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.
Gates slowly cleared his throat as he looked at Brady.
‘Do you know what Lyndon Johnson said about J. Edgar Hoover?’
Brady shook his head. He wasn’t sure where the hell this was going but he knew it wasn’t good.
‘Better to have him on the inside pissing out, than on the outside pissing in. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be capable of pissing ever again. But for some unfathomable reason Chief Superintendent O’Donnell likes you. I don’t know what your hold over O’Donnell is, but be warned, when he goes, you go.’
‘Yes sir,’ acknowledged Brady, accepting that DC Simone Henderson’s transfer on personal grounds hadn’t won him any favours with Gates.
He had found out from Conrad that Simone had put in for a transfer while he’d been laid up in hospital. He couldn’t blame her. He would have done the same if it were possible. But with Brady’s record no one would have him.
‘What do you know about Matthews?’
Brady shrugged.
‘Come on, Jack. I know you two go back a long way. I’m suspecting your late arrival at the briefing was down to him. Am I right?’
Brady didn’t answer him. He couldn’t.
‘I don’t
