‘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
