‘That’s a promise!’ Adamson growled. ‘And keep the fuck away from Simone Henderson before I finish off what her father started!’ he warned. ‘I’m not the only one around here who thinks you’re to blame for what happened to her. Fucking bastard.’ He shoved Brady hard against the wall for effect.
Brady didn’t retaliate. The words had hit as hard as punches.
He watched as Adamson straightened his tie and walked towards the hospital’s main entrance.
There was nothing that Adamson had said that Brady could disagree with: ultimately he felt responsible for what had happened to Simone Henderson, just as much as he felt responsible for Nicoletta.
* * *
Brady went back to his car. He unlocked the Granada and climbed in. Five hours had now passed since the Dabkunas brothers had disappeared. Five, long, arduous hours of nothing. It was now 3:47am. Time was running out. That was, if she was still alive.
Before he had left the hospital he had checked with DCI Gates to see whether there were any developments only to find that they had hit a brick wall. It was as if Nicoletta had just disappeared. And it seemed that Claudia wasn’t the only one who believed that the Dabkunas brothers had taken her with them.
But it didn’t rest easy with Brady. If they had taken Nicoletta, then why not Melissa Ryecroft as well? It didn’t make sense.
Brady had already tried to get Ronnie Macmillan to talk. Unsurprisingly, Macmillan was keeping his mouth firmly shut. Once he had been released from Rake Lane for the injuries he had sustained while resisting arrest, he had been put in the hands of Harvey, who was now waiting for Kodovesky to join him before he started interviewing Macmillan. Whether they would have more luck than Brady, he doubted.
He breathed out slowly as he started to roll a cigarette. He needed something, anything to calm him down. Sleep-deprived wasn’t the word for it. It was now Monday morning and he hadn’t slept properly since Thursday night. He was absolutely exhausted but he couldn’t wind down. Couldn’t switch off until he knew the whereabouts of Nicoletta.
He had tried calling Trina McGuire while waiting for Conrad to come through surgery. She hadn’t answered. He had left repeated messages, anxious for her safety. He had then sent uniform round, worried that the Dabkunas brothers or Ronnie Macmillan had punished her for talking. And their kind of punishment meant she would never talk again. Thankfully, she was at home. Brady understood why she had ignored his urgent demands to call him. After all, it was him forcing Trina and Nicoletta to talk that had endangered Nicoletta’s life and caused her to disappear without trace.
He had also called Nick’s mobile number. Again, it had cut to voicemail, forcing him to leave a frantic message asking about the whereabouts of Nicoletta.
Again, nothing.
He lit his cigarette and sat staring at Rake Lane Hospital, thinking about the information Melissa Ryecroft had given him. She was certain that Nicoletta had remained in the Dabkunas’ van when they had taken the Lithuanian Ambassador’s daughter out. The Dabkunas brothers had then drugged both girls. The next thing Melissa had been aware of was coming round, alone. She had no idea when Nicoletta had been taken from the van or by whom.
Brady tried to remain calm. Panicking wouldn’t get him anywhere. He had to think logically about that night’s events. He knew the answer was there somewhere. He just couldn’t see it.
He started with where he had seen the black Mercedes van: St Mary’s Lighthouse. He wondered if Ronnie Macmillan had met the Dabkunas brothers there and if Monika had been removed from the van and dumped into the boot of his Jag at the same spot, ready for the ransom exchange with the Lithuanian Ambassador. That left Nicoletta and Melissa drugged and presumably unconscious in the van.
Brady replayed in his head when he turned up at the lighthouse. As soon as the Dabkunas brothers had seen him, they had taken off. Shortly after that, their van had been apprehended by Harvey and Kodovesky and another police car in Wallsend. The only victim inside was Melissa Ryecroft. At some point, mused Brady, they had dumped Nicoletta. But when? And crucially where?
They wouldn’t have had the chance once they had fled from the car park. That much was clear from the fact that they had left Melissa in the back of the van after the police car chase and made a run for it.
