Before Brady had a chance the bouncer aggressively pushed Brady backwards, forcing him out the way of the door.
Brady stumbled, losing his balance.
It gave Davy enough time to disappear inside.
Brady lunged for the door, but he was too late. It was locked.
He stood outside, pounding on the door. It was useless. He’d have to come back with back-up and a warrant to search the premises. But by then it would be too late. His other option was to sit and wait for them to leave.
He walked back to the Saab.
‘Did you get a look at them?’ asked Brady as he climbed in.
‘No sir,’ replied Conrad. ‘I vaguely saw two well-dressed young men in suits, but that was it. It was too dark to make anything else out. Did you, sir?’
Defeated, Brady shook his head. That was all he had seen himself. It wasn’t enough to put together a photofit. He was certain about that.
And he was certain that they weren’t the Dabkunas brothers, the ones caught on the hospital surveillance cameras. These boys weren’t Eastern European – they looked more like locals.
‘What do we do now, sir?’ questioned Conrad.
Before he had a chance to answer he heard a crunch of gravel as a low-slung, sleek black Jaguar glided past them, headlights off. Brady realised the car had quietly made its way from behind the lane that led round to the rear of the club. It drove straight past Conrad’s Saab heading for the only way out: the embankment.
Brady was certain that the shadowy figures in the front were the two suits who had been watching him and Conrad. In the back were two more figures: one a petite, long-haired female and the other a taller, bulky shadow, presumably male. Brady panicked; he was sure it was Nicoletta in the back.
Brady caught the shadowy outline of the other face. It looked like Ronnie Macmillan. But he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be fucking sure. It was too dark.
‘Shit!’ he cursed.
Before Brady had a chance to instruct Conrad to go after them his deputy was already swinging the car around. But before he managed to turn, two cars sped out from the lane behind the club and blocked him in.
‘Turn the car!’ yelled Brady.
‘I can’t, sir,’ replied Conrad through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t move.’
Brady turned round to see if he could make out the licence plate. But they were gone. Disappeared up the embankment. They had two routes, either turning right onto Buddle Street which would take them to North Shields, or Neptune Road which was the back route leading to Newcastle.
‘Conrad, knock those cars out of the way before I do some real damage!’
‘I can’t sir,’ answered Conrad. ‘We’re completely blocked in.’
‘Then get out the car and get them to move! Just do something! And call that Jag in. They’re holding a girl against her will,’ shouted Brady, realising it was no doubt futile as there were only two routes out of the place, one to town and one to the coast. Add in the obvious – that he had no details on the car, or even the occupants.
Realising he had no other option he got out the car, leaving the door wide open.
He legged it across the road towards the embankment, ignoring the painful spasms in his thigh and the burning in his ribs.
The unlit Jag had gone. And he had no idea which route it had taken. And it was too dark to see the licence plate.
His stomach twisted as he stood there with the realisation that something was about to happen to Nicoletta. Something bad.
If they thought she’d talked to a copper, then she was done for; once and for all.
He watched as the two cars that had blocked them in now sped up the embankment, one disappearing right, the other left towards Newcastle.
He took out his BlackBerry. Hand shaking, he somehow found Trina McGuire’s number and pressed call.
‘Trina?’ Brady said when she answered.
She didn’t reply.
‘Trina, they’ve got Nicoletta. They’ve driven off with her. I reckon it was Ronnie Macmillan in the back with her and his two suits were in the front of the car.’
Again, Trina said nothing.
‘Where, Trina? Where would he take her?’ Brady asked, desperate.
‘Don’t you understand?’ Trina hissed. ‘I’ve done this to her. I told her she’d be safe talking to you.’
‘Trina … I had no idea that she would react like that …’ answered Brady.
‘What did you expect with all those questions? Eh? You just kept pushing her!’
Brady didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He’d known he’d blown it when he asked her about the signet ring.
‘Fuck you and your job!’ hissed Trina in response to his silence.
