Vanishing Point (32 page)

‘Why?’ questioned Brady.

‘They heard that I was a copper who also worked for Madley. They wanted some dirt on Madley to stitch him up.’

‘What’s Macmillan’s problem with Madley?’ asked Brady.

This was news to him.

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Ronnie Macmillan is buying up everything he can in North Tyneside. He bought that lap dancing club down by Wallsend docks off Benton Way.’

‘The Ship Inn, better known as the Hole,’ muttered Brady. ‘In Gainers Terrace.’

‘Yeah, that’s the place. But then again, “bought” is another word for going in and just taking it over. The owner of the place got pushed out by Macmillan and his men. Or pushed into the Tyne depending on who you listen to, because the guy just disappeared. And no sooner, Ronnie Macmillan’s taken the place over.’

‘What’s that got to do with Madley?’ asked Brady.

‘Because they’ve been leaning on him. Ronnie Macmillan’s got himself a lucrative trade going on in the sex business. His new partners are Eastern European by all accounts, and dangerous fuckers. But Macmillan’s got big plans. He wants to expand out to Whitley Bay. And that means buying Madley out. He wants the Blue Lagoon and the Royal Hotel because they’re located right on the sea front. What do they say? Location, location, location? He could do a great trade there with an upmarket lap dancing club and a hotel right next door for punters to book in with one of the girls. Imagine the bookings he’d get from stag parties alone,’ stated Matthews.

Brady breathed in deeply. Why the hell hadn’t Madley told him any of this?

‘But that’s crazy,’ he replied. ‘The council wouldn’t sanction a lap dancing club on the sea front.’

‘How dumb are you, Jack? Fuck me! Do I have to spell it out for you? Ronnie Macmillan’s only the puppet. The puppet master is his brother, Mayor Macmillan. He’s the guy pulling all the strings and he’s the one who would pull any string it took to license a strip club in Whitley Bay,’ answered Matthews. ‘Anyway, from what I remember there’s quite a few lap dancing bars up and down South Parade so it shouldn’t be that hard for Macmillan to get the council to agree. Greedy bastards that they are. What do you reckon, Jack? What would they choose? Revenue or protecting the local residents’ interests?’

Brady didn’t answer him. There was no point given the fact it was a rhetorical question.

‘Exactly!’ spat Matthews.

‘And from what Visa and Delta implied, Ronnie Macmillan’s one pissed-off boss. I never saw him, which was a good thing. It was bad enough to know he was waiting in the car outside.’

Brady listened. He could hear the fear in Matthews’ voice.

‘Why’s Ronnie Macmillan pissed off then?’ questioned Brady.

‘He offered to bring Madley on board. Business partners, like,’ explained Matthews.

‘What? Sex trafficking and sex slavery and all that shit?’

‘Yeah, that’s about the sum of it. But Madley’s refused. Doesn’t want to get his hands dirty through using women’s bodies. Moral man, he said. Fucking Catholic raised.’

Brady sighed. Relieved to hear it. Even though he already knew it, it was good to have it verified. And good that it was coming from Matthews who had previously been adamant that Madley was caught up in sex trafficking.

‘And then the stupid bastard won’t sell up. Won’t go in to business with Macmillan and won’t sell to him. No wonder Macmillan’s pissed off. The guy’s been more than fair. So …’ Matthews paused.

Brady felt his stomach contract. He knew why now. Why Simone Henderson’s body had been dumped in Madley’s nightclub. And then why the three-nines call to the emergency services had been made, bringing the police to Madley’s door. It was a warning to Madley to get out. That if he didn’t go, this was just the start of it.

‘Why did Ronnie Macmillan’s men come to you?’ asked Brady, feeling sick. ‘What did they want?’

Matthews went quiet.

Too quiet, thought Brady.

‘What the fuck did they want from you?’ he repeated insistently.

‘I’m sorry, Jack …’ Matthews stuttered. ‘I honestly didn’t know it would end up like this …’

‘What the fuck did they want from you?’ Brady was shouting now. ‘What did you do?’

‘They brought in a photograph when they visited. They wanted me to ID it. That’s what they wanted,’ muttered Matthews. ‘They knew I was involved with Madley. That I spent a lot of time at the Blue Lagoon and so they thought I might recognise her.’

‘Tell me it wasn’t Simone? Tell me you didn’t tell them she was a copper?’

