realised the post had been given the go-ahead.
‘O’Donnell somehow managed to get support from theHome Office for Claudia’s proposition which opened up the extra funding needed to make it viable.’
Brady felt as if Gates had punched him. He couldn’t believe Claudia hadn’t told him. It had taken her eighteen months, from suggesting the need for a groundbreaking new legal advisory position that would work to coordinate the activities of Northumbria Police and the UK Human Trafficking Centre in Sheffield, to getting it off the ground. Claudia had ideas of her own which ultimately included setting up a Human Trafficking Centre in Newcastle equal to Sheffield’s.
This was close to her heart. At times, Brady thought too close. As a lawyer, Claudia had worked endless, unpaid hours representing women and children who were effectively human slaves illegally trafficked from Eastern Europe or Africa into the North East of England. She was interested in the legal quandary these women and children found themselves in once extricated from sex slavery; illegal immigrants fearful they would be forced back into slavery on their return home; that or murdered. She had championed a few cases so far, succeeding in securing the victims the right to seek asylum in Britain. But she had also lost more than she had won, powerless to prevent these women and children ending back up where they had begun their lives as sex slaves.
Brady gripped the sides of his chair. He couldn’t believe that she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He tried to get a handle on the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it in front of Gates. But the thought that he really had lost her for good was killing him.
‘The only reason I’m telling you, Jack, is because Claudia is refusing to take it.’
Brady stared at Gates numbly. He knew this job had meant everything to Claudia. ‘Why? Why isn’t she taking it?’
He couldn’t believe that she was walking away from everything she had fought so hard to achieve. ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’ Brady numbly shook his head.
He knew the answer, and Gates knew that. There was nothing he could do any more, so he stood up and left.
Chapter Twelve
‘Charlie, can you do me a favour?’ Brady asked the desk sergeant.
‘Aye, bonny lad, as long as there’s a pint in it,’ Turner grinned amiably.
‘For you, Charlie, I’ll even stretch to two,’ Brady answered, smiling.
Brady’s smile disappeared as he glanced around. He’d never seen the station so busy; extra uniforms and CID had been called in from across the region to cope with the murder investigation. Nothing much happened in this seedy, rundown seaside resort, at least not until now. Murders typically didn’t affect the middle classes of Whitley Bay who lived far enough away from the town centre not to be affected by the pubs and clubs that had brought the seaside resort to an all-time low. They led self-satisfied, suburban lives in their exorbitantly-priced properties, completely unaware of the diseased scum that ran the streets at night. He knew of a few notorious gangsters, the local mafia, Madley being one of them, who had no qualms about disposing of a rival in the Tyne. But murders of that sort barely caused a ripple in most decent people’s lives. Whitley Bay was typically known for drunken louts acting lewd andfighting amongst themselves and a few burglars who needed easy cash for drugs. But a brutal murder in tree-lined suburbia was a completely different story.
‘So, what’s this favour then?’ Turner asked as he raised his thick, wiry eyebrows at Brady.
‘I’ve got a hunch about something,’ Brady confided. ‘But I want it kept quiet.’
Brady trusted Turner. He belonged to the old school of policing, unlike the new breed who didn’t have a clue about ‘hunches’ or ‘gut feelings'. Instead the new coppers were taught to feed murder details into Holmes 2 and sit back and wait for it to spit out
‘O’Donnell somehow managed to get support from theHome Office for Claudia’s proposition which opened up the extra funding needed to make it viable.’
Brady felt as if Gates had punched him. He couldn’t believe Claudia hadn’t told him. It had taken her eighteen months, from suggesting the need for a groundbreaking new legal advisory position that would work to coordinate the activities of Northumbria Police and the UK Human Trafficking Centre in Sheffield, to getting it off the ground. Claudia had ideas of her own which ultimately included setting up a Human Trafficking Centre in Newcastle equal to Sheffield’s.
This was close to her heart. At times, Brady thought too close. As a lawyer, Claudia had worked endless, unpaid hours representing women and children who were effectively human slaves illegally trafficked from Eastern Europe or Africa into the North East of England. She was interested in the legal quandary these women and children found themselves in once extricated from sex slavery; illegal immigrants fearful they would be forced back into slavery on their return home; that or murdered. She had championed a few cases so far, succeeding in securing the victims the right to seek asylum in Britain. But she had also lost more than she had won, powerless to prevent these women and children ending back up where they had begun their lives as sex slaves.
Brady gripped the sides of his chair. He couldn’t believe that she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He tried to get a handle on the situation. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it in front of Gates. But the thought that he really had lost her for good was killing him.
‘The only reason I’m telling you, Jack, is because Claudia is refusing to take it.’
Brady stared at Gates numbly. He knew this job had meant everything to Claudia. ‘Why? Why isn’t she taking it?’
He couldn’t believe that she was walking away from everything she had fought so hard to achieve. ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’ Brady numbly shook his head.
He knew the answer, and Gates knew that. There was nothing he could do any more, so he stood up and left.
Chapter Twelve
‘Charlie, can you do me a favour?’ Brady asked the desk sergeant.
‘Aye, bonny lad, as long as there’s a pint in it,’ Turner grinned amiably.
‘For you, Charlie, I’ll even stretch to two,’ Brady answered, smiling.
Brady’s smile disappeared as he glanced around. He’d never seen the station so busy; extra uniforms and CID had been called in from across the region to cope with the murder investigation. Nothing much happened in this seedy, rundown seaside resort, at least not until now. Murders typically didn’t affect the middle classes of Whitley Bay who lived far enough away from the town centre not to be affected by the pubs and clubs that had brought the seaside resort to an all-time low. They led self-satisfied, suburban lives in their exorbitantly-priced properties, completely unaware of the diseased scum that ran the streets at night. He knew of a few notorious gangsters, the local mafia, Madley being one of them, who had no qualms about disposing of a rival in the Tyne. But murders of that sort barely caused a ripple in most decent people’s lives. Whitley Bay was typically known for drunken louts acting lewd andfighting amongst themselves and a few burglars who needed easy cash for drugs. But a brutal murder in tree-lined suburbia was a completely different story.
‘So, what’s this favour then?’ Turner asked as he raised his thick, wiry eyebrows at Brady.
‘I’ve got a hunch about something,’ Brady confided. ‘But I want it kept quiet.’
Brady trusted Turner. He belonged to the old school of policing, unlike the new breed who didn’t have a clue about ‘hunches’ or ‘gut feelings'. Instead the new coppers were taught to feed murder details into Holmes 2 and sit back and wait for it to spit out
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