Broken Silence

by Danielle Ramsay

  Brady opened the file beside him and pulled out sheets containing printed downloads of the victim’s blog.

  ‘Doesn’t quite match what you told me this morning. Does it, sir?’

  Simmons froze.

  He looked at the words and the photographs as he shook his head in dismay.

  ‘Not only did she drink, she took drugs and had casual sex repeatedly. But then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, sir?’

  ‘You bastard,’ Simmons muttered thickly.

  ‘So what happened then, sir? It’s late, the door bell goes; it’s her. She’s drunk and she’s lost her keys. You start raging and she gets scared?’

  ‘You’re one fucking sick bastard.’

  Brady leaned towards him.

  ‘What happened next?’ he asked slowly and clearly. ‘What did you do to her to make her run from you?’

  Brady paused as he stared at Simmons’ contorted face.

  ‘And then you found her, didn’t you? Hiding in the farmhouse ruins behind your house? And then … well, we know the rest.’

  ‘Goddamn you, you sick son of a bitch!’

  ‘Did she threaten to tell? Was that it?’

  Simmons shook his head.

  ‘No … no … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Or had you found out that she was having sex with her new boyfriend?’ Brady questioned. ‘I imagine that must have made you furious? Enough to—’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’

  ‘No?’ Brady asked, unconvinced. ‘We’ve found the stone that was used in the attack, sir. It’s only a matter of time until the lab finds your fingerprints and DNA.’

  Brady scrutinised him.

  ‘Maybe you will be needing that lawyer after all?’

  ‘I’m telling you I didn’t murder her!’

  ‘You were fucking her though, weren’t you?’ Brady asked quietly.

  Simmons’ lip trembled.

  ‘I have a witness, sir, whose statement supports the autopsy findings.’

  Simmons’ face drained as his jaw hung slack.

  Brady nodded.

  ‘Extreme trauma and scarring was found in and around the victim’s vagina and perineum. The autopsy states that the trauma is suggestive of sexual abuse presumed to have started as far back as when the victim was eleven.’

  Simmons didn’t move.

  ‘How old was Sophie when you and her mother got together?’

  Simmons remained deathly silent, his face pale.

  ‘Let me remind you, shall I?’ questioned Brady. ‘She was eleven, sir.’

  Simmons shook his head.

  ‘No … no … this is a mistake. I want to see my solicitor.’

  ‘Interview terminated at 11.07 pm,’ Brady instructed.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It was giro day in The Fat Ox. Every second Friday of the month and the pub would be heaving from lunchtime straight through to chucking-out time.

  ‘What’ll it be, Jack?’ a small blonde woman in her late forties yelled over to him.

  ‘Pint of the usual.’

  After the interview with Simmons he needed a drink. He’d left Simmons in one of the holding cells waiting for his solicitor to turn up. Given the fact it was eleven-thirty on a Friday night, Brady reckoned Simmons could find himself sweating for quite a few hours.

  He looked around for Conrad but couldn’t see him. They had come to see The Clashed. Not that Brady had particularly wanted to, but he knew they had to check out exactly why the victim had the band’s flyer for the gig that night.

  ‘Make that two pints and a double Scotch,’ a deep voice grunted from behind.

  ‘You sleazy bugger! How do you always manage to turn up when I’m at the bar?’ Brady asked, smiling as he turned round. ‘It better be worth it.’

  ‘Isn’t it always?’ Rubenfeld said as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his fat, sausage fingers.

  ‘Ahh! You don’t know how much I need this. It’s been a bloody hell of a day!’ Rubenfeld grunted as he knocked back the short.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Brady agreed as he took a much-needed drink of his own cold, dripping pint before settling the bill.

  ‘One for yourself,’ he added as he handed a twenty over. Nowadays a tenner wouldn’t even cover it.

  Rubenfeld rubbed his two days’ worth of scraggy stubble as he scowled at Brady.

  ‘That bitch Harriet Jacobs is after your blood. What have you done to piss her off, Jack? You haven’t tried to shag her, have you? Bloody hell, Jack, when will you learn to keep it in your pants?’ Rubenfeld goaded with a sleazy smile.

