Vanishing Point ijb-2

by Danielle Ramsay

  Brady walked out of Gates’ office and straight into Amelia Jenkins.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ he apologised.

  ‘We need to talk,’ suggested Amelia.

  ‘Look, I wish I could but I’m really busy,’ replied Brady.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

  He could see from her expression that Amelia wasn’t buying it. He dropped his gaze, finding himself staring uncomfortably at the ground.

  Dr Amelia Jenkins had a way of getting to him. She had a knack of looking too deeply into his eyes and searching for the truth. That was partly why he had never looked directly at her when they had had their shrink sessions a year ago. And at this precise moment the last person he wanted knowing that he was vulnerable – dangerously so – was Amelia. He had too much to lose. The last thing he wanted was to unravel in front of her; he needed to keep his wits about him. Especially after the emergency call he had heard. He was certain he recognised the voice. That alone was enough to send him over the edge.

  ‘I understand that. But given the circumstances, I thought you might want to off-load?’ Amelia ventured gently.

  It had been six months since he had last talked to her. Then she had been assigned by DCI Gates to work with him on the murder investigation of a local fifteen-year-old girl.

  Brady didn’t respond.

  ‘Jack? Listen, I know what happened between you and DC Henderson. Remember the counselling sessions we had after you had been shot?’

  Brady slowly raised his head and looked at her. Of course he remembered the sessions. That was the very reason he didn’t want to talk to her now.

  Before he knew it he was looking into her almond-shaped dark brown eyes. They were filled with genuine concern.

  Brady’s problem was he didn’t like to talk. Especially about personal matters. Whatever he was feeling about the fact his ex-colleague was lying mutilated in Rake Lane Hospital was personal. Which meant it was off-limits. Way off-limits. He had his own way of dealing with his feelings.

  His reply was straight to the point.

  ‘Amelia, I’m sorry. I just can’t …’ he muttered.

  He turned and started to walk down the corridor.

  ‘Jack? Please?’ she called out, regardless of the two officers walking down the corridor towards her. He gave no sign he had even heard her. Amelia sighed heavily and quickly walked after him, her heels clicking irritably against the wooden floor.

  ‘Jack?’ she called again as she caught up with him.

  Brady continued walking. He had somewhere to go and the last thing he needed was any distractions.

  She grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn and face her.

  He looked at her and waited.

  ‘Look, I know this must be really hard for you. Alright? I’m here if you need me, that’s all. I … I want to help …’

  Brady looked at her. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of help she was offering. And more worryingly, he didn’t know whether DCI Gates had put her up to this to get the ammunition he needed to get Brady signed off as unfit for work because of personal reasons.

  ‘Look, I really appreciate your concern, But I’m alright. I’ve just got a lot to deal with right now. I’m sure you heard about the murder victim found washed up on Whitley Bay beach this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I heard,’ answered Amelia as she searched his face. ‘Actually, I asked DCI Gates if I could be assigned to your case. Given what I know, it sounds like you could do with some help profiling the victim’s murderer.’

  Brady looked at her, surprised. Then he swiftly composed himself, unsure of what game was being played.

  ‘Thanks,’ he replied. ‘But if I’m honest I’d rather you were working with Adamson. They need your kind of expertise to find whoever has done this to Simone. But I appreciate the offer.’

  Before Amelia had a chance to answer he walked away.

  He hated himself for the reaction his words had elicited. For a brief moment she had looked hurt. Then she had composed herself and nodded coolly with an air of professional detachment. A look that he recognised from his time with her as his shrink.

  * * *

  Brady slammed his office door shut and walked over to his desk. He was angry with himself. Angry that he had shut Amelia out. He’d already done that once before when the investigation they had worked on together had ended. He had promised her a drink with the rest of the team and found himself bailing. Unable to let anyone get close; especially someone like her. So he had left when she had turned up. He knew that she wouldn’t wait around for him to sort his act out. Why would she? Amelia had everything going for her. She was only in her early thirties, with a career that was going somewhere – and fast. Add to that, that she had that fatal combination of intelligence and uniqueness about her.