The only obvious place was St Mary’s Lighthouse.
But Brady had already revisited the lighthouse car park looking for Nick and found nobody.
He closed his eyes.
He thought back to the lighthouse … to Nick … to when they were kids …
What was it about the lighthouse that Nick was trying to tell him by leaving Edita Aginatas’ severed head in his car there? And what was the meeting Brady had witnessed hours earlier with the Ambassador and Mayor Macmillan about? Additionally there was the CCTV footage that Conrad had found of the Dabkunas’ black Mercedes van following Ronnie Macmillan’s Jag heading towards the lighthouse after they had drugged, then abducted Simone Henderson.
Brady thought back to Nick as he had once been – a four year old playing on the small, sandy beach positioned directly below the twenty foot, sloping cliff where the second car park was positioned. The rocky beach lay hidden from view. The perfect location.
But the perfect location for what?
Then Brady remembered what he had explained to Conrad. That he believed Edita Aginatas’ body was taken by a small boat and dumped at sea. The perfect access to the boat would be via the sandy beach and causeway, hidden from prying eyes, that led to the lighthouse. A causeway ruled by the tides. When the tide was in, the lighthouse was inaccessible, as was the sandy beach. The beach was a dangerous place to be if you didn’t know the tides. Within minutes it could disappear when the tide changed. And there was no way back.
‘Jacky, watch our Nick will you? The tide’s coming in quick and if the two of you aren’t careful you’ll vanish. Taken out to sea!’
Brady jolted forward at the memory of his mother’s voice warning him against the furious incoming tide. He suddenly knew why Nick was so attached to the lighthouse – it was the only time their mother had taken them there as boys. In fact, it was the only outing they had had before she died. Money had been short and a trip out to the lighthouse from the Ridges was a big deal in those days.
Brady could remember grabbing Nick’s hand and scrambling with him up the rocks to safety as the tide rapidly moved in, devouring every inch of the beach. When he had looked back, the causeway had already gone. Access to the lighthouse disappearing with every inch of fast-moving water. And then, within seconds the small, rocky beach had gone, devoured by the ravishing tide.
Brady then thought of Nicoletta. Thought of the sloping drop that led to the rocks directly below the car park where the Dabkunas brothers and Macmillan had waited for the Ambassador to turn up. In that moment he realised what they had done with her.
They had thrown her over the cliff, to the rocks below and the tide that would inevitably take her body. Over five hours had gone by since he had seen the Dabkunas brothers at the Lighthouse. And in those long five hours the tide could easily have taken her body out to sea, never to be found.
* * *
Brady aggressively threw the Granada off the dual carriageway into the turn for the lighthouse. He could see police cars already parked up. Blue lights flashing, sirens screeching alarm. Overhead the police helicopter’s infrared light was already moving over the dark water searching for anything that resembled life. Gates had been true to his word and when Brady had radioed in with his suspicion he had called in every available resource he had to search the rocks and water directly below the cliff.
Brady ground the car to a halt. The second car park was full of officers with torch lights and tracking dogs howling at the thundering helicopter blades overhead.
Brady jumped out his car. He had to know whether he was too late; whether the tide was already in. He left the car park and ran down towards the small slipway that led to the causeway and beach below.
The tide was only starting to come in.
‘Fuck!’ muttered Brady as he continued to run, jumping off the slipway onto the rocks.
They didn’t have long to find her. Once the tide started, it would come in fast and furious.
He could see a group of officers huddled around something up ahead in the rocks directly below the cliff car park above.
‘Is it her?’ screamed Brady, trying to be heard above the noise of the rotating blades overhead. ‘Is it Nicoletta?’
He jumped and scrambled desperately over the rocks towards the group. An officer turned and looked over at him. Brady didn’t recognise him. His face was illuminated a ghostly white from the helicopter beam above.
‘Is she alive?’ Brady called out hoarsely.