‘I had to … one word from them and I’m dead. For fuck’s sake, Jack! You have no idea what it’s like in here! No idea! It’s killing me … fucking killing me! They threatened me with Kate. Said if I refused to co-operate they’d go after her and they would … they would hurt her so bad …’ Matthews faltered, unable to articulate the details of what they said they would do to his estranged wife.

‘Anyway,’ he muttered. ‘If they hadn’t got the information from me, they would have got it from someone else. You see, Simone Henderson made herself too obvious. Too keen to get close to Ronnie Macmillan. Women like her don’t work as hookers; even high-class hookers. She’s the one who got too confident. Careless even. She should have stayed in London, Jack. This was her call.’

‘You bastard!’ shouted Brady.

‘No … Jack? Come on. You’ve got to understand. I … I’m not responsible … I’m the one who’s in shit up to my fucking neck! Having to watch my back twenty-four-seven. I had no choice! I had no fucking choice!’

‘Everyone has a choice, Jimmy,’ stated Brady. ‘Even a shit like you!’

‘Yeah? And my choice now is to get out. You strike a deal for me and I’ll talk.’

‘They won’t let you out, Jimmy. Don’t you get that?’

‘Fucking try, will you? That’s all I’m asking!’

Brady was silent. He knew that if he got Matthews to make a statement against Ronnie Macmillan then he’d end up dead. Regardless of whether Macmillan was banged up or not.

He shook his head. He didn’t know what to do. The problem of Nick was still ever present. If the police got hold of Ronnie Macmillan and his men then Nick would also go down.

‘Let me think about it, Jimmy,’ answered Brady.

‘Don’t take too long. I can always go to Gates with this and I’ll make a point of telling him that I told you first. That and your old man’s accusation that you and Madley set him up. Wouldn’t look good now, would it?’ threatened Matthews.

Brady listened as Matthews hung up on him.

He breathed out as he looked up and stared at the dusty grey slats of fading daylight stabbing through the off-white Venetian blinds.

What the fuck could he do now?

A loud rap on the door broke him from his thoughts.

‘What?’

The door swung open and Conrad walked in.

‘Sir, Wolfe’s been trying to get hold of you. He said it’s urgent,’ stated Conrad.

That explained the irritating beeping on the line while he had been talking to Matthews.

‘Aren’t you meant to be at a press call now?’

‘On my way now. Call Wolfe, sir. Whatever it is, he wouldn’t say to me. All I know is that it’s to do with Melissa Ryecroft’s body.’

Chapter Thirty-Eight

‘Wolfe, what’s wrong?’ asked Brady when Wolfe answered.

Brady massaged his forehead, trying to ease the mounting tension.

‘I got it wrong,’ confessed Wolfe.

‘You got what wrong?’ nervously questioned Brady.

‘The body … the autopsy. I made a mistake,’ wheezed Wolfe.

‘You don’t make fucking mistakes, Wolfe!’ hissed Brady. ‘Don’t do this to me. Don’t fucking do this!’

He’d never heard Wolfe sound like this: defeated. And it was scaring the hell out of him. But what was scaring him more was the hunch he had, the one he had ignored. He had pushed it to the back of his mind not believing it could be possible.

‘When I examined the uterus and the reproductive system I found the victim to be suffering from severe endometriosis.’

‘I know, you already said. So what’s the problem?’ demanded Brady.

A deathly wheezing silence.

‘Wolfe?’ Brady shouted.

‘I … didn’t notice because of all the damage from the gang-rape. Add to that the severe scarring from the endometriosis she suffered made it really difficult to tell. But when I had a closer examination I realised … I had a feeling I’d missed something, you see.’

‘What the fuck did you miss?’ Brady spat as his body broke out into a sweat.

‘Endometriosis makes it very difficult to get pregnant …’

‘You said she’d had an abortion. That, despite trauma you could make out that she had had a botched abortion. So what are you saying?’ questioned Brady angrily.

Wolfe didn’t answer him.

‘What? She’d never had an abortion, is that it?’ demanded Brady, trying to get a grip on the situation.

‘No, Jack. She’d had an abortion alright. But that wasn’t the first time she’d been pregnant. Her uterus shows evidence that she’d already carried a foetus to full-term.’

‘Wolfe? God no …’ muttered Brady.

‘I know …’ he conceded.

‘Fuck!’ cursed Brady as he tried to think through the implications of what Wolfe had just told him

‘But it could still be her, surely?’

