Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

‘Did he give you any names?’

Brady noticed he didn’t sound surprised.

Either Madley had already talked to Slaughter about Nick or … he was holding back on him.

Brady hoped it wasn’t the latter.

‘No … called them Lithuaks though.’

‘Means nothing,’ Madley replied.

Brady couldn’t ignore the fact that there was an edge to Madley’s voice.

‘Martin?’

‘What?’

‘You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?’

‘You’re a fucking copper, Jack! Or have you forgotten that? A copper whose brother has just tried to stitch me up.’

Brady kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t deny it.

‘Do you know how long that wanker Adamson questioned me for this morning? Two fucking hours! Two hours out of my life! If it hadn’t been for Rogers turning up, I reckon the wanker would have tried to nail the fucking copper’s attack on me!’

Madley was more than furious.

Brady knew he had to act fast and find Nick before he did.

‘Do you know how much that stunt cost me?’ Before Brady could answer, Madley told him. ‘Too fucking much!’

Brady knew Rogers was one of the best lawyers in the North East, which was why Madley employed him.

‘You find him, you hear? And you make him talk. Make him talk before I get my hands on him. Understand?’

‘Tell me something, who wants you out, Madley?’ asked Brady.

‘Why don’t you stick with what you do for a living and leave me to get on with what I do?’ Madley said quietly, with an air of threat.

‘It’s a little bit late for that, don’t you think, given one of ours is caught up in the middle of it?’ replied Brady.

He waited for a response.

Nothing.

‘Listen to me, Martin, Adamson won’t let this go. Paulie reckons you’ve got competition, that someone’s leaning on you. If that’s the case do you want Adamson sticking you with a copper’s brutal mutilation? Because I promise you, that’s exactly what’s going to happen unless you talk to me.’

Brady listened as the line went dead.

Madley’s silence said it all. The problem was, he wasn’t going to make it easy for Brady. He’d have to do some work to find out exactly who wanted Madley out, and why.

He dragged his hand back through his hair, catching his reflection in the rear view mirror. He looked like he’d had the crap beaten out of him. Which he had.

Then something caught his eye. Something on the back seat.

It was a black bin liner.

Brady quickly spun round.

He suddenly realised that there was something wrong. There was a heavy, foul smell in the air. He had initially thought it was coming from outside the car. He now realised it was coming from the black bin liner behind him.

Chapter Nineteen

He yanked open the door and retched. The contents in the black bin liner gave him no choice.

His stomach kept heaving, even though there was nothing there to force out. Once he was certain that he wasn’t going to retch again, he shut the car door.

He had to get his head together. He needed to make a call. At the end of the day he was still a copper. He had no choice but to call in the SOCOs. It was a crime scene. There was a victim. And if Nick was involved … Well, he’d deal with that later.

He should have parked the car where he could see it. Not that he would have ever expected someone to break into his car and leave behind a black bin liner filled with human remains.

Picking up his phone he saw he had two missed calls. One from Conrad and one from Claudia.

He scrolled through his phone until he found the number he needed. He pressed call and waited. He needed to talk to the head SOCO.

‘Ainsworth? It’s Jack.’

‘This has to be serious for you to be calling me,’ Ainsworth replied.

Brady steeled himself.

‘It is …’

‘Spit it out then, lad. I haven’t got all day!’

‘Evidence was left in my car.’

‘What evidence?’ questioned Ainsworth.

‘A black bin liner containing what I believe to be the murder victim’s head and … a note …’

‘Bloody hell!’ spluttered Ainsworth.

‘Ainsworth? Can we keep this between me and you for now? Just until I can figure out what’s going on?’

‘I’ll tell you what’s going on, lad, someone’s fucking with you. And that someone is serious.’

‘Tell me something new,’ muttered Brady as he looked up at the dark, overcast sky.

‘Right, where the bloody hell is your car?’ demanded Ainsworth.

‘At St Mary’s Lighthouse,’ answered Brady.

‘What the fuck are you doing there?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ answered Brady.

‘Aye, knowing you, Jack, you’ll be right about that. Alright, we’ll be there soon.’

‘Thanks.’ Brady hung up then scrolled down his phonebook and found Wolfe’s number. He pressed call.

‘What’s your problem?’ answered Wolfe.

‘The head’s turned up,’ answered Brady.

‘That was bloody quick work, laddie,’ answered Wolfe. ‘Where was it?’ he questioned, realising from Brady’s silence that he was being serious.

‘In my car,’ replied Brady.

‘Oh shit,’ wheezed Wolfe.

Brady sighed heavily. ‘Are you still at the morgue?’

‘Where else would I be?’

‘The pub?’ replied Brady.

‘Aye, but not in the middle of the afternoon, Jack.’

‘Ainsworth will have it sent over as soon as he’s finished,’ Brady replied before disconnecting the call.

He got out the car, slamming the door shut. He resisted the urge to start kicking it. Pounding it with all the pent-up fury he felt towards his brother. He wanted to destroy it. Destroy everything and anything that connected Brady to Nick.

The car had been bought as a project, one that he and Nick had worked on. Nick had a gift. He had always been able to fix things ever since he was a young child. He had a knack of making something out of nothing, which was exactly what he had done with the car. It had been a shell when they had bought it ten years ago, but Nick had spent months working on it on the odd weekends, patiently rebuilding it to beyond its former glory.

That was before Nick’s work started to get in the way and he moved to London permanently. He had said it was for more lucrative jobs, but Brady knew better. He was basically keeping out of Brady’s way. The last thing Nick wanted was for his choice of profession to sabotage Brady’s career as a copper. Or for his brother to be the one to nick him, should it come to that. Brady knew exactly what Nick did for a living; but he never asked questions. Nick hired himself out as a bodyguard; at least that’s what he had told Brady. At 6´3?, muscle-bound but lithe, with intelligent, calculating green eyes and cropped dark blonde hair, and a thick, three-inch scar down his left cheek, he was never short of work. Or money.

The loyalty between them was unquestionable. Brady had always made sure that he took his father’s sadistic and drunken beatings instead of Nick. He had protected Nick at all costs, even to the detriment of his mother’s life. If it hadn’t been for Nick, Brady would never have left his mother to die at his father’s hands. But instead he had done as his mother had begged, taken his younger brother and hidden him from his father’s murderous rage.

And Nick had been worth protecting.

So why would Nick, his own brother, turn on him? Let alone get involved in something so sick, so wrong?

Brady stared at the car, his watering eyes burning with pain as he fought the tumult of emotions that were threatening to break him. He wanted to get a can of petrol and throw it over the car and torch it in a bid to exorcise himself of the agonising betrayal he felt. But he couldn’t. It was part of a crime scene. One that involved him in too many ways.