‘Give me Nicoletta’s surname. Please, Trina! So I can try and get some details on her.’
He listened, desperate, but the line clicked off.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘Claudia?’ Brady said.
Conrad turned expectantly to Brady. He was as anxious as Brady to get some news on the Jag and the missing girl.
After Brady had talked to Trina McGuire he’d immediately called Claudia. But all he’d got was her voicemail. He didn’t know what else he had expected. It was after 10:40 on a Saturday night when he tried contacting her. He was surprised that she had rung him back given the fact it was nearly midnight.
Conrad, who was as demoralised and exhausted as Brady, was now driving them back to the station. They’d been on a frantic goose chase for the past hour trying to locate the whereabouts of the black Jag. But the car had simply disappeared.
Conrad had immediately radioed details of the car in as instructed. But none of the other patrol cars in Newcastle or North Tyneside had located its whereabouts. Even the police helicopter had been issued with details of the Jag and the direction it had been heading. But again, nothing.
It was Conrad who had persuaded Brady that it was time to call it a day. And Brady was forced to agree that the search was now futile. They had gone – taking Nicoletta with them.
‘You got my message about the girl, Nicoletta? Does her description match anything on your records?’
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ Claudia said. ‘But no. Didn’t you get a surname? That might have made a difference.’
‘No … I didn’t get one,’ answered Brady as he despondently shook his head at Conrad to let him know Claudia had nothing.
‘Pity …’ replied Claudia. ‘They’ll no doubt move her somewhere else.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know!’
‘What I did do when I got your voice message was check out the veracity of Nicoletta’s story about Edita Aginatas having a baby.’
‘And?’ questioned Brady.
‘It seems that Nicoletta was right. We’ve verified Edita Aginatas’ identity. Same girl that the punter from the West End described. And she does have a six-month-old baby girl living with her mother and younger sister in a village in Lithuania.’
‘Christ!’ muttered Brady.
Claudia picked up the worry in his voice.
‘Jack?’
‘Are they alright?’ quickly questioned Brady.
‘Yes, the police there have moved them to a safe house for protection.’
‘Have they had any contact from her in the past twenty-four hours?’
‘No … they haven’t heard from her since she landed at Heathrow four months ago.’
‘What about her so-called boyfriend, Marijuis Dabkunas?’
‘He paid them a visit a few weeks ago. Claimed he was looking for Edita. That she’d left him and taken off somewhere.’
‘Very clever!’ muttered Brady. ‘Do they have any contact details for this Marijuis Dabkunas?’
‘No … nothing. I wish I could tell you more, but—’
‘But nothing … We have nothing. All we have is two missing Lithuanian girls, one whose identity we can verify. As for Nicoletta …’ His voice faltered.
‘Jack? Why are you taking a
ll this so personally?’
‘Because I’m responsible for whatever they’re doing to Nicoletta right now! She was seen talking to a copper for Christ’s sake! Who knows what kind of sadistic punishment they’re meting out and there’s nothing I can do about it because I have no idea where they’ve taken her.’
‘Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun here?’ Claudia pointed out.
‘Have you forgotten what happened to Simone?’ demanded Brady.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the blur of the bright headlights as Conrad drove them back to the station.
He felt as if he was going to be sick. He couldn’t let go of the image of Nicoletta’s face when she described the brothers cutting off Edita’s fingers. And there was Simone lying in Rake Lane Hospital, mutilated and left … He couldn’t bring himself to think about what the future held for her now.
‘What has Simone Henderson’s attack got to do with this girl, Nicoletta, Jack?’
He breathed in deeply.
‘Those two suits,’ he began, trying to sound calm. ‘The ones I saw outside Macmillan’s club just now and then driving the Jag with Nicoletta in the back were the ones who were in the Blue Lagoon with Simone. I’m certain of it.’
‘Christ, Jack! Why didn’t you mention this before?’
