‘Sir …’ attempted Brady, but Gates held up his hand. ‘Save it for the report you’ll be writing up. I get any more complaints about you, Jack, and you’re not only off the case, I will do my utmost to get you off this force!’
Brady looked up at the dark gloom that was the sky. The air felt heavy and damp from the sea fret. It had been drizzling on and off for days now. Then again, mused Brady, what else did he expect from the North East of England? He threw his cigarette butt away and took out his phone.
He tried Matthews again. It cut straight to voice mail.
‘Jimmy? I really need to talk to you. Fuck it, Jimmy! Just ring me, will you?’
Brady held his head in his hands as he mulled over his next move; interviewing Ellison.
A loud knock at his office door broke through his thoughts.
‘Yeah?’ said Brady distractedly.
Harvey walked in.
‘I’ve got Tracy Hamilton’s statement here.’
Brady took the file from him.
‘She understands that if we charge him, she’ll be called as a witness?’
Harvey nodded.
‘And there’s no doubt in her mind that it was Ellison?’
‘She picked him out from Christ knows how many photos.’
Brady sighed with relief.
They had him; they had Ellison firmly by the balls. Whether or not he had murdered Sophie Washington, he was clearly having a relationship with the victim; one that criminally transcended the pupil-teacher norm.
He quickly read through the barmaid’s statement. She had served him in The Beacon pub, accompanied by the victim. She had then passed him on her way home to Seatonville Road climbing over the gate into Potter’s Farm. He paused on the last page.
‘Says here that a taxi was called from The Beacon for Sophie Washington?’
‘That’s what she said,’ replied Harvey.
‘Which explains why Ellison was later seen on his own by the barmaid going into Potter’s Farm.’
Harvey nodded.
‘Find out which taxi company they use and then find the driver. I need to talk to him. We need to know where Sophie was going and why.’
Ben Ellison looked like crap.
Hung over and sleep deprived, he looked worse than Brady had imagined. His confident, relaxed veneer had long gone, replaced by raw, animal fear.
Ellison dragged a shaking hand through his messy hair.
‘Look … I’ve already told you. I didn’t have anything to do with her murder.’
‘But you were having a sexual relationship with her.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do,’ Brady answered.
Ellison’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes darted between Conrad and Brady, trying to figure out what was going on.
‘I have a reliable witness,’ Brady informed him.
‘How do I know that you’re not making this up?’ Ellison demanded edgily.
He looked and smelled like he needed a hot shower and a change of clothes. The windowless interview room was heavy with a dank, acrid smell. Brady had smelled it before;it was the stench of guilt. It sweated its way out of the suspect’s pores, regardless.
‘Our witness saw you in The Beacon having a drink with your fifteen-year-old pupil, Sophie Washington. She then said that as she was making her way home past Monkseaton Metro towards Seatonville Road she passed you as you climbed over the gate into Potter’s Farm.’
‘So?’ Ellison questioned.
‘Do you know what time Sophie was murdered?’ Brady asked.
Ellison didn’t answer.
‘Between 12.30 and 2 am. And,’ Brady paused, giving Ellison enough time to absorb this information, ‘as she looked back you were seen by our witness walking down the farm’s dirt track towards the crime scene at 12.15 am. I wouldn’t describe that as circumstantial, sir.’
‘For fuck’s sake! I didn’t do it! What kind of guy do you take me for?’
‘One who gets off on buggering and fucking his fifteen-year-old pupils,’ quietly answered Brady.
Ellison shot Brady a ‘fuck you’ look.
‘The autopsy report,’ Brady flatly explained.
‘You’ve still got nothing on me,’ Ellison stated with false confidence.
Brady folded his arms as he stared at Ellison. He knew they had him; the stench of sweat was overpowering.
‘I have rights! You can’t do this to me!’
‘Actually, where you’re sat you’ve got no rights,’ Brady evenly replied.
He shrugged apologetically as Ellison looked at him in bewilderment.
‘We can keep you without legal representation for the next twenty-four hours. So I’d get used to it if I were you.’
Ellison’s face paled as he stared at Brady. His healthy, rugged complexion had waned to a jaundiced colour.
Brady wanted Ellison to sweat. And a few more hours in the cell might loosen his tongue.
‘Interview terminated at 2.37 pm.’
Brady turned to the officer stood by the door.
‘Take him back to his cell.’
‘I’ve done nothing wrong! I want a solicitor! This is a police set-up! Do you hear me? It’s a set-up! I want a solicitor,’ he shouted desperately.
Brady slowly shook his head.
‘You’ve been watching too many films, sir,’ he stated as he stood up.
Brady limped out of the oppressive, dank interview room, ignoring Ellison’s increasingly desperate yelling.
The station was buzzing. Less than two hours after the interview with Ellison and the lab reports had come back, as had the computer forensic findings. Brady had been waiting for enough evidence against Ellison to charge him and now they had it, and more. The anal and vaginal fluid that Wolfe had sent for forensic analysis had found traces of Ellison’s DNA; in both samples. Ellison was screwed; literally, Brady darkly mused.
And that was before they even considered Jed’s findings. He had uncovered emails that the victim had deleted. Sexually explicit emails. And Jed being Jed had managed to source them back to Ellison’s laptop. Ellison had done a good job of opening an email account with false registration details, but it wasn’t good enough to get past Jed’s computing forensics skill. They now had incriminating evidence tying Ellison to the victim. Evidence that also included an email suggesting a drink in The Beacon the night she was murdered.
The evidence was so damning that Brady had granted Ellison legal representation. He had word that the lawyer had already arrived and was currently briefing his client. Not that there was a lot a lawyer could do with the evidencethe police had against Ellison. It was damning, so damning he’d be banged up for years.
Gates already had a press conference arranged. It was all about PR and being seen to be making the right noises; especially in front of the media. It was a coup for Northumbria Police. But things had been shaken up since then and now they were about to make a very public arrest.
It had taken less than thirty-six hours from the discovery of the murder to arresting the suspect. Gates had every right to brag, Brady mused. Such a tight timeframe was unprecedented, apart from cases of spousal
