’t need to take them anywhere, unlike the third victim. With Chloe Winters he would have needed a car. He took her somewhere. He held her captive for forty-eight hours and then he released her. But on all three nights in question Lee Harris didn’t show up at work. Why?’
Brady looked at Conrad. The look on his face showed he knew what Brady was getting at. That the reason he wasn’t working on those nights was because he was busy stalking his victims before he attacked them.
‘All right. Let’s see what he has to say when we interview him. That is, if we get hold of him.’
‘You think he’s gone to ground?’
‘What would you do in his situation, Conrad? You know the police are after you. If he’s rung his work at all, he’ll know that we’ve been asking questions about the shifts he’s worked. And the three nights that the victims were attacked he wasn’t at work,’ Brady said. He looked Conrad straight in the eye. ‘There’s one thing I don’t believe in, Conrad.’
‘Coincidences, sir?’
‘Precisely. And we haven’t even got to the question of what the fuck was he doing cruising around in his taxi the night Chloe Winters was abducted and attacked, if he wasn’t working?’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘Sir? Sir?’ shouted Daniels as he burst into the office.
Brady was at his office desk with Amelia Jenkins across from him, updating her on events. Lee Harris had replaced Jake Munroe on the list of suspects. But before Brady had even got a chance to hear Amelia’s take on him the door had been thrown open and Daniels was standing there, red-faced and panting.
‘Tell me there’s a fire? Because that’s the only reason I can imagine you would have for barging into my office uninvited.’
Daniels took a moment to catch his breath. He had just run up a flight of stairs in record time.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I . . . I didn’t mean to—’
Brady raised his hand to cut him off.
‘Why are you here?’
‘He’s just walked into the station, sir,’ Daniels said.
‘Who has?’ Brady asked.
‘The suspect. He’s just voluntarily handed himself over.’
‘Lee Harris has?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why didn’t you say that when you walked in?’ Brady demanded.
Daniels was speechless. He thought that was exactly what he’d done.
Brady turned to Amelia.
‘I’m going to introduce myself to Mr Harris. Feel free to watch the interview if you like. Daniels will show you where the monitor’s set up.’
‘Thanks. I’d appreciate that,’ Amelia said, standing up.
As she did so, Brady breathed in her delicate fragrance. It was some subtle but distinctive perfume. Which meant it was expensive. Everything about Amelia was expensive. Her education, her clothes, her jewellery and, Brady assumed, her taste in men.
He couldn’t help but notice that she was not dressed in her usual attire. Instead she was wearing a pair of worn, faded jeans and a white shirt. It was a simple, casual look that suited her perfectly. He had initially been taken aback when she’d breezed into his office at 11:00 a.m. Not because she hadn’t bothered to return his messages and tell him she was coming in. No. It was because she looked breath-taking.
‘Something wrong, Jack?’ Amelia asked.
Brady suddenly felt embarrassed.
‘No . . . nothing,’ he answered, unable to look her in the eye. Instead he turned and addressed Daniels: ‘Get me Conrad will you? I want him in on this interview.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Daniels, relieved to be dismissed.
Brady headed for the door.
‘Good luck,’ Amelia said.
Brady turned back and shot her a questioning look.
‘Why would I need “luck”?’
‘Because no one voluntarily hands themselves over unless they’re absolutely certain that the police will find nothing on them,’ Amelia stated. ‘Am I correct in believing that he has no prior convictions?’
Brady stood by the open door, not believing what he was hearing.
The suspect had just handed himself in, which meant that Brady could call off the search for him. He could also cancel the press release that was due to go out appealing to the public for information. Surely this was good news? It was good news for the team. For Whitley Bay police station and for Brady’s career.
‘What exactly are you getting at?’ Brady asked as his expression darkened.
For whatever reason, Amelia had taken to opposing Brady at every turn of the investigation. It was a recent phenomenon that had kicked off when Conrad had returned from sick leave. But whatever her problem was, Brady wanted her to sort it – and fast. Otherwise he would have to ask Gates to have her assigned elsewhere. It wasn’t good for morale for the team to witness them constantly at each other’s throats. Nor was it good for Brady to have to fight her every inch of the way. He needed to feel that she was on his side instead of criticising every move he made.
‘Think about it, Jack? The last thing you want to do is to go into that interview room and knee-jerk. Firstly, he has no criminal history. Secondly, he’s willingly come in to help with your enquiries. Doesn’t exactly fit the profile of the rapist. Nor does it sound like a man who has anything to hide.’
Brady didn’t say a word but the look in his eye was enough for Amelia to know that she had cros
sed a line.
‘Is that what you said to DCI Gates? That arresting Munroe was a knee-jerk reaction on my part?’
‘No,’ Amelia answered.
Brady could see the hurt in her eyes. He chose to ignore it. The accusation only hurt because it was true. She had stitched Brady up to his boss. There were no two ways about it. She’d been asked her opinion regarding the likelihood of Munroe being their rapist and she had used her ‘superior’ knowledge against Brady. Instead of backing him, and ultimately the team, she had used the opportunity to make herself look good. Brady had always known that she was interested in furthering her career – he just hadn’t realised it would be at his expense.
‘Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying. I think you’re walking into a trap here,’ Amelia stated.
‘Look Amelia, I appreciate your concern. But I’ve got a job to do,’ Brady said.
‘Think about it, Jack. Your suspect is a control freak.’
Brady paused, his hand on the door. But he didn’t turn round.
‘The crimes he’s committed were highly organised. He left no DNA on the victims or at the crime scenes. He stalked his victims and then struck when it suited him. He blindfolded them and then tortured and raped them. The last victim he held for forty-eight hours. He then released her. Left her where she could be found. He could have killed her. Disposed of her body. But no, he lets her go,’ Amelia paused, waiting for a reaction from Brady.
There was none.
‘It’s all about control. Don’t lose sight of that. He’s in control right now. Not you. He’s the one who chose to walk into the station. That worries me, Jack. It should worry you too.’
Blind Alley Page 18
