Authors: Danielle Ramsay
‘What about DI Bentley? Has he got any leads yet on the car?’ Amelia asked.
‘Not as far as I know. I’m relying on Conrad for updates as I don’t think Bentley will be that forthcoming with me.’
‘I’ll give him a call later, shall I?’
‘Feel free,’ Brady answered, but it was clear from the tone of his voice that he resented even the idea of her calling Bentley.
‘Come on, Jack,’ Amelia said, frowning at him. ‘We’re all in this together. Same intention. To get whoever is hurting these women. Does it matter who gets the result as long as we get one?’
It took a moment for Brady to digest what had just been said. He couldn’t believe she would even have the audacity, let alone insensitivity to say it. Bentley was a self-obsessed dick who was currently intent on fucking up Brady’s investigation for his own gain. It had nothing to do with Trina McGuire, or the first three rape victims. So of course it bloody mattered. It mattered to him more than he was willing to admit.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Brady said. His face said it all as he walked towards his office door. He held it open. A sign for Amelia that her professional words of wisdom were not needed, and more to the point, not appreciated.
Kodovesky sat beside Chloe Winters. They had been in the small, claustrophobic interview room for ten minutes now. The air was tense and heavy, filled with expectation and resentment – both emanating from the victim. Expectation that Brady and his team would find the rapist with the new information she had; resentment that after so long they still hadn’t found him. Brady had been shocked by the physical change in Chloe. Her appearance told people to look the other way. That she had nothing – was nothing. Her long, dark blonde hair was scraped back from her face in an unruly, straggly ponytail. She wore no make-up. Instead, her face was uncomfortably naked – the pain etched for all to see. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and her skin blotchy from crying. Brady assumed that Bentley’s stunt would have brought everything back. Brady knew that the effects of her attack would always be there with her. A constant worry and unease in the background that she could never quite drown out. But Brady was sure that hearing the news second-hand on the TV that the rapist had struck again would have thrown her straight back to the night he had tortured and raped her.
She was a victim; there was no disputing that. Whether Chloe Winters could turn this around and become a survivor was as much down to Brady and his team as it was to her. If they could catch the man who had so damaged her, both physically and mentally, it would change things. She could rest assured that he would not finish off the sadistic, torturous game he had started with her and she could perhaps move on and rebuild her life.
If Brady hadn’t known it was her, he wouldn’t have recognised her. She looked like she had lost nearly a stone since her attack. It was as if she was shrinking in front if him. Physically disappearing. Not that Brady was surprised by this; every victim had a coping mechanism, and Chloe Winters appeared to be starving herself to death. Whether it was the ‘old’ Chloe she was punishing, he didn’t know. Or perhaps she was removing every trace of her old self so her assailant would never recognise her, would not target her again. All Brady knew was that the physical result of what had happened to her, let alone the mental effect, was unsettling even for a copper like Brady who had seen it all.
The photographs of Chloe Winters prior to her attack could not have been more different. Her hair had been sleek and long, cascading freely down her shoulders and back. Her make-up had been flawless but precise. She had worn her clothes with ease and pride – she had a good body and had not been ashamed to show it.
That was then. Now she wore a large, baggy burgundy Hollister hoodie that hid anything from below her neck. Brady didn’t know whether this was a reaction to the brutal stab wounds and the scars that covered her chest from the countless skin grafts she had undergone. He had no idea whether they’d taken. Nor was he in a position to ask. He was treading as carefully as he could. His eyes glanced down at her small, bony fingers, clutching onto Kodovesky’s hand as if she feared that without her, she would drown. He noticed that her nails had been chewed and bitten well below the tip.
Brady breathed in deeply. He caught Kodovesky’s eye. She was waiting for him to take charge. To finish off what he’d started. He looked at Chloe. But she had her head down. Throughout the interview she had refused to look him in the eye. Her answers had been directed at the table or the bottle of water beside her hand. Not that he could blame her. He represented everything that scared her to the very core of her being – he was a man who wanted something from her. He knew how to change the dynamics. How to get her to trust him and society again. That was by apprehending the man who had done this to her. But whether Brady would be able to do that was another matter entirely. To do it, he needed her help.
‘Chloe? This taxi you mentioned? It was definitely a silver car?’
‘I already told you that,’ she answered, an edge to her voice.
It was anger. Brady took that as a good sign. Anger was better than defeat. And she had every right to be angry with him. In her eyes, Brady and his team had betrayed her. She should have been forewarned that the rapist had struck again, instead of hearing it on the news.
‘I know you have, I just need to be clear. So it was a silver car. Definitely a taxi?’
She nodded without looking at him.
Brady could see her grip tighten around Kodovesky’s hand.
‘Do you know what firm the driver worked for?’ Brady asked. His voice was gentle and unobtrusive.
‘No. I saw the markings on the side and the taxi sign on top but I didn’t recognise the firm,’ she answered.
‘When you say you didn’t recognise the taxi company, is that because it wasn’t a local taxi?’
‘No . . . I don’t know. I just didn’t register it. You know? It’s a taxi, like? They all look the same late at night.’
Brady took ‘late at night’ as a euphemism for being drunk – extremely drunk.
‘Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t be able to recognise one firm from another. Not if it just pulled up beside me,’ Brady replied.
He waited for a response. Nothing.
‘You rang East Central taxis on that night?’ he asked.
‘You know I don’t remember that. I’ve already told you,’ she replied, her voice thick with accusation at him for forcing her to repeat it again. Forcing her to experience the waves of humiliation and guilt that came with going over the same old ground.
‘I know . . . I’m sorry. I just wondered whether it could have been an East Central taxi?’
