Broken Silence (2 page)

He watched her mumble her consent and turn over. He stood for a moment wishing that his life were that simple.

Bleary-eyed he blinked back at his reflection and ran his fingers through his long dark hair pulling it back from
his face. He’d been meaning to get it cut but hadn’t got around to doing it. He stared at his heavy hooded, dark brown bloodshot eyes.

He was six feet two and slender with some muscle. He was attractive; at least that’s what his soon to be ex-wife had told him. Not that he could see it. But he knew there was something about him that women liked. Sleeping Beauty lying in his bed was testimony to that.

But throughout the five years he had been married he had never fooled around. Not once, not until that fateful night. And even then it was over before it had even started. But it was enough for Claudia to bail. He knew it was a convenient out for her. After months of Claudia working long hours in a blatant attempt to avoid him, Brady drunkenly and pitifully fell into the arms of a seductive new colleague – Detective Constable Simone Henderson. Claudia had walked in on them without Brady knowing. It wasn’t until the following night when his balls were nearly blown away on an undercover drugs bust that he realised that Claudia knew about his indiscretion. She had rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard he had been shot, wanting the reassurance he was still breathing so she could have the satisfaction of handing him divorce papers.

Brady lifted a wet hand and tried to wipe clean the smeared blur that was his reflection. He looked rough, too rough to crawl into work. He ran his right hand over the dark stubble that covered his chin and crept up over his cheeks. In a last ditch attempt to straighten himself out he splashed icy cold water over his face. It made no difference; he still looked half-cut. There was only one thing that would sober him up and that was a hot shower
followed by black, bitter coffee. He needed to at least appear sober if he was facing Gates. He knew that whatever had happened must have been serious enough for Gates to be calling.

Brady heard the doorbell ring and looked at his watch: it was 5.25 am, bang on time. He dragged heavily on the cigarette in his hand before crushing it out. Already the third one of the day, he noted, acknowledging that he had failed to kick the habit before returning to work.

But at least he was starting to sober up. Add to that a shave and a change of clothes and he looked halfway decent.

Brady poured himself some hot black coffee and looked around at the chaos that had crept into the house after his wife had left. Row after row of empty Peroni bottles, half-eaten Chinese take-away cartons and empty pizza boxes pretty much summed up his life now. It stank.

He switched off the kitchen light and walked down the hallway, his heavy footsteps resonating on the wooden floor.

He looked around in disgust. A lamp was still on throwing a gloomy light over the mess his life had become. Overflowing ashtrays were scattered all over the room. Discarded whisky and beer bottles lay across the dusty wooden floor. Over six months’ worth of weekend news-papers were dumped on an old leather armchair. Books lay in piles around the room, while others haphazardly lined
the handmade wooden bookcases that covered two of the walls.

His office at the station, with its high, rattling windows and bulky, rust-stained, leaking radiators, felt more comfortable to him than his own home. More so now that he couldn’t stomach living alone in a three-storey five-bed-roomed Victorian house. The fact that Claudia had not only moved out, but had taken every scrap of furniture that wasn’t nailed down didn’t help. He had volunteered to be the one to leave, but Claudia had declined his offer. The fact that she had walked in on Brady in their bed with a young colleague had been incentive enough for her to pack up and go. And to be fair, he couldn’t blame her. Between them there had always been one rule, never bring work home.

They had both worked for Northumbria Police. It was his job to lock the scum up who made decent people’s lives a misery and it had been Claudia’s job to support the same scum by offering them legal representation; regardless of the crime. She was a lawyer and also acted as the Duty Solicitor at his station. She was damned good at her job; so good that the law firm she worked for in Newcastle were preparing to offer her a partnership.

They had met through work and somehow had survived everything it had thrown at them until now. Brady knew that even his boss, the emotionally cold and unflappable DCI Gates, had a soft spot for Claudia. Who didn’t? She was strikingly beautiful with a mane of long curly reddish hair and a fiery personality to match. But Brady hadn’t married her for her good looks; it was her quick wit and stunning intelligence that had seduced him. And the fact that she was everything he wasn’t; middle-class, educated and
compassionate. She fought injustice because she believed in civilisation. He, on the other hand, didn’t believe in a better society. Brady was a realist and to him, civilisation was just another false god that idealists liked to believe in. His job was to prevent the world from becoming the dark and dangerous place he knew it to be.