  ‘I don’t know her,’ Brady answered uncomfortably, accepting that his brief affair with DC Simone Henderson would follow him for the rest of his career. That and his infamous days before Claudia as a bit of a player.

  Ordinarily Rubenfeld’s comment wouldn’t have bothered him, but this time it had hit a nerve. He still felt disgusted with himself over Sleeping Beauty.

  Rubenfeld ran his fat fingers through his short, receding black hair.

  ‘Well, someone wants you and Jimmy off the force, Jack. If I was you, I’d bloody find out who before it’s too late. I did hear something that might interest you,’ Rubenfeld throatily offered.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Word is Madley wants Matthews as good as dead. That’s why he’s disappeared. Matthews may be one hard nut but this time he’s gone too far.’

  Brady didn’t react.

  Rubenfeld shook his head, aware that Brady knew more than he was letting on.

  ‘Be careful, Jack. You don’t know who you’re dealing with here.’

  Brady didn’t answer.

  ‘Got to go, people to see and all that crap!’ Rubenfeld swiftly concluded as he drained his pint.

  Brady watched as Rubenfeld pushed his way through the crowded pub towards the doors. The Clashed suddenly kicked off, filling the place with angry lyrics. His face darkened as he listened to the singer’s anarchistic words. Why, he questioned, would a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl be interested in a seventies punk tribute band?

  ‘I fought the law and the law won, I fought the law and the law won,’ screamed the lead singer.

  He was no Joe Strummer, but he had energy concluded Brady as he twisted his neck to get a look. But all he could make out was the drummer and bass guitarist through the throbbing crowd.

  ‘Jack!’ a high-pitched voice trilled out, followed by a burst of excited giggles.

  Brady’s stomach turned. That voice was bad news.

  ‘Jack?’

  He turned to see Sleeping Beauty stood before him, self-conscious and girlish. He felt sick as he tried to remember what they had gotten up to in the early hours of that morning.

  ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’ she asked, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

  Brady cursed himself. In the cold light of sobriety she was definitely only about twenty, if that.

  ‘Look, something’s come up and …’ Brady began. He broke off when he saw the disbelief spread across her face.

  ‘You bastard!’ she replied angrily. ‘That was your wife and daughter, wasn’t it?’

  Stunned, Brady shook his head.

  ‘I told you my wife’s left me.’

  He had never considered how Kate and Evie turning up would have looked to Sleeping Beauty.

  ‘I thought that … last night?’ she faltered as her deep, brown eyes searched his for confirmation.

  ‘The timing isn’t good right now,’ Brady lamely answered.

  She bit her bottom lip. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around then?’

  He could hear the hurt in her voice but knew there was nothing else he could say.

  She turned and walked back to her friends.

  He knew she would think he was a bastard and she was right. He decided to make himself scarce and pushed his way through to the front of the crowd.

  Brady suddenly forgot all about Sleeping Beauty as he stared in disbelief at The Clashed’s l
ead singer.

  Ben Ellison uneasily caught Brady’s eye as he screamed to an enraptured crowd:

  ‘Should I stay or should I go now?’

  Brady leaned against the wall, deciding that maybe it was worth sticking around to watch the band after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘What did you think then?’ Ellison asked hoarsely as Brady approached him.

  He had just finished for the night and his pores were oozing a mixture of sweat and adrenalin.

  ‘Surprised you went ahead with the gig,’ Brady replied, ignoring his question. ‘Considering Sophie was one of your students.’

  Ellison ran his hand through his stylishly messy blond hair as he considered Brady’s remark.

  ‘Had no choice. Couldn’t let the band down, could I?’ he replied with a casual shrug.

  Brady realised that he wasn’t the only one interested in Ellison. A group of girls were excitedly and drunkenly talking with the other band members while they waited for the lead singer. He couldn’t help but notice that Sleeping Beauty was one of them.

  ‘Why do you think Sophie had a flyer for tonight’s gig?’

