all the bloody onlookers we’ve had …’ Ainsworth grumbled. ‘If it’s not your lot making my job impossible then it’s the bloody public. Bloody useless, the lot of them!’
‘Why do you work with people if you’re such a miserable old sod then?’ Brady laughed.
‘I don’t,’ Ainsworth answered flatly. ‘They’re already dead so they’re no bother. It just so happens that the living keep bloody interfering with what I’m trying to do.’
Brady followed Ainsworth. Someone, no doubt kids, had built a large bonfire, using some of the broken rafters and other debris left lying around. It was still smouldering. Brady wondered whether any of the kids who used the place last night could have witnessed what had happened; or even, been responsible?
Ainsworth noticed Brady taking in the piles of discarded broken bottles and used needles that littered the ground. Evidence that the place was popular with the local kids.
‘Bet their parents don’t know what the little bastards get up to down here.’
Brady liked Ainsworth for the same reason that everyone else couldn’t stand the cantankerous old sod; he hated civilisation, or what had become of it. It didn’t matter where you were; an impoverished council estate or so-called respectable suburbia; kids were kids and would find a way to get pissed and shag around. It was human nature, but without the clothes on.
Brady looked over at the area where the murder victim had been found. He then looked up at the sky overhead. It was partially obscured by trees, so at night it would be dark, too dark to see anything.
He suddenly thought of the witness who had stumbled with her torch upon what was left of Sophie Washington’s face. Before he left the station he had briefly read the statement that had been taken from the witness. She was a divorcee in her early fifties, who lived alone with her dog. Every morning at four she walked her black Labrador down the track of the abandoned farmland before leaving for work at the local Sainsbury’s. This was the first morning in years she had never made it to work. The state she was in when the police arrived after her 999 call was enough to convince even the most hardened cynic that she had innocently walked into a horrific crime scene. Unfortunately for the police she hadn’t seen or heard anyone else before her dog found the murder victim.
‘Trying to ascertain whether someone could have witnessed something?’ Ainsworth asked, following Brady’s gaze.
‘Yeah, but given the conditions when we came out early this morning, I seriously doubt it.’
‘That’s not to say someone wouldn’t have heard something,’ Ainsworth replied.
‘Maybe,’ muttered Brady.
Brady looked up towards the dirt track. He could just make out the road and the traffic lights. The depressing Modernist building that was West Monkseaton Metro station loomed on the other side of the road.
‘Give me a bloody minute will you?’ Ainsworth suddenly barked at a SOCO standing nearby. ‘Christ! They’ll expect me to wipe their arses next.’
‘So what have you got for me?’ Brady asked, ignoring Ainsworth’s outburst.
‘Hah!'Ainsworth spluttered. ‘Would have been a lot easier if your lot hadn’t muddied the bloody water. What with Matthews pissing us around by trampling over whatever prints were there and then the idiot goes and finishes the job by covering her body with his coat. What the bloody hell is that all about then?’
Brady shrugged.
‘I’ll bloody strangle the useless bugger when I get my hands on him!’
Join the queue, thought Brady.
‘But we did find enough blood and flesh to confirm that the murder victim’s face was definitely bludgeoned in situ,’ Ainsworth stated.
Brady turned to him. His gut feeling had told him that Sophie Washington’s body hadn’t been dumped; that this was a murder scene.
‘No weapon yet. But, if it’s been dumped here, we’ll find it,’ Ainsworth promised. ‘From the mess we saw under the UV light, I reckon you could be right about the murderer using any one of the pieces of rubble lying around.’
‘No sign of her mobile?’ Brady asked, knowing the answer.
Ainsworth shook his head.
‘No, but you’ll be the first to know if we find it. However Fielding here has found something that just might interest you,’ he said as he gestured towards the waiting SOCO.
Brady suddenly felt a kick of excitement; it had been a long time since he’d felt this way.
‘Go on then, Fielding, what are you waiting for? A bloody round of applause or what?’ barked Ainsworth.
Brady turned to ask Ainsworth something else but he was already bollocking some other poor sod.
Instead he limped after the SOCO who had started heading off towards the dirt track.
‘So, how do you cope working with a miserable, old bugger like Ainsworth then?’ Brady asked once he’d caught up. He threw in a smile, ignoring his throbbing leg.
‘Oh, he’s not so bad. You eventually get used to it,’ the SOCO replied, pulling off her face mask.
‘Can’t breathe in these things,’ she explained, smiling.
She then pulled back the suit’s white hood and shook free her short, ruffled black hair.
She playfully ran her fingers through her hair as she smiled at him.
He couldn’t help but stare into her bright, green eyes. They sparkled with mischief.
‘So, what is it that you’re supposed to be showing me?’ Brady asked.
‘That depends on you,’ she said suggestively.
‘Jack! Jack!’ Ainsworth panted out from behind them.
‘Damn,’ she said, hearing Ainsworth’s voice. ‘What if you take me out for a drink and then I’ll show you?’ she suggested flirtatiously.
Brady felt awkward. For once he didn’t know what to say. His conversation with Claudia earlier had thrown him, and he could still feel the physical pain of her rejection.
‘When?’ she asked with a coy smile.
‘When?’ Brady repeated, feeling like an idiot.
He ran his slender, long hand through his dark hair as he smiled at her, embarrassed.
She seductively returned the smile, slowly taking in his prominent cheekbones and strong, rugged chin. She then looked up at his deep, penetrating, dark brown eyes.
‘When are you going to take me out for a drink?’ she urged as Ainsworth’s stocky figure closed in on them. ‘I know now isn’t exactly the best time to ask but in this job there never is a good time,’ she added, lightly smiling.
‘I’m a little stretched right now,’ he replied apologetically.
The last thing he wanted to say was that he wasn’t over his wife yet.
‘Fielding, what the bloody hell are you playing at?’ barked Ainsworth. ‘Haven’t you shown him yet?’
‘No sir,’ she answered.
‘Bloody typical. Can’t get any of you lot to do what I ask! If I want something done I have to do it myself,’ Ainsworth complained. ‘Go do something useful for a bloody change.’
‘Yes sir,’ Fielding replied. ‘See you later,’ she added, as she smiled at Brady before leaving.
‘Don’t bother, Jack!’ Ainsworth threatened. ‘She works for me, remember. I want her mind on the job, not you. So forget it.’
‘What do you take me for?’ Brady questioned as he shot Ainsworth a look.
‘For the dog that you are, Jack.’
Brady didn’t bother arguing. It was clear Ainsworth had heard the rumours about Claudia leaving him because of his loss of judgement when it had come to DC Simone Henderson. Brady accepted that his failed private life was common knowledge in North Tyneside.
‘Right, back to business. This way,’ Ainsworth brusquely added.
He followed Ainsworth feeling disgusted with himself for losing his head when it had come to a colleague; a junior one at that. It had cost him more than he could ever have imagined.
‘This is what I want to show you,’ Ainsworth said turning back to Brady.
He looked up and realised that Ainsworth had crossed over the dirt track and was now on a grassy bank. It was overgrown with wild bushes that partially obscured the seven-feet-high wooden fence running the length of the farm. Brady noted that the fence separated the row of semi-detached 1930s houses backing onto the
