Blind Alley (26 page)

‘Even last weekend?’ Brady questioned.

Harris shrugged. ‘You know how it is? One weekend blurs into another when you’re working night shifts.’

‘Well, it’s a good thing that your girlfriend is prepared to talk to us. Quite efficient, isn’t she? I suppose as a doctor’s receptionist she must be very organised. Anyway, she’s offered to help us with our enquiries. I’m sure she has an excellent memory for dates.’

Brady called an end to the interview before Lee Harris had a chance to talk. He wanted to let the suspect sweat for a while. Then they might get some truth out of him.

He still had the CCTV footage of him talking to Winters shortly before she was abducted. He was saving that vital piece of evidence until after he had talked to Lisa Sanderson; the girlfriend. He wanted her version of where Lee Harris was on the nights in question.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was now 6:20 p.m. Brady had left Harris to rot in a holding cell for the past six hours while he regrouped with his team. He had asked the Custody Officer if he could extend the twelve-hour holding limit to a further twenty-four hours. He was nowhere near ready to charge him – if at all. Luckily for Brady it had been granted, because he was in dire need of extra time. At this point they were in trouble. Serious trouble. It looked as if Harris could walk. Nobody wanted that; least of all Brady.

Gates had already been breathing down his neck. The press were crawling everywhere wanting an update. However, Gates was reluctant to release any details until they were in a position to press charges.

Amelia had surprised Brady by agreeing that there was a very strong possibility that Lee Harris could be there suspect. There had been a ‘but’ – of course. This was Amelia Jenkins after all. But she had raised what everyone else on the team were thinking; that the suspect, surprisingly, had no prior convictions. He had no history. If Amelia’s profile was to be believed, he should have had some kind of charges in his past. But they had drawn a blank.

Then there was the fact that he was everything that you would not expect. Exceptionally good-looking, articulate, polite and even charming. Tom Harvey had made the obvious point: ‘Why would he rape?’

This, of course, was like showing the dog the rabbit where Amelia was concerned. She had gone on to another one of her lengthy lectures about the fact that rape is not about sexual fulfilment; so Harris’ good looks and charm were inconsequential. Harvey had made the fatal mistake of not seeming convinced, so Amelia had gone on to cite Ted Bundy as an example of a good-looking man who was friendly and charismatic and had no trouble in attracting female attention. Nevertheless, between 1974 and 1978, Bundy had managed to kidnap and murder thirty young women in the US. Amelia had pointed out that the only reason Harris troubled them was because, ordinarily, serious offenders tended to be very ordinary. The police dealt with them on a daily basis, so when someone like Harris strolled through the station doors volunteering to help the police with their enquiries, it was no surprise that people struggled with the concept of him being a serial rapist. If he was, why would he offer himself up?

Amelia may have been talking to the team, but the question had been levelled directly at Brady. He didn’t have an answer.

Brady had concluded the briefing when news that Lisa Sanderson, Lee Harris’ fiancée, had been brought into the station to be interviewed. But then the investigation took a turn for the worse. The suspect’s lack of priors and his willingness to help the police with their investigation had been nothing compared to the bomb that Lisa Sanderson had dropped on them. She had provided a water-tight alibi for Lee Harris’ whereabouts on the night of the first rape.

Afterwards, Brady had got Conrad to run checks against her information. It had come back conclusive – she was telling the truth. He had then updated Gates before informing his team. Deflated and discouraged, Brady had dismissed them for the evening. There was nothing else they could do. He had given Harvey enough money to buy them a couple of rounds in the Fat Ox and then an Indian in the Ahar in Whitley Bay. It was a good old-fashioned North-East Sunday night tradition – a couple of pints followed by a chicken tikka masala. The team were demoralised, so Brady had to dig deep into his pocket to try and lift their spirits. He needed them back in the morning in a better mood than when they had left. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring and that worried him as much as it did them.

The DNA swab that had been taken from Lee Harris had come back negative. No DNA evidence had been recovered from any of the attacks but he had been hoping that it would bring some prior convictions to the surface.

Brady leaned forward on his desk and held his head in his hands. He was certain that Lee Harris was their rapist. There was something disturbing about him. If you scratched beneath the surface you could see it. Brady had seen a flash of it. And it was enough to convince him that they were dealing with a psychopath. The problem Brady had was they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him, let alone impound his car so Forensics could search it.

‘Sir?’ Conrad asked as he walked into his office.

Amelia followed behind him.

‘Sorry, the door was open,’ Conrad apologised.

Brady dragged his head up and looked at them. They both looked sheepish. Embarrassed that they had caught Brady out.

‘I thought you two were heading out with the rest of the team for a beer and a curry?’ Brady asked, trying to sound light-hearted. It failed.

‘No. We thought you might want some company?’ Conrad replied.

Brady looked at them. The last thing he needed right now was company. He was in a lousy mood. All he wanted to do was go home, open a bottle of wine or two and put some music on to drown out his shit day.

Conrad ignored the look in Brady’s eye. It was obvious that he wanted to be alone. But given the day’s events, that was the last thing Conrad was going to do.

He walked over to the beat-up leather couch and sat down. Amelia looked unsure. Brady’s dark expression told her she was the last person he wanted to deal with on a Sunday night. Especially at the end of a torturous day. But then there was Conrad who, loyal as ever, wanted to work through Lisa Sanderson’s interview. He wanted to make sense of it. See if they could turn it around for tomorrow. But from the look in Brady’s eye, it was clear that he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

‘I don’t know about you two, but I need a drink,’ Amelia suggested. It was her way of breaking the ice. She thought Brady looked like he could do with one.

He nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve got some scotch that I keep as an emergency.’

