Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

‘What did you do?’ questioned Conrad.

‘What do you think?’

Conrad shook his head.

‘I walked out … I walked out and left her there. With them. The two suits who were stood there just now watching us,’ Brady said. ‘Wait here,’ he instructed as he got out the car. ‘And call back-up if I don’t come back out in five minutes.’

Without waiting for a response he slammed the door and crossed the road over to the club.

Before he got to the door it was thrown open.

Davy the hired muscle was in his face.

‘Fuck off, pal,’ shouted the bouncer as he shoved Brady in the chest.

Brady pushed back hard, throwing him against the door.

‘Where are they?’ he bellowed. ‘Where the hell are they?’

‘Don’t fucking push me, pal. Or you’ll lose that pretty face of yours!’ Davy threatened.

‘The two men. The suits. Where are they?’ repeated Brady as he tried to force his way past him.

‘I mean it, pal, fuck off if you know what’s good for you!’ snarled the hired muscle.

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.’