Blind Alley (9 page)

‘What the fuck are you doing here? You’re a fucking copper, Jack! Bad news and bad for business. My business.’

‘Christ, Martin! What’s got into you?’ wheezed Brady as Madley jabbed his arm even harder into his windpipe.

‘Fucking you, that’s what!’

‘All right, all right . . .’ Brady gasped, struggling to breathe.

Madley let him go.

‘Better be fucking good, otherwise—’

Madley didn’t need to finish the threat for Brady to know what he meant. Nick had already caused a lot of bad blood between them. In Madley’s Machiavellian world, loyalty counted for everything. It was what kept a six-inch knife from being lodged in your shoulder blades as soon as your back was turned. Madley relied heavily on his men and he paid tenfold for that loyalty. But Brady’s younger brother Nick had double-crossed Madley, in spite of their long-standing friendship. Despite leaving the North-East, Nick had never lost touch with Madley – until his involvement with the Dabkunas brothers.

‘Trina McGuire,’ Brady offered.

Madley’s face remained expressionless. The name clearly registered but not in the way Brady had expected. He waited, expecting some trace of guilt but there was nothing.

‘You have to be fucking with me. This is about some has-been, drugged-up prossie?’ Madley asked, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

‘Yeah, Martin. This is about the woman we both grew up with; the one we both wanted. Remember those days? Or are you so far up your own arse that you have no memory of where you fucking came from?’ Brady knew he was pushing Madley. But at that precise moment he couldn’t give a damn.

Something about the men in Madley’s office worried him. His gut was telling him that whatever dealings they were discussing would bring trouble to Whitley Bay.

Madley’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

‘Some of us succeeded in putting as much distance as possible from shit like that. You should try it, Jack. Especially with you being a copper and all. I’m sure it doesn’t look too good, a man in your job fraternising with the very scum you’re supposed to be banging up.’

Brady held Madley’s menacing stare. He knew exactly what Madley was referring to; he had barged his way into Madley’s office, potentially screwing up whatever deals Madley was trying to secure. But who the hell were they? And what exactly were two well-to-do businessmen doing with the likes of Madley? His mind kept coming back to one answer: trouble. Whether they were looking for it or bringing it didn’t matter. For a moment Brady wondered whether they were involved in trying to set Madley up for their own gain. In Madley’s dark world every business deal could potentially be his last. It was the nature of the beast that those around him wanted to usurp him. Why not? After all, Madley’s business dealings made him a very wealthy man. Who wouldn’t want a part of that?

‘You want to explain to me what happened to her?’ Brady asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

He was doing his best to keep his cool. The last thing he wanted was to lose it with Madley. They had too much history between them and Brady, if he was brutally honest, owed Madley. If it hadn’t been for him looking out for Brady and Nick when their father got banged up for the murder of their mother, they would never have survived the countless foster homes they were dumped in throughout North Shields. Madley had always been a constant in their lives. No matter what, he had been there. Whether it was breaking some little bastard’s nose for taking the piss out of Brady or his brother because of their father, or skipping school for the day to mess around down at St Mary’s lighthouse, he was always there. Brady looked at Madley and wondered what had happened to them. They had never allowed anything to spoil their friendship, even their wildly different choice of careers.

‘What? She’s some fucked-up druggie who does tricks to get her next hit? Is that it?’

‘You know it’s fucking not!’ Brady fired back.

‘For fuck’s sake, Jack! What do you want from me? What’s got you so wound up you barge in here after how long? Eh? How long has it been? You haven’t given a shit about what was happening in my life until now. Are you here as Jack, or are you here as DI Brady?’

Brady turned away.

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘I have never once come here as a copper. Never,’ Brady said, looking Madley in the eye.

‘So what the fuck are you doing barging into my office? Eh?’

‘I told you. I needed to talk to you about Trina McGuire,’ answered Brady.

‘Then why don’t I believe you?’

Brady looked at Madley. He tried to hide the hurt he felt but knew that his eyes would betray him. He dragged a hand through his hair to compose himself.

‘You walk in pretending that this is something to do with some screwed-up prossie, when in fact you’re trying to poke your nose in my affairs. What have you heard, Jack? Who’s been talking to you, because I’d like to put them straight.’ Madley’s voice was calm, controlled again, without the hard North-East inflection.

‘Nothing . . . I’ve heard nothing on you.’

Madley stared at Brady, weighing him up. There was menace in his eyes. Something Brady had rarely seen directed at him.

For some reason Madley backed down. Maybe because Brady couldn’t hide the hurt he felt at Madley’s accusations. He sank back against the wall, exhausted, and waited for Madley to talk.

He knew from Madley’s defensiveness that he’d already been informed about Trina McGuire. Brady had no idea who could have told him.

Unless . . .

Brady didn’t want to think about that – not yet.