But his voice was lost.
Taken by the North Sea wind that had suddenly picked up and the thunderous helicopter blades.
He reached the group. Forced his way through, panting and gasping.
And then he saw her. Nicoletta, wrapped in a black bin liner, black duct tape sealing her mouth. Her body lay contorted, bones broken from the twenty foot fall.
‘Is she … is she?’ Brady began, trembling.
She wasn’t moving. Her ghostly illuminated, lifeless face was waxen.
He tried frantically to reach her but was pushed back by the paramedic team.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Brady got in his car and drove. Fast and hard. Speeding along the back roads from North Shields, following the Tyne River heading towards Newcastle quayside.
He was late.
He had just read the text that had been sent at 10:33am. It was now 11:03am.
He didn’t recognise the number and knew it would be an unregistered phone that would be dumped once used.
The message had simply said:
‘Tyne Bridge – 30 mins.’
Brady knew who it was from, which was why he was driving at breakneck speed.
He had tried calling the number. No answer. He had then texted ‘on way’ in the hope that they would wait.
He swung the car off City Road and down onto the quayside. He drove past Newcastle Court House and continued on towards the Tyne Bridge, pulled hard into Lombard Street and parked, wheels screeching as he did so.
He jumped out and looked around.
The place was starting to fill up. It was late on a Monday morning; Brady expected no less. He looked over at the screeching seagulls swooping down into the murky black waters of the Tyne.
He had reached his destination. Under the metallic, dark green curve of the Tyne Bridge right next to the red swing bridge.
No one. At least no one that he recognised.
He shakily got out his phone and checked. Nothing.
‘Fuck!’ he cursed as he dragged his hand back through his hair and scanned the car park in front of the swing bridge for any sign.
Then Brady heard the distinctive roar of a Ducati 848 sports bike as it raced down the quayside towards him.
He watched as the black Ducati and rider with matching black leathers and helmet pulled up in front of him.
For a moment Brady didn’t know what to do.
The rider sat upright and lifted his black tinted visor and looked at Brady.
‘What took you so long?’ he asked.
‘Tying up loose ends,’ answered Brady.
‘You’re lucky I came back. They’ll be looking for me now,’ stated Nick.
‘I know,’ answered Brady. ‘Your arm?’
Nick automatically looked down at his left arm.
‘Sorted,’ he answered simply.
‘Who?’ asked Brady, knowing full well that Nick couldn’t have gone to hospital without questions being asked.
‘You don’t want to know.’
All Brady could see was Nick’s blue eyes. Narrowed and dangerously dark.
He was on the run. Had to get out of the North East before they put a bullet through his head.
‘The Ambassador’s daughter?’ asked Nick.
‘She’s fine. They hadn’t touched her,’ answered Brady knowing full well that wasn’t the reason Nick had risked his neck to meet him.
‘What about—’
Brady cut in. ‘Found her minutes before the tide would have taken her out.’
‘Is she alive?’
Brady nodded.
‘She’s a mess. Broken bones, hypothermia, but thankfully she’ll live. She was there for over five and a half hours. If it hadn’t been a warm May night she would have …’ Brady faltered and shook his head.
They both knew that on any other night the cold, North East climes would have killed her. Or had her head hit one of rocks below on impact she would have been dead. Luck had been on her side. And Brady’s.
‘If they hadn’t been in such a rush to get away they would have made sure that she didn’t survive that drop. They must have quickly pushed her over the edge which was fortunate for her as it seems that she rolled down the cliff’s slope, landing up against the rocks below. They didn’t realise we would find her. Let alone alive. They no doubt thought that if the drop didn’t kill her, then the tide soon would.’
Nick sighed, relieved.
He then looked Brady in the eye.
‘I wish we could talk but …’ Nick turned his head to the overhead bridge towards the dull sound of morning traffic.
Brady knew he had to cross the bridge heading south. Putting as much distance between him and the North East as physically possible.
