Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

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.

‘Thank God!’ muttered Brady.

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.