Brady knew that the dispatcher who logged her call at 2:53 a.m. on Saturday, 19th October hadn’t actually sent a taxi out. That Chloe Winters had been so drunk that the dispatcher hadn’t been able to make sense of her request. The team only knew about it because they had traced every call made from and received by the victim’s mobile phone in the vain hope of finding something connected to the offender.
‘OK,’ Brady said, collecting his thoughts. ‘You say that this taxi pulled up beside you when you started walking home, yeah?’
She nodded.
‘And this was just outside the Blue Lagoon nightclub?’
Again she nodded, without looking at him.
‘He pulled up beside you, wound the window down and asked if you needed a lift somewhere?’
‘Something like that. I can’t remember exactly, you know?’ she said, turning to look at Kodovesky.
Kodovesky nodded in return.
‘And you said no. Why, Chloe? You’d already tried ringing a taxi to get home so why wouldn’t you get into one when it turned up?’
For the first time in the entire interview, she raised her head and looked directly at him. Her bloodshot eyes were narrowed and filled with distrust.
‘Because he creeped me out. OK?’
Brady looked at her, willing her to expand on what it was about the driver that so unnerved her.
She shrugged as if in response to Brady’s questioning silence.
‘You know? There was something about him. His eyes . . .’ she frowned as she tried to recall the driver. ‘I can’t remember what he looked like. It was dark and all. But there was something about his eyes. They scared me. Just creeped me out like I said.’
‘What colour were his eyes? Can you remember?’ Brady asked.
‘Brown,’ she answered. ‘Dark brown.’
‘Anything else about his face? His hair?’
‘It was dark. He was in his car so I couldn’t really make anything out. Apart from his eyes . . . I didn’t like the way he looked at me. You know?’
Brady nodded in appreciation. ‘Yeah, I know.’
He gave her a moment to compose herself.
Then, accepting that the interview was over, he cleared his throat.
‘That’s great Chloe. Look, if you remember anything else about this taxi driver let us know. Doesn’t matter what the time is, just call either DS Kodovesky or me. You’ve got our numbers haven’t you?’
Chloe Winters nodded.
‘Is it him? I know DS Kodovesky said it’s not him. The attack last night. But the news report said it could be?’
‘It’s not him, Chloe. The attack is very different. I know we said they were similar but actually there’s some subtle differences. Differences that only we and the man who attacked you know about,’ answered Brady, giving it his best shot. But he wasn’t so certain it had worked.
‘But she had been raped, right?’
‘Yes, unfortunately she had been raped.’
‘Then why did DI Bentley say that they were similar?’
Brady steeled himself. ‘I think last night’s assailant had read the article in the
Northern Echo
earlier that evening. This is only supposition, but I believe he took what details had been printed about your attack and applied them. But it was clear that he was just copying what had been printed, otherwise the victim’s injuries would have been more in keeping with yours.’
‘What exactly happened to her?’ Chloe Winters asked.
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Chloe. But believe me when I say that last night’s attack is totally unrelated to yours.’
Chloe Winters nodded slowly as she digested the news. She looked Brady straight in the eye. Her face was filled with anger and incredulity. The anger was clearly directed at Brady.
‘So that means there’s two violent rapists out there? One who’s copying the other? All within a three-mile radius? You can’t be serious. I still can’t sleep at night after what he did to me because I’m so scared that he’ll find me again. But now . . .’ She shook her head as she stared at Brady, tears of both fury and fear welling up in her eyes. ‘Now what?’
Brady hadn’t thought about it that way. And why would he? He was only interested in solving his own case. Not worrying about the cold, hard reality – they now had two dangerous rapists at work. Both exhibiting murderous tendencies.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brady sat in his office. He took a slug of cold, bitter black coffee. It had been on his desk since before the interview with Chloe Winters. Kodovesky had returned her to her parents’ home and was now with Harvey, working on identifying and eliminating all the bar staff who worked in Whitley Bay at the weekend. They were starting with the Blue Lagoon. It was a task that Brady did not envy. But it was a necessary one. Something told Brady that the rapist worked in Whitley Bay. That he knew the place better than anyone, and that he was in the ideal location to watch his victims and wait for the right moment to strike. He was clearly clever – otherwise he would not have been able to elude the police for so long. Kenny, Daniels and Conrad were busy analysing hours and hours of CCTV footage from the night that Chloe Winters was attacked. They were looking for the silver taxi.
Brady had already had Bentley on the phone wanting to know what Chloe Winters had wanted to say. Brady had downplayed it. The last thing he was going to do was give Bentley crucial information. He needed to give his team time to see if they could find anything. Brady had also told Conrad to try and get hold of the CCTV footage, if there was any, of the silver taxi that Trina McGuire had seen shortly before her attack.
Before Bentley had the chance to cut the line, Brady had challenged him about why he had suddenly changed direction when he had been so sure that Martin Madley was responsible for Trina McGuire’s assault. Especially since Bentley had questionable evidence – the Blue Lagoon business card with the victim’s name scrawled on the back. However, Bentley was as forthcoming as Brady had been with him. He had simply stated that the victim had identified her attacker from the photofit of the serial rapist. That in itself was enough for him to follow it up.
Brady slowly drank what was left of his coffee. It didn’t matter that it was cold. He just needed some caffeine to help clear his head before giving Daniels and Kenny a hand looking through the CCTV surveillance tapes. He wanted to know whether this silver taxi had been around the nights the first two rape victims were attacked. If not, maybe Chloe was clutching at straws and it was false memory syndrome. After all, McGuire’s rape had been committed by a different offender altogether – one who seemed to be trying to emulate the Whitley Bay serial rapist based on the scraps doled out in the
Northern Echo
.