‘The Dabkunas brothers?’ asked Brady.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ answered Nick.
‘The Ambassador?’
‘Contracted me to find his daughter,’ Nick replied. ‘Unofficial of course.’
Brady waited.
‘A month back she was drugged and kidnapped from a nightclub in London. Held for ransom. No police involvement or she ends up dead. Small mercy given what the Brotherhood would have done to her first,’ stated Nick.
‘Why? For money?’ questioned Brady.
He knew from Conrad’s research into the Lithuanian Ambassador that he was a multi-millionaire.
Nick narrowed his eyes as he studied Brady.
‘You call yourself a copper, Jack?’
Brady looked puzzled.
‘The Dabkunas brothers and whoever it was that was controlling them wanted a piece of his container line.’
Brady remembered that Conrad had said he had an international cargo business. One now contracted to the North East shipping Polish goods in. But Brady now realised what kind of cargo the Dabkunas brothers had intended on shipping.
‘Skin traders?’ questioned Brady.
Nick didn’t answer. There was no need. His eyes said it all.
‘Mayor Macmillan?’ Brady asked, all too aware that he had gone into partnership with the Ambassador. ‘What’s his involvement?’
Nick shook his head. ‘I’ve done my job. Like you said, yours is to tie up the loose ends.’
He pulled out a brown package from his jacket.
‘This might help,’ he said, handing it over to Brady.
He then opened the throttle.
‘Be careful, this Brotherhood is more powerful than you know,’ he warned.
Brady didn’t need the warning. He had witnessed what they were capable of doing.
‘Tell Madley I didn’t mean to fuck him over. It was simply a means to an end.’
Brady nodded.
Nick stretched out his hand and touched Brady’s shoulder.
He in turn grabbed Nick’s arm and held it tight, not knowing when he’d see his brother again.
‘Nick?’ Brady said staring into his brother’s determined eyes.
‘No …’ answered Nick.
He then let go of Brady’s shoulder, pulled his visor down and revved the engine.
Brady stood back and watched as Nick sped off. No turning back.
He waited under
the bridge. Waited to hear the roar of the Ducati as it took the Tyne Bridge out of Newcastle.
Brady closed his eyes as he heard the sports bike disappear. Where Nick was going, Brady had no idea. Better that way, he thought.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Brady had tried his best to avoid people when he made his way to his office. The station was buzzing. It was Monday, late afternoon, and the news of Nicoletta being found in time had gotten round. She was currently in Rake Lane Hospital receiving medical attention. Much to everyone’s relief she hadn’t suffered any serious complications from her injuries. She had various broken bones, hypothermia, but nothing more. Shock seemed to be the main concern. But with time, and the right people helping her, Brady was certain she’d recover.
Claudia and her team were already working with Nicoletta. Trying to piece together the events that had led to her being sex trafficked by the Dabkunas brothers.
Macmillan’s boys, Visa and Delta, had both suffered fatal injuries. The only injuries Ronnie Macmillan had suffered were to his face after Brady had apprehended him.
At least, that’s what Brady had told Gates.
It was enough.
Nobody was going to question how much force it took to restrain him.
Rubenfeld had already been in touch. Brady had filled him in on the events. He had to keep him sweet. After all, he was one of his best snitches. And anyway, they had both agreed this was a huge coup for Northumbria Police.
The problem was Ronnie Macmillan had already told him he would never talk. And Brady believed him. He would go down with a damming sentence and still never utter one word in his defence or against his politician brother. No deal would be brokered for information. He would, out of family loyalty, serve without question whatever the courts threw at him. And given what they had, he’d be put away indefinitely.
Gates or O’Donnell weren’t overly concerned by Ronnie Macmillan’s silence. They were more than happy with the outcome. Brady and his team had intercepted a sex trafficking and slavery operation right under everyone’s noses. And then there was the Lithuanian Ambassador who only had the highest accolades for the Chief Superintendent’s force.
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