Brady looked at the two empty whisky tumblers sat side by side on the tiled hearth. He recalled bitterly how he and Claudia would often share a bottle of whisky in front of the fire while Tom Waits played in the background. In the early days they had passionately argued about anything and everything from politics to literature. He felt physically sick as he thought about what he had lost. She had meant everything to him. More than even she had realised.

Wincing, he bent down to retrieve his jacket from the floor. Pulling it on he turned to see who Gates had sent.

It was Harry Conrad. He looked half-frozen. As always, his blond hair was cropped short and neat. Clean-shaven, with the look of a man who took time over his appearance, Conrad wore a conservative charcoal-grey suit with a blue shirt and dark blue tie. Over this he wore a heavy dark grey woollen overcoat.

That was Conrad for you: always clean-cut, well-dressed, polite and ready to take orders, even at five in the morning. Conrad had the makings of a Detective Chief Superintendent. He was well-liked by his superiors because he was eager and always did as he was told. That guaranteed success, something Brady had found out the hard way.

‘Fuck it,’ Brady said under his breath.

Gates really was trying to mess with his head. It was cold, too cold and dark to be out of bed. And too early to be dealing with this.

‘Gates sent me, sir,’ Conrad eventually said. He looked uncomfortable; his five feet eleven body hunched over, head down.

Brady suddenly felt old as he stood looking at his thirty-year-old deputy. Brady may have only had eight years on Conrad, but for the first time he could really feel the age difference.

‘Why?’ Brady asked as he narrowed his dark brown eyes.

Conrad shoved his hands in his coat pockets uneasily while Brady continued to stare at him.

‘I was just ordered to pick you up, sir.’

Brady didn’t reply.

Conrad uncomfortably filled in the silence.

‘We’ve got a murder victim, sir. A young woman.’

Brady didn’t know what he had expected when he started back on Monday, but it definitely didn’t involve any highprofile cases. He felt uneasy, something about this didn’t feel quite right.

‘What details do you have?’

‘I’ve just been called in myself, sir. All I know is that the body was found in West Monkseaton, on some abandoned farmland near the Metro line.’

‘Do we have an ID?’

Conrad shook his head.

If Conrad had said North Shields or even Shiremoor Brady would have understood but not West Monkseaton. It was classed as the upmarket part of Whitley Bay. Then again any place was better than Whitley Bay; to say the small seaside resort had seen better days was an understatement. The town was a testimony to the credit crunch, most of the retailers having closed up leaving behind a trail of depressing, musty-smelling charity shops and seedy pubs.

The only thing the rundown coastal town had going for it was that it was within commuter distance of Newcastle upon Tyne; a University city with a thriving student population and Goth culture. Newcastle was also known for the Bigg Market where punters would binge drink into the early hours, women staggering in their four-inch heels, and short, strapless dresses leered at by packs of thuggish men in sleeveless shirts – regardless of the North East’s all-year sub-zero temperatures.

But Brady knew from first-hand experience as a copper that the seaside resort of Whitley Bay could also hold its own when it came to binge drinking and lewd behaviour. So much so, it came as no surprise to Brady that the small, shabby, seaside town had been rated as a weekend stag party destination equal to Amsterdam.

‘Gates is waiting for you at the crime scene sir,’ Conrad emphasised. He was under strict orders to collect Brady and get him to Gates ASAP.

‘Let me grab my keys,’ answered Brady as he rummaged through the unopened mail and other objects dumped on the ornate marble mantelpiece.

Conrad looked around uncomfortably at what had become of his boss over the past two months. He had known the place when Claudia had been around and found it difficult to accept that it had degenerated into this soulless squalor. The smell of decaying food and stale alcohol clung nauseatingly in the air, as did the overwhelming feeling of despair and loneliness.