  For a moment Ellison seemed thrown.

  ‘Don’t know. She could have got it from anywhere,’ he answered, shrugging. ‘I leave them lying around. In the staff room, sixth form, even the cafeteria. Anywhere where Ithink they’ll get noticed. It’s no secret that I play in a band, Detective Inspector,’ Ellison replied.

  Yeah, I bet it’s not, Brady mused as he watched Ellison’s pretty boy face.

  Something just didn’t feel right about him.

  ‘So, do you get a lot of your students coming to watch you perform then?’ Brady asked as he gestured over at the giggling groupies desperate to catch Ellison’s eye.

  ‘Mainly sixth formers,’ Ellison answered. ‘Sometimes Year Twelves come along.’

  Brady’s expression conveyed his disapproval.

  ‘It’s not my problem to police them, that’s up to you lot,’ Ellison pointed out.

  ‘Don’t you have some moral duty as their teacher?’

  ‘Come on, Detective Inspector, what sixteen-year-old doesn’t drink? I’d rather have them getting pissed in a pub than in one of the local parks. I’ve heard what goes on down at Whitley Park at the weekend. Believe me, a pub’s a much safer environment.’

  Brady didn’t say anything. He knew Ellison had a point.

  ‘Anyway, you lot know all about underage drinking. How often do you carry out raids on The Grapevine?’ Ellison questioned.

  Brady shrugged. Again he had a point.

  The Grapevine had become a constant headache for Whitley Bay Police. The pub was part of the line-up of sleazy, garish bars that made up North Parade. The Grapevine attracted the men who wanted easy sex with very young girls. The average underage drinker regularly picked up during police raids was aged between thirteen and fifteen.

  Brady blamed Councillor Macmillan for the dive that Whitley Bay had taken; empty promises of regenerationwere constantly doled out to the residents while the council lined their pockets with beer money from underage drinkers. Most of the local residents wanted the pubs and nightclubs in Whitley Bay closed down. But Brady knew that would never happen; the council wasn’t interested in serving the local residents, only making sure the revenue from the pubs and clubs kept rolling in.

  ‘Did Sophie ever come to one of your gigs?’ Brady suddenly asked.

  ‘Maybe? As a teacher you hear things. Things you’d rather not know if you get my drift?’

  Brady didn’t and his expression said as much.

  ‘Look, I know most of the kids over the age of fourteen are regularly drinking and having sex. It’s just the way things are now. They grow up faster and with that comes a price,’ Ellison suggested. ‘Come on, Detective, you’re a man of the world. You can’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on out there.’

  ‘Are you saying that was what Sophie was?’

  Ellison looked at Brady.

  ‘What do you think? The girl had a reputation. Let’s say I heard a lot concerning Sophie Washington.’

  ‘Like what exactly?’

  ‘That she drank, took a bit of dope and had sex. That was her thing, sex. And from what I heard she was shit hot, if you know what I mean?’ Ellison said as he raised his eyebrows at Brady.

  Brady felt sickened by Ellison’s comments.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this when I saw you this afternoon?’

  Ellison shrugged. ‘There was a lady present,’ he said, winking.

  Brady couldn’t shake the hunch he had about Ellison. The guy was a jerk. But the fact that Brady wanted to floor him wasn’t enough to bring him in for questioning. He had no evidence to substantiate his feeling about Ellison, other than a flyer and a school holiday photograph. Brady had no choice but to let it go.

  He turned and walked towards the doors. As he pushed past the group of girls he caught Sleeping Beauty’s arm. She turned, surprised, and very drunk.

  ‘Steer clear of the lead singer. He’s just looking for an easy lay,’ Brady warned.

  She gave him an incredulous look before throwing back her thick, dark head of hair and laughing.

  ‘I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah? Like you did last night?’ she asked with a contemptuous smile.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Brady apologised.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she stated acerbically.

  ‘Look … I’m really—’ Brady uneasily began.

  ‘I get it!’ she interrupted. ‘You’re not interested, so why don’t you just fuck off?’

