Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

‘Because if your shipping line is strictly legal, why walk around with half the Lithuanian military watching your back?’

Brady didn’t reply. The answer was obvious.

‘You want proof, Jack?’ questioned Rubenfeld. ‘Go see for yourself. The Ambassador is guest of honour at a big, swanky dinner hosted by Macmillan tonight at the Grand Hotel. Press are going to be there because from what my source has said, they’re going to launch this new business partnership linking Eastern Europe and the North East of England. Then you’ll see what I mean. Bloody Lithuanian military will be crawling all over the place.’

Brady didn’t say a word.

‘Question is why, Jack?’ Rubenfeld said as he looked him in the eye.

‘What’s this Ambassador’s name?’ asked Brady.

‘Nykantas Vydunas,’ answered Rubenfeld. ‘And from what my source has told me, he has two very dangerous Lithuanian ex-military men involved with him.’

‘Go on.’

‘The Dabkunas brothers. Evil bastards, they are … but no matter what I do, I can’t get anything on them. All you hear is rumours and anecdotal crap. Nothing substantial. At least nothing that I could put into print. And let’s just say that the Dabkunas brothers aren’t interested in providing an armed guard to a container full of pickled cabbage.’

‘Can I talk to your source – off the record, obviously?’ asked Brady.

He needed to get more information on the Dabkunas brothers. And Rubenfeld’s source seemed to know a hell of lot more than Brady or his team could lay their hands on.

Rubenfeld looked Brady straight in the eye. It was a cold, hard look.

‘You look after your affairs and I look after mine. You haven’t talked to me. Understand? I hear things … and that’s the way I want to keep it. I don’t want your lot fishing me out of the Tyne.’

Brady looked at Rubenfeld. If he wasn’t mistaken, despite his hard appearance, the hack looked worried for his personal safety.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Brady looked up at his office door as Conrad walked in.

They’d been back for under an hour and by Brady’s reckoning, Conrad was due at the press call in less than thirty minutes.

‘Have something here that might interest you, sir,’ said Conrad as he walked over to his desk.

Brady felt his stomach knot as Conrad laid his laptop down and opened it up in front of him. He did his best to hide it.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for the press call?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but I thought you’d want to see this first,’ Conrad said as he pointed at the freeze-framed image that he had brought up on the screen. ‘This is the best Jed could do, but I think you can see their faces clearly enough to be able to release them to the public.’

‘Let’s see,’ replied Brady as he took Conrad’s laptop.

He hoped to God he wasn’t going to see Nick’s face caught on there.

He looked at the image on the screen. It had been taken from the airport CCTV footage at midday on Thursday. Two Eastern European-looking men, identical to those who had been at Rake Lane Hospital, were captured in grainy but inevitable realism, walking with a young girl between them. There was no mistaking it, thought Brady. This was the victim: Melissa Ryecroft.

‘Good work, Conrad,’ Brady said.

‘That’s not all, sir,’ Conrad said. ‘We got an image of the victim getting in their car.’

Brady held his breath as he moved on to the next image. He was hoping against all the odds that he wouldn’t see a grainy shot of Nick caught on Newcastle Airport’s surveillance tape. The last thing he wanted was a picture of his brother plastered across local and national papers and the news.

‘See? It’s clear that it’s Melissa Ryecroft getting into the back of the black Mercedes while one of the men holds the door open for her. Next shot shows both men getting in on either side of her in the back. And then the final one of the car pulling away. Jed has tried his best to get a better shot of the driver but this is as good as it gets,’ explained Conrad as he moved the digitally enhanced, freeze-framed images on until he came to the last one.

Brady clenched his fist under his desk while he tried to look as casual as possible.

If he believed in God, he realised now would be a good time to pray.

The problem was, he didn’t.

He watched as the image on the computer screen jumped to show a blurred shot of the driver.

Brady sighed. Relief.

Conrad interpreted it as disappointment.

‘It was the best shot we could get of him, sir. All that we can make out from his side profile is what looks to be a scar down his left cheek,’ Conrad said as he pointed to the gnarled line inflicted on the driver’s face.

‘You could be right,’ replied Brady. ‘But like you said, it’s hard to make anything out with this shot. Pity it’s so blurred.’

Conrad looked at Brady, frowning slightly.

‘Couldn’t we release it using the scar as an identifiable trait, sir?’ asked Conrad.

‘If it is a scar,’ replied Brady. ‘It’s such a poor image, I’d hate to commit myself to something that I’m not 100 percent sure about.’

Brady studied the freeze-framed image. There was no doubting it. The face on the digitally enhanced picture was definitely that of his brother, Nick. He was equally certain that the other two men had to be the Dabkunas brothers, Marijuis and Mykolas.

‘Alright, release the images we have of these two. But discount the one of the driver,’ ordered Brady.

‘Yes, sir,’ answered Conrad, surprised.

Brady made a point of ignoring Conrad’s questioning tone.

Conrad realised he had overstepped the mark by tacitly questioning his superior’s decision. ‘What do you think, sir?’ he asked, attempting to fill in the awkward silence. ‘That one of them is this Marijuis boyfriend that Melissa Ryecroft was seeing?’

He changed the screen to a close-up image of the two men getting in the car. ‘They fit the profile of looking Eastern European, don’t you think?’

Brady didn’t say a word. At this point he wasn’t prepared to share what he knew about the Dabkunas brothers or the Lithuanian Ambassador for fear of endangering Nick.

Conrad turned and gave him a quizzical look.

Brady shrugged.

‘You could be right. But I think we need a bit more proof than assuming they’re Eastern European just because they’re dark, don’t you?’ questioned Brady.

‘Yes, sir,’ dutifully answered Conrad.

‘Look, Conrad, I have to make a call so why don’t you get prepared for the press call? Gates will want those images to be released as well so make sure they’re ready.’

‘Jimmy?’ greeted Brady when Matthews answered.

‘Tell me you’re stood in the visiting room with 200 grams of baccy on you,’ said Matthews.

‘Look … Jimmy, I can’t make it. Too much shit flying around here for me to get over Durham way,’ explained Brady.

‘You’re fucking having a laugh!’ hissed Matthews.

‘Jimmy, you have no idea. Believe me. I’m up against it with this murder investigation. I have Gates wanting to nail my testicles to the wall, followed by bloody Adamson.’

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.