‘I’m sorry, Jack. No. It’s not possible,’ answered Wolfe.

‘Why not?’ insisted Brady. ‘Who knows what the Ryecrofts are covering up about their daughter?’

Silence.

‘Wolfe?’

‘I’ve already contacted Melissa Ryecroft’s GP surgery and requested her medical records. I had to be sure. She isn’t the victim … Melissa Ryecroft has had an abortion. But … she has never given birth.’

‘What happened if she gave birth without telling anyone? Some pregnant teenage girls have been known to hide their pregnancy and then give birth alone, without medical intervention,’ pleaded Brady, desperation breaking into his voice

The only thought going through his mind was that Brian Ryecroft had positively identified the body as that of his missing daughter.

‘Listen to me, Jack. The body that I carried out the autopsy on is not Melissa Ryecroft,’ answered Wolfe. His tone was reluctant but definitive.

‘But her father positively identified the body,’ stated Brady.

‘Jack, you saw the state of the victim’s head. The amount of knife wounds to the victim’s face made it difficult to tell.’

Brady sighed heavily, wondering if the weekend could get any worse.

‘Tell me the head definitely belongs to the body.’

‘I already confirmed that earlier. What kind of an idiot do you take me for, Jack?’

Brady didn’t know, but he was certain he was about to find out.

‘Go on,’ he finally conceded, accepting the worst. They – or should he say Wolfe – had fucked up big style.

He already knew who it was lying decapitated in the morgue. The missing fingers … the evidence the victim had had a baby. His hunch had been right.

‘I rang the clinic in Budapest and demanded to talk to Dr Sabinas Bugas, the director of the clinic. I didn’t believe that they couldn’t keep a record of their patients and the serial numbers on the silicone implants they use. By law they have to, and if they don’t they can get closed down. By all accounts that clinic runs a highly lucrative trade in plastic surgery. Their main clients are UK women looking for a cheap, quick fix and a holiday. But they also get Eastern Europeans paying for plastic surgery. Wanting to buy into the Hollywood ideal,’ explained Wolfe. He paused for a moment to get his breath.

Brady waited.

It was like waiting to be punched in the guts. You know the blow’s coming and you know no matter how much you prepare yourself, it’s still going to hurt.

‘Anyway,’ continued Wolfe. ‘I threatened Dr Bugas that we’d take court proceedings against them for withholding evidence. I didn’t need to explain that the public image of the clinic would be so damaged that they’d end up losing most of their business. You know why they say they don’t have the records, don’t you?’

‘No,’ answered Brady in a muted voice.

He wasn’t interested in the reasons behind the clinic withholding a patient’s details. He was more interested in the identity of the patient.

‘They’re scared of litigation from their UK patients because of poor quality surgery and secondary infections. That kind of thing.’

Brady was silent for a moment.

Then he struck. His patience gone.

‘Wolfe, just tell me!’

Silence.

Brady waited.

‘The serial number in the silicone implants that I removed were implanted in an seventeen-year-old female named Edita Aginatas from a village in Lithuania called Raseiniai.’

Brady tried to steady himself.

He thought of Nicoletta.

He then thought of Edita Aginatas’ baby and what would happen to her now. And then of what had been done to Edita. Exactly as Nicoletta had said, she had disappeared. Her body savagely and sadistically raped and mutilated and a captive bolt pistol put to her head.

Brady swallowed. His eyes burning.

Tiredness, he thought. That’s all. He didn’t have the luxury to get emotional.

So Melissa Ryecroft was still missing.

And now Nicoletta.

That had to be the focus now.

He knew exactly who had Nicoletta: the Dabkunas brothers.

And Nick.

Brady had to contact Conrad before the press call went ahead. That was, if it already hadn’t started.

He needed Melissa Ryecroft’s details released. He needed the digitally enhanced images of her getting into the black Mercedes with the Dabkunas brothers shown on local and national television. And he needed to call Rubenfeld before his leading story went to print. And the worst part of all, the part that was really needling his spinal cord, was that he needed to make that call to Melissa Ryecroft’s parents. He needed to tell them that he had fucked up. He had really fucked up big time.

*

Brady was anxiously waiting for Claudia to answer her phone and hoped that she hadn’t already left for the Lithuanian Ambassador’s swanky dinner at the Grand Hotel. It was now 6:17pm and there was a good chance she would be too preoccupied to talk to him.