Blind Alley by Danielle Ramsay Page A

basement cafeteria with its cracked sixties red laminated tables and wrought-iron bars on the windows had an allure for him. The place was reassuringly familiar; not surprising given how many hours of his life he had spent there.
    Particularly after his marriage to Claudia had broken down. Brady had sought solace in his work. Even the rumours that had done the rounds about his alleged affair with Simone Henderson, the cause of his failed marriage, didn’t stop him from working extreme hours in a bid to avoid facing his wrecked home life. He couldn’t even count the number of dark, lonely nights he had spent in his office drowning in a bottle of scotch, unable to go back to an empty house. That period in his life was a blur now. At the time it had been a drunken blur, which was why he could barely remember any of it.
    Brady dismissed thoughts of the car wreck his life had been back then. That was over twelve months ago. He was trying to get his life back on track. He had had no choice after news had filtered through to him that Claudia and her boyfriend, DCI James Davidson, had moved in together. Not that it should have surprised him. They’d been together for over six months. They co-headed a groundbreaking new Human Trafficking Centre in Newcastle that equalled Sheffield’s. And now they lived together. It had been Tom Harvey, a long-standing friend and colleague, who had delivered the news in his usual blunt, insensitive way. Brady had not reacted to the blow. But it had taken everything in his power to act nonchalant. It was only when he was alone that he allowed the news to sink in.
    DCI Davidson was everything that Brady hated. He was a tall, muscle-bound, ex-military Ross Kemp lookalike who had swaggered into the Armed Response Unit on the back of his hands-on combat experience in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was good looking in a macho, arrogant kind of way, with an arsenal of war stories that mere mortal men would kill for. Not that Brady could take that away from him. The man had balls and plenty of them. Anyone who risked their life in a war against fundamentalist insurgents, who used dirty guerrilla tactics, was a hero in Brady’s books.
    However, Brady’s problem with Davidson was down to one simple fact: he was a self-confessed player with a reputation that a dog would be ashamed to own. Not that Brady could talk, but the last thing he wanted was Claudia being played.
    Brady breathed in deeply as he prepared himself for what lay ahead. Given the morning he’d already experienced, his expectations for the rest of the day were low.
    He pushed open the second set of doors to be greeted by the desk sergeant on duty, Charlie Turner. He was a short, rotund, balding man who looked as if he should have been forced to retire years ago. However, despite appearances, Turner was still a few years off retirement. The desk sergeant raised his unruly, spidery white eyebrows at Brady. It made no difference. Brady still couldn’t make out the small, dark brown eyes hidden by Turner’s sagging, heavily creased eyelids. But the act was enough to know that Turner, in his own paternalistic way, was warning Brady that something was wrong.
    ‘Well, well, bonny lad! What have you done to get Gates so fired up, eh?’
    Brady feigned surprise. ‘I’m still breathing?’ he answered with a wry smile.
    ‘Better watch yourself, Jack. I’m being serious. Gates is livid. Conrad’s been getting it in the neck. So God knows what he’s got in store for you given the fact that that poor sod has just returned to work!’
    ‘I’m sure after what Conrad’s been through he can handle getting a bollocking from Gates.’
    ‘Bloody hell! Why do you take such delight in winding Gates up? You know if he had his way you’d have been demoted to the streets of Blyth years ago,’ Turner said, wizened, craggy face scowling at Brady.
    ‘Who have you been talking to, Charlie?’ It was a line Brady knew off by heart. It was one of Gates’s