‘Does Nick know?’ Madley asked, the coldness gone from his voice.

Brady shook his head. ‘I can’t get hold of him.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’

Brady looked at Madley. He knew that Madley would never trust Nick again; not after what Nick had done to him.

‘How did you know about Trina?’ Brady asked.

‘Contacts, Jack. It’s all about looking out for one another. You should know that better than anyone.’

Brady didn’t answer. He knew it was a direct reference to Nick.

‘So explain to me why you think I would have answers about who did this to Trina?’

Brady shrugged.

‘I know you better than you know yourself. You’re hiding something.’

‘Let’s just say I have a bad feeling that this was aimed at Nick,’ Brady answered.

Madley thought about it.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I can’t tell you,’ Brady said.

Madley nodded, accepting that as a copper there were things that Brady couldn’t disclose.

‘Who do you think would know that Trina was Nick’s girlfriend before he left the North-East?’ Brady asked.

‘Christ, Jack! How many years ago was that? Fuck knows! Depends who has a score to settle with him, doesn’t it? Money can buy you any kind of information as you well know.’

‘Will you ask around for me?’ Brady knew he was asking a lot from Madley; more so given that he hadn’t been to see him for months. Madley’s anger at Nick had been directed at Brady too, which had resulted in him keeping his distance.

Madley gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I’ll see what I can do. In return I don’t want to see your face here again. Understand? It’s bad for business.’

Brady looked Madley in the eye. He was searching for some kind of reassurance that their friendship, which had lasted over thirty years and survived their polarised lifestyles, hadn’t run its course. Perhaps having a copper as a friend was too much of a liability for Madley. Maybe it had always been inevitable and they had been fooling themselves that it could continue. Or Nick’s betrayal had been too much for Madley to swallow.

Brady respected Madley’s wishes. There was nothing more to say. He turned to leave, not wanting Madley to see the pain in his eyes.

‘Jack? Remember, Nick’s pissed off a lot of people. Including Johnny Slaughter. From what I’ve heard he’s still after him. And then there’s those bastards he got caught up with—’

Without turning back, Brady muttered: ‘Thanks.’

He could have forewarned Madley about the card for his nightclub the Blue Lagoon that Forensics had found. But he didn’t. Brady had never crossed the line and passed on information to Madley. He was worried that Madley was in trouble. That someone was setting him up, but Brady was powerless to say anything. He knew that DI Bentley would do a good enough job of informing Madley. It seemed they were both playing their cards close to their chests. Brady was under no illusions – Madley knew a hell of a lot more than he was admitting. He had known him long enough to know when he was lying. The question was, why?

Chapter Eleven

Brady returned to the station. He was in a foul mood. His run-in with Madley had affected him more than he wanted to admit. That and the fact that he still couldn’t get hold of Nick. His conversation with Madley had made Brady realise he had no one he could really depend on. Not any more. He rarely talked to Nick, let alone got the chance to see him in person. But Madley had always been there for him. Someone who really knew him, like Nick. Understood his background. And now? Brady thought of Trina McGuire – a drug-addicted prostitute who had once been the most beautiful girl to walk the streets of North Shields. She’d been filled with the promise and optimism of youth, only to have her naivety literally knocked out of her. Life could be shit depending on the streets where you grew up. It was a postcode lottery. Trina was a fine example of that.

Brady sighed heavily. He needed to get his head together. He had more pressing things to worry about, including trying to make some headway with the serial rape investigation that had developed into a ‘runner’. Not good for his career, team morale, or the hundreds of young women who should have the freedom to go out drinking in Whitley Bay at the weekend without worrying about some twisted, sadistic rapist on the loose.

He got out of the car and slammed the door. He took a deep breath before walking over to the station. The air was thick and heavy with a sea fret. He could literally taste the sea salt in the air. He climbed the steps, avoiding the dog-piss-covered ramp that DCI Gates had built as part of his new PC policy. It was his way of showing the public that Whitley Bay police station did not discriminate against the disabled criminal. Not that it had ever been used as intended – yet. But Brady was certain that with the draconian cuts the current government was making to disability benefits, the ramp might end up being useful. Slashing benefits to those in dire need could result in people turning to crime just to survive. And he wasn’t talking about the second and third generations who knew nothing but a life on benefits, he was talking about the most disadvantaged in society being easy government targets. Unfortunately, it would be the police force with its ever-decreasing budget that would have to pick up the tab for the government’s solution to the country’s debt.

Brady opened the heavy wooden double doors that led into the station. The smell of stale urine from too many drunken louts dragged in to sleep it off in the cells hit him. Nora, the station’s cleaner, did her best but it was an uphill battle. The old Victorian green-tiled corridor had seen better days, as had the building, which was decrepit with flaking walls and maze-like corridors. But Brady wouldn’t have it any other way. Even the out dated 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.