He stood up, walked over to his filing cabinets and pulled out a top drawer. Inside were six bottles of scotch – all unopened. These were Christmas gifts that he had filed away. This stuff wasn’t the Talisker whisky that Madley drank. It was middle-of-the-road bottom-shelf piss. But under these circumstances it would do.

Brady picked up a blended malt and cracked it open.

‘Do me a favour, Conrad, go fetch some mugs?’

Conrad jumped up and left the office.

There was an awkward silence between Brady and Amelia with Conrad gone. Brady busied himself with reading the labels on the other bottles of scotch he had stashed away, while Amelia hovered by the open office door waiting for Conrad.

They both inwardly breathed a sigh of relief when Conrad finally returned.

‘Sorry, had to give them a wash first,’ Conrad said as he walked over to Brady.

Brady poured a liberal measure in both mugs before turning to fill his own.

He then went back and sat down behind his desk.

‘Cheers!’ he said, raising his mug to Conrad and Amelia, who were sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

‘Cheers!’ mumbled Conrad and Amelia together.

Brady took a drink. It tasted like shit. But it was the best he had to offer.

He watched as Amelia winced at the harsh, burning taste. But she persevered with it, forcing herself to take another mouthful.

Nobody spoke. The atmosphere in the room was chillier than a walk-in refrigerator.

‘So,’ Brady began, deciding he had no choice but to get it over with: ‘Lisa Sanderson?’

Amelia looked up at Conrad, unsure of who should speak first.

Conrad gestured for Amelia to answer.

‘Well, she’s an intelligent, attractive, twenty-two-year-old young woman. I wouldn’t expect anything less from someone like Lee Harris,’ Amelia stated.

Brady took another mouthful of Scotch as he contemplated Amelia’s summary. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted. But she was right. Lee Harris’ girlfriend suited him in more ways than one.

She was petite with long, straightened blonde hair, pretty, delicate features and trusting bright blue eyes. Everything about her was charmingly innocuous. She was a doctor’s surgery receptionist and consequently came over as polite, professional and courteous. She had never been in trouble with the police, or even been in a police station. She came from a good, respectable family, had a reasonable college education behind her and held down a responsible job. Lisa Sanderson was perfect alibi material.

Brady had spent two hours interviewing her. He had needed to because he didn’t trust what she was telling him. In that time she never once wavered from her belief that this was all a mistake and that her fiancé was innocent. The problem Brady had was she really believed it. And she had the evidence to substantiate it. When Brady had asked about their six-month relationship, it was clear that to her Lee Harris was perfect – too perfect for Brady’s liking. They never argued; he had never raised his voice to her and definitely not his hand. They socialised with friends together. He even got on with her parents. When Brady had asked about his parents and family, Lisa Sanderson had in all innocence answered that he had none. That for whatever reason he didn’t talk about his past.

Brady had asked her about the three nights on which the victims were attacked – the three nights that Harris wasn’t working. Unfazed by the question, Lisa Sanderson had simply worked the dates back on her mobile phone. She had answers for every night in question. And she was convincing, because she was so transparent. There was nothing about her that told Brady she was lying. Her face blushed when Brady asked about their sex life, which was nothing to write home about. She described him as a gentle, considerate lover. Brady could tell that she meant it. She wasn’t just giving Brady some spiel that she had prepared in advance. This was heartfelt. According to her, Lee Harris wasn’t interested in anything that strayed from the missionary path. When Brady had mentioned sadism, Lisa Sanderson’s startled eyes had looked at Brady with a combination of horror and disgust that he could even suggest such a thing. Brady was bitterly convinced by her. Despite fighting it, he’d had no choice but to accept that Lisa Sanderson was telling the truth.

And this was before she delivered the
coup de grâce.

She had remembered all three nights – in detail. But it was her alibi for the first night that had Brady foiled. It was physically impossible for Harris to be their man.

It had been two months ago, at the end of August. Harris had booked time off work. She remembered specifically because it had been a surprise: he had taken her to Paris for the weekend, where he’d proposed.

Brady had taken a moment in the interview room to compose himself after she had delivered this damning news. The possibility of Lee Harris being in Paris while simultaneously raping and mutilating Sarah Jeffries, the first victim, was nil.

The second night in question was Saturday, September 28th. Again Lisa Sanderson was unfazed. Harris had just moved into her rented accommodation that afternoon. She had smiled at Brady and confided that he had ‘pulled a sickie’ that night so they could celebrate their first night officially living together.

Brady had asked her if he left her at any point during the early hours of the Sunday morning. Her answer had been an empathic ‘no’. That they’d slept together. She went to sleep with him. And she woke up with him. It was the same story for all three nights.

The third time he’d missed work had been over a week ago – Friday, 18th October. She had been really ill with flu. He had been so concerned he’d rung in sick himself so he could look after her.

Again, according to Lisa Sanderson, Harris never left the flat.

What troubled Brady was the CCTV footage of Harris’ taxi early that Saturday morning when Harris was allegedly looking after her.

Brady had pulled no punches. He had told her that they had footage of her fiancé’s silver Passat pulling up to talk to the victim in the early hours of last Saturday morning shortly before she disappeared. Lisa Sanderson had reacted as Brady had expected. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t believe him because Lee Harris had been in bed with her. Brady had asked if she had an explanation as to why Lee Harris’ car was caught on CCTV cameras in Whitley Bay. Her answer was simple – she didn’t know.

And the problem was, neither did Brady.

Lisa Sanderson was the perfect alibi. Looking at her, Brady knew no court in the land would convict Harris; not with his fiancée giving evidence that he had spent all three nights with her. And crucially, when the first victim had been attacked the suspect had been in Paris proposing.

‘And?’ Brady asked Amelia.