‘She really got to you, didn’t she?’ laughed Brady.
‘Fielding’s just a fucking tease. The bitch better be careful because one day she’ll go too far,’ threatened Adamson.
Brady resisted the urge to floor him there and then, realising it wouldn’t be a great way to end the investigation.
‘And that would be you who would teach her a lesson I take it?’ asked Brady.
‘Did I say that?’ answered Adamson.
‘You didn’t have to,’ replied Brady.
‘Fuck you!’ cursed Adamson as he tried to push past Brady.
Brady shoved him back.
‘What the fuck’s got into you? I just want to finish having a drink with the lads, all right?’
Brady realised he had Adamson worried.
‘Word of warning, watch your back!’
‘What? Are you threatening me?’
Brady shook his head.
‘No, that’s a threat from Trina McGuire. Remember the stripper from the Hole whose mouth you tried to shove round your cock?’ Brady stated.
Adamson looked surprised, but quickly composed himself.
‘She was gagging for it, the bitch. If it hadn’t been for Jenkins then no one would have been the wiser,’ Adamson replied, clearly pissed off that Jenkins had told Brady.
‘Anyway, what’s your problem? Wanted some of her yourself?’
Brady slowly smiled at him.
‘Just watch your back, Adamson. If you ever go near her again, it’ll be me you’re dealing with. Same applies to Fielding. I hear of anything happening to her and you’ll find that you’ll never be able to play with that limp dick of yours again,’ Brady warned.
‘Fuck you!’ swore Adamson as Brady moved out of the way to let him pass.
Brady headed back to the bar to order that fourth pint. But when he saw Conrad coming through the pub’s doors with Jenkins, he decided he’d had enough. It was time to leave. He wasn’t in the mood for talking, especially to a shrink. And one that he found too damned attractive forhis own good. He couldn’t trust himself to continue drinking with her, not after what had nearly happened in his office. It was better to leave and avoid the awkward small talk.
He looked over at Harvey and the rest of the team and considered going over and letting them know he was off, but then decided the better of it. They wouldn’t notice either way; too busy swapping complaints and anecdotes about their seniors – Brady included.
He made an attempt to go out the back door before Conrad and Jenkins spotted him. He was too late.
‘Sir?’ Conrad called out. ‘You’re not leaving already?’
Brady turned round wearily. ‘Yeah … things to do and all that crap. You know how it is,’ he replied, shrugging.
Conrad realised Brady’s run-in with Claudia earlier had understandably dampened his mood. He nodded.
‘See you Monday then, sir,’ Conrad replied.
‘Yeah, see you Monday,’ Brady answered.
‘Didn’t you promise me a drink for all my hard work, Jack Brady?’ Jenkins pointedly interrupted as a smile played on her red lips.
Jenkins’ arrival was as good a reason as any to leave. Brady didn’t want to give Claudia the satisfaction of proving yet again that she was right about him. He shrugged apologetically.
‘It’s been a long day.’
She looked unconvinced.
‘Make sure you get the drinks on me, will you?’ Brady asked as he handed over a fifty to Conrad.
‘Are you sure you’re not just avoiding me?’ uncomfortably asked Jenkins.
‘I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on, after being off for so long,’ Brady unconvincingly answered, before turning and leaving.
‘Jack?’ she called out after him.
He pretended he hadn’t heard. Instead, let the door swing shut behind him and sighed, relieved to be out in the cold, November night. He fumbled in his jacket for his cigarettes as he tried to decide where to go. The station seemed tempting. It would be quiet and he was guaranteed to run into no one he gave a damn about. They were all getting plastered inside The Fat Ox. Apart from Claudia. He had tried ringing her again, to explain about Sleeping Beauty, but her phone was switched off. Consequently Brady had left a hesitant, awkward message and not surprisingly, she hadn’t returned the call. And he’d be damned if he gave Michael Travers the satisfaction of turning up at his ?900k place in Jesmond looking for his wife.
He lit a cigarette and leaned back against the wall and listened to the celebratory, muffled voices inside. He looked across the road at St Paul’s church. It stood wrapped in a comforting silence; the church and graveyard temptingly lifeless. If the church wasn’t guaranteed to be locked against drunken bums like himself, he might have considered taking time out inside.
Brady slowly breathed out.
He decided to walk. It didn’t matter where, he just needed to walk to clear his head.
He somehow found himself walking along the coast from Whitley Bay to Tynemouth. The sea was having the desired effect on him and was taking the edge off his uneasiness. That, and there was no one around to bother him. Not even dog walkers. It was after well after 10 pm which meant it was too late, and too cold. In the distance he could see the Grand Hotel, one of the most luxurious hotels in the area. An imposing Victorian building, originally built by the Duke of Northumberland in 1872 as a summer residence and then later converted into a hotel. It was dramatically lit up against the blackness of the night. It was not only a stunning landmark out at sea, but from where Brady was stood, it was a proud architectural example of a bygone age of luxury and elegance.
Before he knew what he was doing he was already walking up the stone steps of the Grand Hotel. He nodded at the doorman who politely held the door open for him as he walked through into the impressive elegant hallway. An ornate, sweeping marble staircase spiralled up to the first floor, hinting of an opulent era of aristocratic balls. Brady smiled at the receptionist who had looked up to greet him and turned right through the double glass doors into the bar.
He walked over to the barman.
‘A Scotch. Make it a double,’ Brady ordered as he placed a tenner on the bar.
He was tired, but not tired enough to be able to fall asleep on the couch at his office. His head was still spinning and he needed a drink to try to switch off. For some reason he couldn’t accept the outcome of the investigation. Something was niggling at him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. He kept remembering what Jenkins had said about the overkill aspect of the murder. She had clearly stated that the murderer had destroyed Sophie’s face out of pure, vengeful jealousy. So, why would Ellison do it? It didn’t make sense. Brady could understand why he would murder Sophie. She had become a liability to him. But, why mutilate her face beyond recognition? Brady had initially assumed that Ellison was still emotionally involved with the victim. So even murdering her wouldn’t have satisfied his rage. But it was clear from his interviews with Ellison that the man had no emotional attachment to the victim. She was just another underage conquest that he had used and abused for his ego’s sake. One that he needed to get rid of, without drawing attention to himself.
The bartender handed Brady his drink. He took a deep, long gulp before turning to look out of the majestic windows that faced directly out onto the sea. He took another much needed sip and savoured the view. The walk along the coast was worth it for the relaxed ambiance in the bar. A stark contrast to what he’d left behind in The Fat Ox.
Someone’s deep voice caught his attention. Brady realised the distinctive voice belonged to Chief Superintendent O’Donnell. He turned round and caught O’Donnell’s eye as he made his way to the bar.
Brady was surprised to see him in black tie, and presumed he was at some social function.
O’Donnell beamed at him.
