Читать книгу Broken Silence - Danielle Ramsay - Страница 15

Brady did his best to sneak in. As usual, his best wasn’t good enough; at least not where Gates was concerned.

‘Ah, Jack! Pleased to see that you could join us,’ Gates greeted coolly.

‘Bugger,’ Brady muttered under his breath, feeling heads turn as he closed the door. The briefing had started at precisely 8.30 am and he was twenty minutes late; not a good thing with a boss who hated tardiness.

He thought about joining Gates at the front of the room, but as soon as he spotted DS Adamson standing there, the idea lost its appeal. He made his way to the back wall and leaned against it.

Brady caught the mocking stare of DS Robert Adamson. He held it for a second too long, forcing the uptight bugger to shift his arrogant gaze. Adamson belonged to North Shields CID and was presumably here because they needed extra bodies for the murder investigation. He was a young, arrogant man in his early thirties who typified the new breed of copper that accelerated their way through the ranks after graduating from University.

Adamson was five feet ten but his stocky build made him appear much taller. Brady hated the way his reddish blond hair was trendily gelled to look messy and tousled. His heavy-set square jaw was typically clean-shaven while his intelligent bright blue eyes lacked any subtlety or compassion. Simply put, he was out for what he could get. Unlike Brady, Adamson toed the line. His suits were always dark and imposing, with matching ties and plain white shirts. Overall Adamson reminded Brady of a politician. In other words, he couldn’t be trusted.

Brady had known from the first time that he’d been introduced to Adamson that he was a bullshitter. Adamson had tried to win Brady over with his false bravado but it hadn’t worked. Consequently, Adamson had since treated Brady with competitive contempt. Brady had the rank that Adamson so clearly thirsted after. But as Adamson stood beside Gates, Brady had the uncanny feeling that he was sizing up Brady’s position as DI.

Brady looked about the crowded room and quickly found Conrad. He nodded at his deputy, relieved that he had Conrad by his side and not a backstabbing Iago figure like Adamson. Harvey then caught his attention, making no attempt at disguising his amusement at Brady’s typical tardiness. Brady surveyed the rest of the room realising that out of the thirty or so faces before him he only recognised about twenty. He had either been gone longer than he had realised or, as Adamson’s presence suggested, Gates had called in CID from other Area Commands; standard procedure with something as high profile as a murder investigation.

Brady’s head was still foggy; the result of his conversation with Matthews. Consequently, it was too easy to drown out Gates’ voice, focusing instead on Anna Kodovesky. She was sat directly in front of him with her long legs crossed, forcing her skirt to ride up further than she would have liked, but Brady wasn’t protesting. And neither were the coppers on either side of her.

Kodovesky had made it clear from her first day at the station as a Detective Constable that she was only interested in the job. And Brady didn’t complain; she was a damned good copper. But some of the guys at the station couldn’t see past her legs and were laying bets on who would get into Kodovesky’s knickers first. So far, no one had succeeded and the bet was now standing at a grand. Brady knew that Kodovesky was too smart to fall for any of his colleagues’ lines. If he really thought she couldn’t hold her own, then he might have broken up the wager. But Brady knew that if Kodovesky found out he was protecting her honour, she would have chopped his balls off.

He suddenly started as he realised that Gates was bringing the briefing to a close. He relaxed his body against the wall as he thought about what they had so far, which was effectively nothing. All they had was an unidentified murder victim. And as for motive, nine times out of ten, it was sexual, which was the line Gates was following. But Brady wasn’t so sure. Nothing about the body suggested that the victim had been raped. Given the ferocity of the attack, there was one thing he was certain about; this was personal, the victim had known her murderer.

He pulled out the packet of mints from his pocket, placed one in his mouth in preparation for Gates, who he knew would be more than eager to greet him on his first day back.

‘All right people, we have a job to do, so let’s do it. And remember, no one, and I mean no one goes home until we have a positive ID on the murder victim. You hear me? As of now all leave is temporarily suspended and I’m expecting no less than eighteen-hour shifts from you lot. This isn’t just your jobs on the line here, it’s mine as well,’ Gates reminded them.

Brady knew that the jibe was intended for him.

‘I want to see everybody back here in four hours and by then we better be making some headway. I need something to give at the press conference this afternoon and it better be good!’

It was no secret that Gates was after the Chief Superintendent’s job. O’Donnell was rumoured to be moving on and Gates didn’t want anything or anyone messing up his chances of promotion. Brady decided to leave before Gates cornered him. He needed to talk to Matthews. The more he thought about it, the more he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right. He had questions that needed answering; questions he should have forced out of Matthews instead of letting him go.

‘It’s not like you to be in such a hurry, Jack! Something you want to tell me?’

Brady stopped. Just as he had feared, Gates. Beside him, Adamson stood erect and self-important.

‘No sir,’ answered Brady dutifully, trying his best not to breathe. The mint had dissolved and he was sure that his breath reeked of the past six months he’d dedicated to drinking.

Unsurprisingly, Gates didn’t seem impressed with his answer.

He was roughly Brady’s height but, unlike Brady, he was fit, despite being ten years older. His muscular, toned body was a testament to the hours he put in at the gym. Even his receding dark hair was cropped fashionably short, making him look younger than his age.

His dark brown eyes unnerved Brady; they belied a cold, detached intelligence. The heavily etched lines on his face spoke of a lifestyle that demanded more than most people could offer. His skin was covered in harsh, pitted acne scars, some partially hidden by a permanent five o’clock shadow, but there all the same. Overall Gates’ face wore the cold hardness of his life as a DCI.

Brady couldn’t help but notice Gates’ large but slender hands with short, manicured nails as he irritably tugged on the sleeve of his black uniform with gold braid, exposing the cuff of his expensive white shirt.

‘We need to talk. My office in ten minutes.’

‘Yes sir,’ answered Brady.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling that Gates didn’t think he was up to the job. Adamson had made it clear he was out for promotion and what worried Brady was that Gates had made it equally clear in the past that he was heading for demotion.

‘You know DS Robert Adamson?’ Gates asked Brady.

Adamson flashed him a hungry smile.

‘We’re lucky to have him on board,’ continued Gates. ‘Just a damned pity we can’t persuade him to transfer here from North Shields.’

Yeah, damned pity, thought Brady.

‘And don’t be late,’ instructed Gates coldly. ‘There’s something we need to discuss,’ he added before turning on his heel.