  He sighed heavily as he sat down at his desk. He had to focus. He didn’t have the time or luxury to wonder about what ifs where Amelia was concerned. His life was already too complicated.

  He needed to make a call.

  ‘It’s me,’ Brady said.

  ‘I’ve been expecting a call.’ The voice was controlled, with an air of menace.

  ‘We need to talk,’ stated Brady.

  ‘Usual place?’

  ‘Yeah, give me a couple of hours or so. There’s a few matters I need to sort out first.’

  Brady hung up.

  He needed questions answering about what exactly had happened in the Blue Lagoon last night and there was only one person who could tell him.

  His phone began to buzz. He looked down at it.

  Matthews.

  ‘Damn!’ he cursed. This was the last thing he needed. ‘What? Haven’t I already said I’m not interested?’ Brady answered, his voice heavy with a guttural Geordie inflection.

  ‘Jack? Come on, pal. This is ridiculous. What can I say to convince you that I just got caught up? And before I realised it, I was way in over my head. Don’t you think I wish I could change what’s happened? For fuck’s sake, my life is hell in here.’

  ‘Yeah? My heart bleeds,’ answered Brady.

  ‘Fuck you! Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? I’ve lost everything … My wife, my daughter and … and my career.’

  ‘You lost your career as a copper the day you started taking backhanders, Jimmy.’

  ‘Come on, Jack. It’s not that simple and you know it,’ replied Matthews.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t start getting all moral with me. There’s a few things in here I’ve found out about you. Information that I’m sure the DSI would be interested in hearing.’

  ‘Yeah?’ questioned Brady, trying to sound calm despite feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

  ‘Don’t mess with me,’ snapped Matthews. ‘You know exactly what and who I’m talking about!’

  ‘Like what?’ he pushed, not wanting to hear it but knowing he had no choice.

  ‘It concerns your old man. Let’s say he’s been saying some things that concern you and Madley.’

  Brady slowly breathed in as he tried to figure out what the hell to do. He knew what Matthews was referring to and the last thing he wanted was Gates finding out. If he did, then it wouldn’t be the streets of Blyth he’d be working – he’d be banged up alongside Jimmy Matthews. Let alone if Adamson got wind of it. He didn’t like Adamson and he definitely didn’t trust him. Brady needed to make sure that his tracks were covered. Out of desperation he had asked Madley to help him out. He’d needed a problem from his past to disappear; for good. And it had. Whether Madley had sorted it, or it was coincidence, Brady had never asked. He was just relieved that the shabby old drunk claiming to be his old man had been taken care of, no questions asked.

  ‘Alright, I’ll come visit. But I can’t say exactly when,’ replied Brady, trying his best to keep the panic out of his voice. ‘All hell’s broken loose here. We’ve got two major investigations running concurrently.’<
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  ‘I know,’ interrupted Matthews. ‘Another reason why I need to talk to you.’

  ‘How the hell do you know?’

  ‘You shouldn’t concern yourself with that, Jack. You should be more concerned with how quickly you can get here. And when you come, bring me 200 grams of Golden Virginia.’

  ‘You don’t smoke,’ stated Brady.

  ‘I do now,’ replied Matthews with an edge of desperation.

  Brady wasn’t sure whether Matthews wanted the tobacco for himself or as a trade with other inmates to keep himself in one piece. But that wasn’t his concern. Matthews had brought whatever hell he was living in on himself.

  ‘Come on, Jimmy, how am I meant to bring that through?’ asked Brady.

  ‘You’ll figure it out. Call it payment.’

  ‘You shit,’ muttered Brady.

  ‘Yeah? We’re the same you and I, Jack. Don’t forget it.’

  Before Brady had a chance to respond the line had gone dead.

