sixteen.’
‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Maybe that’s why he moved around so much? Might be worth questioning him.’
‘Like I said, we’re still trying to track him down,’ Brady said. But he had a gut feeling that Sidney Foster wasn’t their suspect. Even the fact that he had seemingly disappeared did not raise any alarm bells. There was a huge discrepancy between being charged with rape and actually cutting someone’s penis off and choking them to death on it.
‘One element in all of this bothers me,’ Brady admitted. ‘Only the police knew the precise details of the case in the Seventies.’ He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking. Her eyes were cool and detached as they held his steady gaze.
‘What about the playing card left with each victim? I thought you said that the press called him “The Joker” because of it?’
Brady nodded. Took a moment before he answered her. He needed it. Her air of professional detachment was staring to affect him. It hurt like hell that he had screwed up what had been a friendship between them. But he couldn’t blame Amelia for her behaviour. In fact, she was behaving impeccably. There was no edge to her voice and her demeanour with him was professional but by no means frosty. She was simply getting on with her life. And that included getting on with the job at hand – regardless of Brady.
‘The card was something that got out,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know the whys or hows of the old investigation. But the method by which the victims were killed was never disclosed. In particular, the mutilation to the victims’ groins.’
‘They were all male?’ Amelia asked.
‘Yes. Each one gagged in the same manner.’
‘With their own penis?’ she asked, curious. Her words were slow and deliberate, cutting through the room like a knife.
‘Yes.’ He knew this crime was atypical, as did Amelia. Usually they dealt with hate crimes against women – not men.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she watched Brady. Scrutinised him for some kind of reaction.
He didn’t give her one.
‘All right. That’s it for now.’ Brady watched as Daniels and Kenny scraped their chairs back and stood up. Daniels stretched, while Kenny yawned.
Conrad stood up once they’d left.
‘Wait for me in the car, will you?’ Brady asked Conrad.
He nodded.
Brady turned to Amelia. She was busy packing her briefcase.
‘Can I have a word?’ Brady asked.
She looked up at him. For the briefest of moments, her professional mask slipped.
‘Look . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ Brady begun. It was clumsy and awkward and she knew it. Which made it worse.
‘For what?’ she asked casually as she made a point of busying herself with packing her briefcase.
Brady didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She picked up her briefcase and looked at Brady, waiting.
‘If that’s all?’ Her tone was pleasant and non-combative. But it was purely professional. Nothing more.
Brady nodded weakly. He didn’t know what else he could say.
He watched as Amelia turned and walked out the room. They had always sparred. That had been part of the attraction. Part of the game they played. But now? This was different. He hadn’t known what to expect when he came back to work. But it definitely wasn’t this. Five months was a long time to be away. And in that time a lot had changed. He thought of Conrad. He had no idea what was going on with him. Or why Daniels and Kenny had thought it acceptable to take the piss out of him. Something had happened while he had been away. He was certain of it. During that time DI Adamson would have been in charge of them. Not good. Definitely not with two impressionable blockheads like Daniels and Kenny. Their attitude stank. Worse than their foul, stale lager breath and bleary bloodshot eyes from a night on the lash.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday: 5:38 p.m.
‘You OK?’
Conrad nodded. ‘I’ll live.’
Brady didn’t mean that and Conrad knew it.
But Conrad was
‘I see,’ Amelia replied. ‘Maybe that’s why he moved around so much? Might be worth questioning him.’
‘Like I said, we’re still trying to track him down,’ Brady said. But he had a gut feeling that Sidney Foster wasn’t their suspect. Even the fact that he had seemingly disappeared did not raise any alarm bells. There was a huge discrepancy between being charged with rape and actually cutting someone’s penis off and choking them to death on it.
‘One element in all of this bothers me,’ Brady admitted. ‘Only the police knew the precise details of the case in the Seventies.’ He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking. Her eyes were cool and detached as they held his steady gaze.
‘What about the playing card left with each victim? I thought you said that the press called him “The Joker” because of it?’
Brady nodded. Took a moment before he answered her. He needed it. Her air of professional detachment was staring to affect him. It hurt like hell that he had screwed up what had been a friendship between them. But he couldn’t blame Amelia for her behaviour. In fact, she was behaving impeccably. There was no edge to her voice and her demeanour with him was professional but by no means frosty. She was simply getting on with her life. And that included getting on with the job at hand – regardless of Brady.
‘The card was something that got out,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know the whys or hows of the old investigation. But the method by which the victims were killed was never disclosed. In particular, the mutilation to the victims’ groins.’
‘They were all male?’ Amelia asked.
‘Yes. Each one gagged in the same manner.’
‘With their own penis?’ she asked, curious. Her words were slow and deliberate, cutting through the room like a knife.
‘Yes.’ He knew this crime was atypical, as did Amelia. Usually they dealt with hate crimes against women – not men.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she watched Brady. Scrutinised him for some kind of reaction.
He didn’t give her one.
‘All right. That’s it for now.’ Brady watched as Daniels and Kenny scraped their chairs back and stood up. Daniels stretched, while Kenny yawned.
Conrad stood up once they’d left.
‘Wait for me in the car, will you?’ Brady asked Conrad.
He nodded.
Brady turned to Amelia. She was busy packing her briefcase.
‘Can I have a word?’ Brady asked.
She looked up at him. For the briefest of moments, her professional mask slipped.
‘Look . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry,’ Brady begun. It was clumsy and awkward and she knew it. Which made it worse.
‘For what?’ she asked casually as she made a point of busying herself with packing her briefcase.
Brady didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She picked up her briefcase and looked at Brady, waiting.
‘If that’s all?’ Her tone was pleasant and non-combative. But it was purely professional. Nothing more.
Brady nodded weakly. He didn’t know what else he could say.
He watched as Amelia turned and walked out the room. They had always sparred. That had been part of the attraction. Part of the game they played. But now? This was different. He hadn’t known what to expect when he came back to work. But it definitely wasn’t this. Five months was a long time to be away. And in that time a lot had changed. He thought of Conrad. He had no idea what was going on with him. Or why Daniels and Kenny had thought it acceptable to take the piss out of him. Something had happened while he had been away. He was certain of it. During that time DI Adamson would have been in charge of them. Not good. Definitely not with two impressionable blockheads like Daniels and Kenny. Their attitude stank. Worse than their foul, stale lager breath and bleary bloodshot eyes from a night on the lash.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday: 5:38 p.m.
‘You OK?’
Conrad nodded. ‘I’ll live.’
Brady didn’t mean that and Conrad knew it.
But Conrad was
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