Vanishing Point ijb-2

by Danielle Ramsay

  Matthews didn’t reply.

  ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Jimmy. At least I’m calling you.’

  ‘Yeah? Only ’cos you’re shit-scared about what I’ve got on you and Madley,’ answered Matthews.

  Brady didn’t need to see Matthews to know that he looked dreadful. He would be unshaven, unkempt and edgy as fuck. He could hear it in his voice. Brady knew that Matthews was close to breaking point, which made him a very dangerous man. Both to himself and to others. Brady in particular.

  ‘You know what, Jimmy? Right now I’ve got better things to be doing than listen to you threaten me,’ stated Brady.

  He was running out of time.

  It was 4:45pm and he had two appointments that he needed to keep.

  The first was with Madley. Not that Madley knew they had an appointment.

  The second place he had to be was at the Grand Hotel. He wanted to be parked up, watching the guests arrive for the dinner that Claudia and her professional partner and boyfriend were attending, along with half the dignitaries from across the North East. But it was the Lithuanian Ambassador that Brady was interested in. And the Dabkunas brothers.

  Brady knew he had no choice but to go alone. Nick was a good enough incentive not to involve anyone – including Conrad.

  Matthews’ snarling voice brought him back to the present. ‘Yeah? Well, what if I say that Ronnie Macmillan’s been trying to dig up some shit on you and Madley. Interested now?’

  Brady held his breath.

  ‘Got time to talk to me now, have you?’ asked Matthews.

  ‘Go on,’ said Brady.

  ‘I want out, Jack,’ Matthews said.

  ‘That’s impossible,’ replied Brady.

  ‘Look, either I talk to you or I talk to Adamson. I don’t give a shit any more. My loyalty is to myself now.’

  ‘Wasn’t that why you ended up inside?’ pointed out Brady.

  ‘You’re a bastard, Jack!’

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ answered Brady.

  He was too tired for all this shit. His head ached as much as his leg hurt. He needed some painkillers to ease the dull throb in his ribs and swollen face that reminded him that he had spent the past two days chasing ghosts.

  ‘What exactly do you think I can do?’ asked Brady.

  ‘Claudia,’ answered Matthews simply. ‘She’s a fuck-off lawyer and she now works for the Home Office. Get her to represent me for free. Get her to strike a deal with the Home Office to release me early in exchange for crucial information concerning Macmillan and the copper who got knifed.’

  ‘Come on, Jimmy,’ Brady said. ‘You’re asking the impossible.’

  ‘Then I hang up and I talk to Adamson and I throw in the part about you getting Madley to set your old man up for murder.’

  Brady felt as if Matthews had just punched him in the guts. He thought for a moment he was going to throw up.

  He breathed out slowly, trying to steady himself.

  He couldn’t think straight. None of it made sense. Admittedly he had asked Madley to make his dad disappear. He had no choice at the time. But he knew Madley wouldn’t have murdered another man in the process. Not that Brady hadn’t silently questioned whether Madley had had a hand in it. But as soon as he thought it he discounted it. Madley had done some dark shit, but he wouldn’t take another man’s life for no reason.

  ‘Yeah? Truth hurts, doesn’t it?’ Matthews snapped when Brady didn’t respond.

  Brady was trying to figure out exactly how Matthews had managed to talk to his old man. Then again, he accepted, Matthews was banged up in a secure wing with the old bastard.

  ‘You forget, Jack. We’re the same, you and I,’ he added.

  ‘Fuck you!’ replied Brady.

  ‘What? Is that a guilty conscience that I hear?’ goaded Matthews.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Sure you do. But I’ll remind you anyway. I’m talking about the homeless man, the sixty-three year old who was found dead by the library in North Shields. The man who had petrol doused over him and then was set alight. He burnt to death. All for a bottle of cheap Scotch. At least that’s the evidence that was planted on your old man when he was asleep between two garbage bins in the back lane of Nile Street.’

  ‘He did it,’ answered Brady, his expression darkening.

  Matthews didn’t need to see Brady’s face to know that he had crossed the line. He could hear it in Brady’s voice.

  ‘The CCTV footage in Shields clearly shows him arguing with the homeless man over a bottle of liquor,’ stated Brady. ‘He clears off after being landed with a couple of punches and comes back a couple of hours later with petrol that he’s siphoned off a car. Footage shows him pouring it over the other man’s head and body as he lay sleeping and then setting fire to him.’

  ‘Yeah? But it was all a set-up. Your old man, with the help of Ronnie Macmillan, is going to prove that the man who goes back and cold-bloodedly murders the tramp wasn’t him. That he got plied with drink. Bought by two of Madley’s men. And when he fell asleep drunk, his clothes were removed. Then one of Madley’s men puts his clothes on and, impersonating him, sets the tramp alight. They then put the clothes which are covered in petrol splashes back on your old man and leave the bottle of Scotch clutched in his hands and the matches and petrol container beside him.’

  ‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ questioned Brady, trying to sound calm despite the fact his heart was racing so fast he thought it would explode.

  Maybe it was the guilt he was feeling for asking Madley to sort the old bastard out once and for all. Maybe that was why he was sweating? His old man had spent twenty years inside for the brutal rape and murder of his mother. It should have been a minimum of thirty, but then some parole board decided to release him on good behaviour. Times had changed though. Nowadays a life sentence was seven years. Brady realised he should have been thankful that his old man had spent so long inside. But in his mind, the old bastard should have spent the rest of his life banged up.

  ‘Who the fuck in their right mind would torch someone alive and leave the evidence on them?’ questioned Matthews.

  ‘He’s a fucking drunk, Jimmy. I don’t give a shit who he tells that story to because no one would believe him. Have you forgotten that he’s already served time for murder?’

  Brady steadied himself. He knew that his old man was capable of cold-blooded murder. Had already proved that once before. So why not this time? And anyway, he reasoned, his father had been tried and convicted by a jury. If there was a shadow of a doubt, surely his defence lawyer would have exploited it.

  Matthews had nothing on him or Madley.

  Matthews spoke again. ‘I know you got Madley to arrange it.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Brady, a hard edge to his voice.

  ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time, Jimmy, than listen to your crap!’

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Matthews with an edge of desperation.

  ‘Give me one good reason why,’ demanded Brady.

  ‘Because I’ve heard something that might interest you.’

  ‘Like what?’ Brady asked, feeling nothing but disgust for Matthews.

  ‘Alright, your old man wants to settle a score with you and Madley. Convinced himself you set him up. But he’s not the only one. Two of Macmillan’s henchmen showed up about a week ago. Visa and bloody Delta they’re called. Reckon their names are something to do with them being Macmillan’s debt collectors,’ Matthews stated.

  ‘His men, Visa and Delta, where are they from?’ asked Brady.

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Just tell me, Jimmy!’

  ‘From their accents I’d say London. Why?’

  Brady ignored his question and moved on.

  ‘And they wanted to talk to you?’ Brady was starting to get a real bad feeling about what Matthews was going to say next.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think? Nelson fucking Mandela? Of course me!’

  �
��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