blog. It seemed that bad news travelled fast in the cyberworld. Sophie Washington was now being hailed as a tragic heroine whose short life had been romanticised into something it wasn’t. Brady had gleaned enough unpalatable facts about her life to know the picture these people were painting couldn’t have been further from the truth. But she had nearly a thousand tributes posted on her wall. Brady doubted that most of these people even knew her. But he recognised that Jenkins was right; they’d have to look at every single one of them.
When Conrad had finished reading he looked the way Brady felt.
Brady shook his head.
‘Why is nothing ever straightforward?’ he asked as he stared at a photograph of the victim brazenly downing shots in one of Whitley Bay’s nefarious bars.
The pub was easy to recognise; he’d been in it enough times himself, arresting underage drinkers. But what Brady hadn’t banked on was seeing a photo of Jimmy Matthews’ daughter with the victim, knocking back shots in the same damned bar. Worse than that, Evie Matthews had recently posted it as a tribute to her deceased best friend, Sophie Washington.
Brady had asked Conrad to get the car ready while he made a quick call.
He needed to talk to Jed, their forensic computer analyst. They only had one full-time computer geek. Money was short and Gates was tight which meant that Jed was always up to his knees in work.
Brady listened, unimpressed as Jed tried to bullshit him again with computer jargon.
‘I don’t give a shit about any of that! I want it taken off the net, regardless. I don’t give a damn if the blog’s on American Bloggers! I want it removed!’ Brady insisted. ‘I mean it, Jed, our jobs are on the line here. If any of this stuff gets published it’s not only me who’ll be answering to Gates. You know that don’t you? So tell me why the hell it’s taken so long to remove it?’ he demanded.
‘What do you mean it’s not that easy?’ Brady incredulously asked.
He sighed as Jed started again.
‘Fuck civil liberties and privacy rights and all that crap!’ Brady interrupted, losing his temper. ‘This is a fifteen-year-old girl we’re talking about here. What about her civil liberties and right to privacy now, huh? For fuck’s sake! What about her family’s rights in all of this?’
Brady took a deep breath as Jed kicked off. Brady knew he was one of the best forensic computer analysts around, but he was a pedant when it came to sticking to the rules.
‘Damn it, Jed! Half the shit she posted on her blog is bloody illegal anyway! She was just a kid! And believe me, if those photographs of her getting off her face, never mind the bloody half-naked ones aren’t removed from that site immediately then some bloody unscrupulous paper’s going to have them covering their front page tomorrow. Not to mention Jimmy Matthews’ kid!’
He rubbed his forehead as he listened to Jed’s ever patient voice. Jed often got it in the neck; hazards of the job, Brady presumed. There was a whole cyberworld out there that facilitated the sick and twisted in every imaginable way. It was Jed’s impossible job to nail them with whatever illicit and unsavoury material was stored on their hard drives.
‘What about the victim’s computer and her step-dad’s? Found anything yet?’ Brady asked in vain, hoping for some good news.
‘Yeah, I know you’re backed up,’ he replied, wearily. ‘I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. It’s just that I’m waiting to see if anything shows up on Paul Simmons’ computer. I’ve got a feeling about that guy if you get my drift?’
Brady nodded.
‘Yeah, I know it’s a Friday night. And yeah, I do appreciate it.’
He wasn’t angry with Jed. He was angry at the immorality of it all. The fact that depraved journalists could make money out of someone else’s misery was beyond him. Especially when it involved a fifteen-year-old murdered girl.
Brady grabbed his jacket and limped towards the door, reluctantly accepting that the worst was yet to come.
‘Pull in here,’ Brady demanded suddenly.
‘What about Matthews’ daughter?’ Conrad questioned.
‘There’s something I need to do first.’
He still couldn’t get hold of Matthews. But that wasn’t his only concern.
He steeled himself before getting out of the car.
‘Where are you going, sir?’ Conrad called out, confused.
‘To see what those little bastards know about the murder,’ Brady replied before slamming the car door shut.
He wasn’t in the mood for trouble. But the frenzied screaming and high-spirited jeers told him he’d come to the wrong place. He headed through the trees, away from the safety of the street lights towards the pitch-black area that was Whitley Bay Park. It was after 8 pm and no resident or dog walker in their right mind would go near the park at night. The raucous shouting and swearing started to get louder as Brady closed in.
‘What the fuck do you want, mister? Looking for a fucking shag? Is that it?’ shouted one lad before he cockily dragged on his cigarette.
He instinctively yanked his hood forward as Brady turned to look at him.
‘It’ll fucking cost you though. My lass ain’t cheap!’
Brady couldn’t help but smile. The scrawny little bugger looked no older than fourteen and here he was giving him lip.
Brady stood his ground, undeterred by the jeers and catcalls coming from the twenty or so teenagers who had now gathered around him. He realised that most of the kids were high; whether it was alcohol or drugs it didn’t matter. The air was thick with the smell of cannabis while cans of cheap lager and bottles of wine clinked as they did the rounds. The outcome was still the same; kids too high to realise the consequences of being off their faces.
Adrenalin surged through Brady as he checked out Conrad’s whereabouts.
He was relieved to see Conrad watching from a safe distance. It was reassuring to know that back-up could be called if things suddenly got out of hand.
‘So, what’s it to be, mister, eh? Twenty quid say?’ leered the lad with the tab.
Brady could smell the cheap beer on the kid’s breath.
‘I just want to ask a couple of questions,’ Brady answered firmly.
‘Nah, mister. Don’t work like that,’ the lad replied with a cold glint in his eye.
He dragged on his tab before handing it to a giggling lass stood nearby.
‘You give me forty quid and maybe I’ll let you go,’ he added menacingly as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve.
‘You don’t want to do that,’ warned Brady.
‘Don’t I?’
‘Fucking shaft the perv!’ excitedly cried the lass as the lad suddenly jumped at Brady, knife outstretched.
Brady deftly grabbed the kid, twisting him into a deadlock before he had a chance to realise what had happened.
‘Ow … you’re fucking psycho you are! Let me go or I’ll fucking kill you!’ rasped the lad as Brady restrained him under his right arm.
‘Drop the knife or I’ll fucking choke it out of you!’ Brady threatened.
The kid limply dropped the blade to the ground. Brady stepped on it, aware that there were twenty more teenagers waiting to finish the job.
‘Fucking let him go, mister!’
‘That’s fucking assault that is! And he’s a fucking kid he is! I’m going to call the fucking police on you!’
‘I am the fucking police! And if you don’t want me nicking the lot of you, you’ll bugger off!’ Brady ordered as he gestured towards Conrad’s waiting figure.
He watched as the kids belligerently dispersed, mouthing off as they went.