‘Because I walked into the Blue Lagoon last night and saw Simone with two guys and walked straight back out. That’s why. That and I didn’t get a good enough look at their faces to work on a photofit of them. And … and I wasn’t sure … I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. Alright? I wasn’t sure …’
Brady sighed. He couldn’t remember a worse day than the one he was having now.
He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead as Conrad sped down the coast road towards Whitley Bay.
‘Look, Jack, from what I’ve found out about these brothers, they’re not to be messed with. They have contacts in areas you couldn’t even begin to second-guess. Who do you think buys these girls from them?’
Brady didn’t answer her.
He was thinking about Melissa Ryecroft. How someone had bought the right to fuck her up to the point of her death.
‘These are men in power. And they have money. It takes money to be able to choose a girl, buy her and have the reassurance that you can do whatever you want with her,’ Claudia stated.
‘What about those Eastern European brothers?’ questioned Brady, needing to move the conversation along.
He’d already spent enough time going round in circles about Nicoletta’s whereabouts. And the fact that he had promised her that nothing would happen to her.
‘The Dabkunas brothers?’ asked Claudia.
‘Yeah, them. What did you find out about them?’
‘They’re ex-military. Until a year ago they were part of the Lithuanian army’s Special Operation Forces, Aitvaras. Last known to be working as hired bodyguards. In other words, a euphemism for hired killers,’ stated Claudia.
‘Christ!’ muttered Brady.
‘I know,’ sighed Claudia.
Brady knew there was no way he would let Claudia’s name get caught up with men like the Dabkunas brothers or Ronnie Macmillan and his suits. Claudia would be easy meat. And he didn’t want to think of her lying in the same mutilated state, if not worse than Simone Henderson. And if that meant taking whatever crap Gates was going to throw at him for his name being connected to the reason Simone was up in the North East, it was a given.
‘Look, if it’s any consolation I’ll apply for a warrant for my team to search Ronnie Macmillan’s club. If there’s any evidence of sex trafficking or women being held against their will as sex slaves, we’ll find it.’
‘Make sure you search the cellar and his private quarters above the club. Nicoletta said that Edita hid in the cellar and that she was held upstairs.’
‘I’ll contact you as soon as I get any more information,’ Claudia concluded.
Brady knew that she didn’t like anyone telling her how to do her job. But he had to be sure that her team missed nothing. Nicoletta’s life was at stake – as was Edita’s. That was, if she was still alive.
‘Claudia? Be careful. Alright?’ warned Brady.
‘I know what I’m dealing with, Jack. Remember, this is my job,’ said Claudia evenly.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ answered Brady before she disconnected the line.
He didn’t expect to hear any more from Claudia tonight. Hopefully she would get back to him tomorrow with something concrete. Anything that could help them find Nicoletta.
Brady leaned back and closed his eyes.
He was worried.
Worried that Ronnie Macmillan was involved in Simone Henderson’s savage attack. He was certain that it had been him in the back of the Jag with Nicoletta.
If it was Ronnie, then word would get back to Mayor Macmillan that Brady was causing trouble for them, again. Brady was certain that Ronnie Macmillan, notorious drug dealer that he was before he diversified into the sex trade, had shot him in the thigh when Brady had been staking out a drugs deal. He was also sure that his brother Mayor Macmillan had ordered Ronnie to get rid of Brady because he was starting to ask too many questions about the Mayor’s nefarious lifestyle.
Brady wondered whether him showing up at Ronnie Macmillan’s newly acquired lap dancing club would reach Chief Superintendent O’Donnell’s ears. He and Mayor Macmillan had sealed a friendship over rounds of golf at Tynemouth Golf Club followed by gin and tonics in the clubhouse. Macmillan had O’Donnell’s ear, and not in a good way. Even O’Donnell seemed taken in by the politician; or was it that men of a certain rank looked out for one another, mused Brady. If the mayor complained privately to O’Donnell about Brady, he would certainly know about it through Gates.
