Vanishing Point (31 page)
Authors: Danielle Ramsay
‘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.
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.
‘You know what, Jimmy? Right now I’ve got better things to be doing than listen to you threaten me,’ stated Brady.
He was running out of time.
It was 4:45pm and he had two appointments that he needed to keep.
The first was with Madley. Not that Madley knew they had an appointment.
The second place he had to be was at the Grand Hotel. He wanted to be parked up, watching the guests arrive for the dinner that Claudia and her professional partner and boyfriend were attending, along with half the dignitaries from across the North East. But it was the Lithuanian Ambassador that Brady was interested in. And the Dabkunas brothers.
Brady knew he had no choice but to go alone. Nick was a good enough incentive not to involve anyone – including Conrad.
Matthews’ snarling voice brought him back to the present. ‘Yeah? Well, what if I say that Ronnie Macmillan’s been trying to dig up some shit on you and Madley. Interested now?’
Brady held his breath.
‘Got time to talk to me now, have you?’ asked Matthews.
‘Go on,’ said Brady.
‘I want out, Jack,’ Matthews said.
‘That’s impossible,’ replied Brady.
‘Look, either I talk to you or I talk to Adamson. I don’t give a shit any more. My loyalty is to myself now.’
‘Wasn’t that why you ended up inside?’ pointed out Brady.
‘You’re a bastard, Jack!’
‘Takes one to know one,’ answered Brady.
He was too tired for all this shit. His head ached as much as his leg hurt. He needed some painkillers to ease the dull throb in his ribs and swollen face that reminded him that he had spent the past two days chasing ghosts.
‘What exactly do you think I can do?’ asked Brady.
‘Claudia,’ answered Matthews simply. ‘She’s a fuck-off lawyer and she now works for the Home Office. Get her to represent me for free. Get her to strike a deal with the Home Office to release me early in exchange for crucial information concerning Macmillan and the copper who got knifed.’
‘Come on, Jimmy,’ Brady said. ‘You’re asking the impossible.’
‘Then I hang up and I talk to Adamson and I throw in the part about you getting Madley to set your old man up for murder.’
Brady felt as if Matthews had just punched him in the guts. He thought for a moment he was going to throw up.
He breathed out slowly, trying to steady himself.
He couldn’t think straight. None of it made sense. Admittedly he had asked Madley to make his dad disappear. He had no choice at the time. But he knew Madley wouldn’t have murdered another man in the process. Not that Brady hadn’t silently questioned whether Madley had had a hand in it. But as soon as he thought it he discounted it. Madley had done some dark shit, but he wouldn’t take another man’s life for no reason.
‘Yeah? Truth hurts, doesn’t it?’ Matthews snapped when Brady didn’t respond.
Brady was trying to figure out exactly how Matthews had managed to talk to his old man. Then again, he accepted, Matthews was banged up in a secure wing with the old bastard.
‘You forget, Jack. We’re the same, you and I,’ he added.
‘Fuck you!’ replied Brady.
‘What? Is that a guilty conscience that I hear?’ goaded Matthews.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do. But I’ll remind you anyway. I’m talking about the homeless man, the sixty-three year old who was found dead by the library in North Shields. The man who had petrol doused over him and then was set alight. He burnt to death. All for a bottle of cheap Scotch. At least that’s the evidence that was planted on your old man when he was asleep between two garbage bins in the back lane of Nile Street.’
‘He did it,’ answered Brady, his expression darkening.
Matthews didn’t need to see Brady’s face to know that he had crossed the line. He could hear it in Brady’s voice.
‘The CCTV footage in Shields clearly shows him arguing with the homeless man over a bottle of liquor,’ stated Brady. ‘He clears off after being landed with a couple of punches and comes back a couple of hours later with petrol that he’s siphoned off a car. Footage shows him pouring it over the other man’s head and body as he lay sleeping and then setting fire to him.’
‘Yeah? But it was all a set-up. Your old man, with the help of Ronnie Macmillan, is going to prove that the man who goes back and cold-bloodedly murders the tramp wasn’t him. That he got plied with drink. Bought by two of Madley’s men. And when he fell asleep drunk, his clothes were removed. Then one of Madley’s men puts his clothes on and, impersonating him, sets the tramp alight. They then put the clothes which are covered in petrol splashes back on your old man and leave the bottle of Scotch clutched in his hands and the matches and petrol container beside him.’
‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ questioned Brady, trying to sound calm despite the fact his heart was racing so fast he thought it would explode.
Maybe it was the guilt he was feeling for asking Madley to sort the old bastard out once and for all. Maybe that was why he was sweating? His old man had spent twenty years inside for the brutal rape and murder of his mother. It should have been a minimum of thirty, but then some parole board decided to release him on good behaviour. Times had changed though. Nowadays a life sentence was seven years. Brady realised he should have been thankful that his old man had spent so long inside. But in his mind, the old bastard should have spent the rest of his life banged up.
‘Who the fuck in their right mind would torch someone alive and leave the evidence on them?’ questioned Matthews.
‘He’s a fucking drunk, Jimmy. I don’t give a shit who he tells that story to because no one would believe him. Have you forgotten that he’s already served time for murder?’
Brady steadied himself. He knew that his old man was capable of cold-blooded murder. Had already proved that once before. So why not this time? And anyway, he reasoned, his father had been tried and convicted by a jury. If there was a shadow of a doubt, surely his defence lawyer would have exploited it.
Matthews had nothing on him or Madley.
Matthews spoke again. ‘I know you got Madley to arrange it.’
‘Do you?’ asked Brady, a hard edge to his voice.
‘I’ve got better things to do with my time, Jimmy, than listen to your crap!’
‘Wait!’ shouted Matthews with an edge of desperation.
‘Give me one good reason why,’ demanded Brady.
‘Because I’ve heard something that might interest you.’
‘Like what?’ Brady asked, feeling nothing but disgust for Matthews.
‘Alright, your old man wants to settle a score with you and Madley. Convinced himself you set him up. But he’s not the only one. Two of Macmillan’s henchmen showed up about a week ago. Visa and bloody Delta they’re called. Reckon their names are something to do with them being Macmillan’s debt collectors,’ Matthews stated.
‘His men, Visa and Delta, where are they from?’ asked Brady.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just tell me, Jimmy!’
‘From their accents I’d say London. Why?’
Brady ignored his question and moved on.
‘And they wanted to talk to you?’ Brady was starting to get a real bad feeling about what Matthews was going to say next.
‘Who the fuck do you think? Nelson fucking Mandela? Of course me!’