The last time Conrad had seen his boss was when he had visited Brady in hospital, shortly after surgery. Unfortunately, he had witnessed Brady losing it after Claudia had served him with divorce papers. That was over
six months ago. Brady had refused to see him after what had happened. Wouldn’t allow him in to visit and when he discharged himself, refused to answer his door or any of the phone or email messages Conrad had left. Conrad had been worried, but not surprised that Brady had gone to ground given his state of mind after Claudia had left him.

Clutching his keys Brady limped out to the hall. Conrad followed.

‘Haven’t seen you since the incident, sir,’ Conrad offered, unsure whether he should mention it.

‘Yeah, well I’ve been busy,’ answered Brady.

They both knew he was a lousy liar.

Brady felt awkward. He had avoided Conrad for the past six months, deleting any messages Conrad had left without listening to them. So what? Brady thought. Conrad should be the one feeling guilty, not him. He had had word from an old colleague that Conrad was rumoured to have requested a transfer. Admittedly, it was only a rumour, but it still felt like a betrayal given everything they had been through. To make the situation worse, he had also heard that Conrad was scared that Brady would have some kind of breakdown. Even Brady had to admit that if he was in Conrad’s place, the last person he’d want to be teamed up with was himself. Not after what Conrad had witnessed.

‘So, put in for a transfer yet?’ As soon as the words had slipped out Brady hated himself.

Conrad was thrown.

‘No, sir. Why, should I have?’

‘You tell me!’

‘You’ve lost me, sir?’ replied Conrad.

Brady could hear the hurt in Conrad’s voice making him feel even more like a bastard.

‘Forget it…’ he muttered. ‘Forget I said anything.’

‘No, if you have something to say then say it,’ demanded Conrad.

Brady looked at him, mildly surprised, but impressed at Conrad’s ballsy outburst.

Brady shook his head.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘I disagree. The fact that you could even think I’d put in for a transfer says it all,’ Conrad stated.

‘All right! You want me to tell you what really pissed me off?’

Conrad looked at him, locking his steel-grey eyes on Brady’s.

‘You of all people knew what Claudia did destroyed me. I mean fuck it, Conrad! You were there! She didn’t even respect me enough to tell me in private. She insisted you stayed in the room so you could witness my humiliation. What the hell do you think that did to me, eh?’

Conrad steadily held his gaze without saying a word.

‘So why then would you go to Gates? Why go over my head to my superior and tell him that I was a liability to myself and the job?’

‘Because it was the truth,’ answered Conrad simply.

Brady shook his head as he looked at his deputy.

‘You left me no choice,’ added Conrad.

Brady turned away. He couldn’t look at Conrad. He didn’t want him to see the pain in his eyes. He knew that Conrad was right; he had left him no choice.

Brady knew that what Conrad had seen in the hospital that night had scared him. Brady had scared himself. But it had affected Conrad so much that he had gone to see Gates without a word to Brady. Conrad had suggested that
Brady needed a psychologist to help him get over being shot. In reality what he needed was a bloody good solicitor to help him get over his wife.

He couldn’t believe it when the police psychologist casually dropped by the hospital. Brady had the feeling that Gates had been secretly hoping that he had finally lost the plot and that the psychologist would recommend he should retire early from the force on medical grounds.

It didn’t take long before Brady found out that Conrad was responsible for his shrink sessions. After that he refused to see him, knowing that he would do something to Conrad that he would later regret and then really would be in need of a shrink. When he finally discharged himself from hospital he ignored the barrage of phone messages and texts left by Conrad.

‘You know why I couldn’t tell you,’ explained Conrad. ‘You were in no state to hear reason, not after …’ His voice trailed off, reluctant to bring up Claudia’s part in Brady’s self-destructive meltdown.

Brady knew Conrad was right. Nothing Conrad could have said would have stopped him that night. Nothing.

His memory of exactly what had happened that night after he had come round from surgery wasn’t that clear. But what he did remember was Claudia coming in and handing him divorce papers and Conrad being forced to stand there, not knowing what to do. Then Claudia turned on her high heels and left without giving him a chance to absorb what she’d done. After that, he couldn’t really be sure of what followed. He vaguely recalled pulling the wires from his body as he tried to get himself out of bed to go after her. And then Conrad perilously trying to stop him. Despite his condition he came at Conrad with a strength he didn’t know he possessed.