  Brady made his way out of the pub awkwardly, ignoring the shrill laughter directed at him.

  He waited outside for Conrad to join him. He needed some fresh air to clear his head. He slowly dragged on a cigarette, grateful to be alone. Things were winding down inside. Last orders had been called and the punters were more desperate for that last pint than they were for a tab.

  He turned as he heard the doors of The Fat Ox open behind him. Conrad’s reserved figure appeared.

  ‘Where were you?’ Brady questioned.

  ‘Looking for you,’ Conrad replied. ‘Saw your girlfriend in there,’ he added.

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘That explains why she’s all over the lead singer then.’

  Conrad’s words hung heavy in the cold night air. Brady stood for a moment as he dragged deeply on his cigarette. It helped ground him. Otherwise, he would have found himself going back inside and rearranging pretty boy’s face.

  ‘When we get back to the station I want you to run every check you can on Ben Ellison. I don’t trust that bastard.’

  ‘Sir? We’re already holding Simmons for questioning!’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean we stop looking for the boyfriend the victim wrote about on her blog. Does it?’

  ‘You don’t seriously believe her form tutor was having sex with her, do you?’

  ‘Why not? Some bastard was.’

  Chapter Forty

  A loud rap at his office door forced Brady to snap out of his maudlin mood.

  His run-in with Sleeping Beauty had made him take a long hard look at his life. The end result wasn’t good. He hated what he’d become and couldn’t quite figure out how he’d ended up at such a low point in his life.

  ‘Simmons, sir,’ Conrad began as he entered the room.

  Brady looked at him.

  ‘The lab results have come back … we’ve got nothing on him.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘No legible prints could be found on the stone that was used on the victim. And as for the other DNA evidence Forensics found at the crime scene and on the victim … well… nothing matches with Simmons’ DNA. Same with the hand and footprints.’

  ‘Shit!’ cursed Brady.

  ‘The upshot is he’s been released.’

  ‘On whose bloody orders?’ Brady demanded.

  ‘Gates.’
/>   ‘Shit,’ said Brady. ‘I take it Gates has read Evie Matthews’ statement and the autopsy report?’

  ‘Yes sir. But Simmons’ solicitor pointed out it’s her word against his client’s. We have no other evidence against Simmons to substantiate her claim.’

  ‘Apart from the autopsy report.’

  ‘Yes, but as Simmons’ solicitor stated, we have no proof that Simmons was responsible for that.’

  ‘But what about the fact that he has no alibi?’

  Conrad shook his head.

  ‘Simmons’ solicitor is good and Gates knows it. I don’t know what she said but she’s backed Gates into a corner.’

  Brady sighed wearily, exhausted.

  He didn’t like the way this day was starting out. They were less than an hour into it and already he wanted it to end.

  ‘Why the bloody hell has it taken so long to get hold of those?’ Brady asked as he gestured at the files Conrad was holding.

  ‘Adamson, sir,’ Conrad answered simply as he laid them on Brady’s desk. ‘Bureaucracy I think he said.’

  ‘I should have expected as much from him,’ muttered Brady.

  He shook his head as he picked up the top file. It was after one-thirty in the morning and he still had a lot of reading to get through before he could even consider catching up on some sleep.

  Brady closed the final medical file on Sophie Washington and reached for his BlackBerry.

  ‘Conrad? My office.’

  He massaged his pounding forehead as he waited for Conrad. It was well after two and he was running on empty.

  Brady held up the files for Conrad as he walked into the office.

  ‘If you see Adamson before I do, tell him I’ll shove bureaucracy up his arse. I should have had these hours ago.’

  ‘What did you find out?’ Conrad asked.

  ‘Nothing that I didn’t expect to find. Seems that from about the age of eleven Sophie Washington suffered from migraines. But the doctor diagnosed them as “emotional migraines",’ Brady explained.

  Conrad frowned.

  ‘Meaning that something was really stressing her. She’d been having them on and off for the past four years and not surprisingly, she suffered a serious bout of them around the time her father committed suicide.’