O’Donnell had always been good to Brady. Looked out for him, so to speak. He’d always been in his corner, having known him since he was a kid. O’Donnell, a newly recruited PC at the time, had worked on Brady’s mother’s murder. So he knew Brady’s history. And O’Donnell knew what it was like to be different, to be seen as the outsider.
He was of African-Caribbean descent and had suffered intolerable racism in the force. But despite this, he had risen through the ranks and proved himself to be a formidable Chief Superintendent; respected by all under his command for his unerring sense of fairness, but also for his cut-throat attitude when one of his own crossed the line.
If DC O’Donnell, as he had been then, hadn’t cornered the teenage Brady one night on the hardened streets of the Ridges about the brutal murder of a young male from Wallsend, then Brady would have ended up like Madley. Somehow, O’Donnell had got through to him. Brady had never talked about who had killed the kid, but O’Donnell still stood by him. Aware that his silence wasn’t about protecting his neck, but someone else’s. Admittedly, it didn’t happen overnight, but O’Donnell had seen something in Brady as a teenager, enough to put his career on the line to risk helping him get out, never knowing whether Brady had in fact been involved in the murder. But the sudden disappearance of Brady’s brother from the North East at the age of fifteen, shortly after the killing, was evidence enough for O’Donnell that Brady hadn’t been involved. His brother’s disappearance made him look guilty, but Brady knew Nick had been set up and had had no choice but to leave. And O’Donnell saw a trait that he admired – loyalty. Loyalty even at the cost of sacrificing yourself. But Brady’s unquestionable loyalty to his brother was based on Nick’s innocence.
But now … Brady didn’t want to think about it.
He started to roll a tab as Conrad pulled up outside the station.
Brady’s mind was twisting and turning like an animal caught in a snare trap.
He couldn’t get rid of the thought of Nicoletta being driven away in the Jag. He was praying that Nick wasn’t somehow involved with Ronnie Macmillan. If Macmillan was now in business with the Eastern European Dabkunas brothers, as Trina and Nicoletta had claimed, he was hoping against the odds that Nick wasn’t involv
ed. But he already knew, by Trina’s own admission, that his brother had been at the lap dancing club looking for the missing Lithuanian girl, Edita Aginatas. And then there was the information Nicoletta had given him about the man with the scar down his cheek who was working with the Dabkunas brothers. The man who had helped find Edita and drove her to her fate.
The one thing he was certain of, he had to talk to Madley. The nightclub owner had contacts with all the criminal elements throughout the North East, including Ronnie Macmillan. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Madley. Maybe he would have an idea about where Ronnie Macmillan would take Nicoletta.
However, all that would have to wait. Brady had already tried Madley’s mobile and it was switched off. He had then rung the Blue Lagoon to see if he was there, but no one knew his whereabouts; or at least they weren’t prepared to tell him. Brady decided that he would pay him a surprise visit tomorrow. Hopefully, then he might get some much needed answers about Madley’s criminal nemesis, Ronnie Macmillan.
First thing in the morning he would also have to call Jimmy Matthews. Matthews had made it quite clear that Ronnie Macmillan and his boys had been in to pay him a visit. Brady needed to know exactly what Matthews knew and what game he was playing.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Exhausted, Brady collapsed on the beaten-up leather couch in his office. He rested his head in his hands as he thought over the events of that day.
Conrad cleared his throat.
Brady opened his bloodshot eyes and looked up at him.
His deputy was standing in front of him holding two mugs. He offered Brady the red and white Che Guevara one.
‘You look like you need it, sir,’ Conrad said.
Brady gratefully took it and watched as Conrad slowly sat down next to him.
‘Any sign of that Jag yet?’ asked Brady, already knowing the answer.
‘No, sir. It’s just disappeared. And as of yet, it hasn’t returned back to The Ship.’
Brady nodded.
‘It won’t,’ he muttered, accepting that would be the last thing the men would do.
He took a slow mouthful of the Talisker single malt, savouring the burning sensation. He sat back and waited for it to kick in.
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