‘I’ll brief you in the meeting with the rest of the team. I’ve already discussed my findings with DCI Gates and he’s agreed that I now need to be part of this investigation.’
Before Brady had a chance to remind her of who exactly was in charge she quickly moved on.
‘I did some research on the photograph you sent me of the letter “N” burnt into Simone Henderson’s breast.’ Claudia stated. She looked up at his darkening expression. ‘Don’t worry, this is between you and me. Luckily for you I talked to Conrad first before my meeting with DCI Gates otherwise he’d be wanting to know why you’ve been covertly working on DI Adamson’s case and not your own murder investigation.’
Brady didn’t answer. But the look on his face was enough for her to know that he was all too aware he was crossing the line.
She wasn’t sure why, but she hoped for his sake he wasn’t on some personal crusade.
‘I’ve cross-referenced the image with every possible case of branding we know of, but nothing. It’s a dead- end.’
Brady tried to hide his disappointment.
‘I’m sorry, Jack. For her, that is – I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’
Brady nodded. He checked the time. It was 5:15pm and time was running out. ‘Alright, let’s get on with the briefing so we can see exactly what you have for us regarding Melissa Ryecroft’s murder.’
‘Melissa Ryecroft?’ questioned Claudia.
‘Like I said, let’s get on with the briefing,’ instructed Brady.
She was now part of his team and he had no choice but to treat her accordingly.
Claudia hesitated.
‘There’s something I still need to discuss with you …’ she said hesitantly. ‘It’s … personal …’
Her eyes were serious and that worried Brady. But right now he had a team of people sitting around doing nothing. He could hear them, their voices getting louder. They’d waited long enough, he decided. If it was personal, then standing here wasn’t the right place for whatever it was she wanted to talk about.
‘My office, after the briefing,’ he ordered as he turned to open the door.
‘Jack?’
He turned and looked at her. She was clearly agitated.
‘This is important … it’s personal …’ she faltered.
‘Not now – later,’ Brady insisted, his tone final.
‘You’re the boss,’ she said, shaking her head as she watched him walk away.
She took a moment to compose herself before turning and following Brady back into the Incident Room.
Brady had to give Conrad his due. His deputy had done his best to dress it up. But the room was what it was: a dumping ground for unsolved cases from years ago. Overflowing filing cabinets filled with local crime cases spanning fifty years dominated one wall. Cardboard boxes with ongoing murder cases sat on top of the metallic grey cabinets. The cases were still classed as open, even though the murders had happened decades ago.
There was only a handful of people sitting at the table, strategically positioned in the centre of the room. This was his team. If that was the right word. He had no idea how they were going to manage to solve a major murder case with only these resources.
Brady studied Harvey, the oldest member of his team. He wasn’t the kind of Detective Sergeant to waste time with small talk. Unmarried and in his mid-forties, he made the best of his average, stocky appearance. A smart, dark grey M&S suit with a burgundy shirt and matching tie. His light brown hair was cropped short in an attempt to minimise the flecks of grey. His square jaw was severely shaven with telling razor nicks.
Brady’s gaze drifted over to DC Kodovesky who was sitting next to him; the youngest member of his team and Harvey’s partner. They made a good team, a fact that still surprised him.
Kodovesky kept herself to herself. Unlike Harvey, she didn’t socialise with the other coppers. She came in, did the job and then went home. Always the first one in and the last one home. Brady admired her dedication and determination. She knew where she wanted to be, which was sitting behind the DCI’s desk. Her long black hair was harshly pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her clothes were professional yet practical: a light grey wool polo neck with dark grey trousers and low-heeled black boots. In all the time she had been stationed at Whitley Bay, Brady had never known Kodovesky to wear make-up. Not that she needed it.
She had an air of cool detachment about her which Brady assumed she needed for the job. She was a woman in her late twenties trying to make a career for herself in a male-dominated police force. Consequently she had more to prove than her colleagues.
Brady’s eyes glanced over at Conrad, sitting opposite Kodovesky. He was very much the male version of Kodovesky, but with a few years on.
Daniels and Kenny were the other two DCs who made up the team. Both in their early thirties. Unlike Conrad and Kodovesky, they weren’t graduates. Nor were they focused on fast-tracking.
Daniels was well-built at 5?11? – a testament to the long hours he put in at the gym. Good looking in a hard way, with his hair shaved so close to his scalp that you could only just make out that his hair was sandy blond. He had hazel eyes that were normally filled with mirth and a strong, determined, clean-shaven jawline.
He and Kenny were inseparable: best mates on the job, best mates off. Kenny was tall at 6?4?, with short, curly dark brown hair. His face with his deep set, small, mischievous, darting brown eyes was already heavily lined. Brady had lost count of the amount of times he had to get Kenny to tone down his role as the team’s stand-up comic. But Brady knew it was Kenny’s way of dealing with the dark world they were paid to investigate. Being a copper suited Kenny, there was no disputing that fact.
As it did all of them.
As Brady observed them all he was keenly aware that no one was speaking. The air was tense.
DC Kenny and DC Daniels sat motionless. Both averting their eyes from Brady’s penetrating gaze.
As were DS Harvey and DC Kodovesky.
Even Conrad was studying his hands.
Brady knew that their minds were elsewhere.
The critical condition of Simone Henderson was affecting everyone. That, and the fact that, given a choice they would all rather be working on finding her attacker. Not stuck here, forced to deal with another brutal crime investigation. As it was, whether it due to unspoken loyalty to Brady or a deep, intrinsic dislike of DI Adamson, this was Brady’s investigative team. Demoralised and preoccupied.
Brady unintentionally caught Claudia’s eye. She was the only one looking straight at him. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she looked worried. Worried about him.
Maybe it was the open cuts to his cheek and above his eyebrow that had got to her. But Brady seriously doubted that. He was certain it would be connected to her earlier meeting with DCI Gates. Brady knew that Gates wouldn’t take the incident at the hospital with Frank Henderson lightly. Especially since both Frank Henderson and Adamson had made a formal complaint against him.
Brady rubbed the coarse dark stubble on his chin as he thought about the job at hand.
‘Harvey, Kodovesky. You two have the details on the victim who we now know has been identified as the missing sixteen-year-old girl, Melissa Ryecroft. How about you update us?’
‘Right,’ began Harvey as he stood up and walked over to the whiteboard.
Harvey cleared his throat and looked around his colleagues.
Brady waited. He knew what was coming next.
Harvey pointed to the photographs of the decapitated head that Ainsworth had sent through.
‘Wolfe has confirmed that the decapitated head left in DI Brady’s car does in fact belong to the victim, who we now know has been positively identified as Melissa Ryecroft, a local girl.’
Around the table there were a few murmurs at the gruesome sight of the victim’s head.
‘As you can see, Melissa Ryecroft was partially strangled and then a captive bolt pistol was placed in the centre of her forehead and fired,’ stated Harvey. ‘In between that … well … you can all see what they did to her after she was dead. Presumably, this was to make it difficult to identify the victim.’
Brady looked at the rigid faces around the room. The only one whose expression never altered was Kodovesky. She sat expressionless, not allowing the photographic carnage on the whiteboard to penetrate.