  ‘Damn it!’ he cursed as he looked up and stared up at the dusty grey slats of daylight stabbing through the off-white Venetian blinds.

  He was wondering whether Matthews was bluffing or whether he actually had some information on the two investigations. Whatever it was, Brady had no choice but to make a visit. After all, Matthews had him firmly by the balls. Whatever he was holding over him regarding his old man could be enough to destroy him once and for all.

  Brady breathed out.

  A loud rap on the door broke him from his thoughts.

  ‘Yeah?’

  The door swung open and Conrad walked in carrying a black coffee and a bacon stottie from the basement canteen.

  ‘Thought you might need some breakfast, sir.’

  ‘Thanks, Conrad,’ replied Brady, though he knew he wouldn’t be capable of keeping anything down right now.

  Conrad carefully cleared a space on Brady’s cluttered desk. He then looked at his boss trying to gauge his mood.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir …’ he began uncomfortably.

  Brady stopped him.

  ‘You tried to tell me. I should have listened, Conrad. I’m the one who should be apologising.’

  Conrad mutely nodded, relieved.

  Brady picked up his coffee and took a slow, deliberate drink.

  ‘Sir, Wolfe is carrying out the victim’s autopsy now,’ Conrad offered, filling in the awkward silence.

  ‘Is Adamson still questioning the barman from the Blue Lagoon?’ Brady asked, ignoring what Conrad had said.

  He needed to talk to the barman about the two men who had left with Simone. The two men Brady had seen drinking with her.

  ‘Sir?’ Conrad questioned.

  ‘Simple question, Harry. Yes or no?’ demanded Brady agitatedly.

  ‘No, sir. I saw Amelia a minute ago and she said that Adamson had let him go. They’ve got a photofit of the two men which helps, given how blurred the images of them are on the nightclub’s surveillance tape.’

  ‘Has Adamson sent it over to Jed to get him to digitally enhance the security tape images?’ Brady asked.

  Jed was the force’s computer forensic analyst. And he was the best, if not the only, one in the field. A shrinking budget now saw Jed overloaded with too many cases. But given the seriousness of the crime against one of their own, Brady was certain that Jed would prioritise this job.

  ‘As far as I am aware, sir,’ Conrad replied, uneasy with Brady’s line of questioning. They had their own murder investigation to be working on rather than obsessing about Adamson’s.

  Brady nodded, relieved. Jed would send him a copy of the enhanced images, he was certain of that. ‘If Adamson finds the emergency caller on CCTV footage, I want to know. Understand?’

  ‘How, sir? Adamson won’t let me anywhere near the investigation,’ Conrad pointed out.

  ‘Amelia,’ stated Brady simply. ‘She’s on Adamson’s team. You’re good friends: I’m sure she’ll keep you updated.’

  Conrad wasn’t convinced, but he let it go. It was pointless arguing with Brady. More so given Brady’s personal attachment to the case; it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to persuade him otherwise. Conrad decided to keep quiet. It would be dangerous to tell his boss to let Adamson just get on with the case instead of Brady torturing himself with updates related to Henderson’s attack.

  ‘I reckon we should keep Kenny and Daniels out of trouble by getting them to go over every bit of CCTV footage caught last night down on the Promenade and the surrounding streets.’

  ‘Won’t Adamson think that we’re interfering in his case?’ suggested Conrad.

  ‘Can’t see how. Not when we’re working on finding anything we can connect to our murder victim being dumped on the beach directly opposite the Blue Lagoon. Do you?’

  ‘But wasn’t she washed up? Dumped at sea?’

  ‘Says who? As far as I’m concerned I need Daniels and Kenny looking at that CCTV footage for any unusual activity.’

  Brady’s mind was on the anonymous 999 caller. He desperately needed to know if the man had been caught on CCTV footage. Only then would he know if his fear about the caller’s identity was true.

  ‘Sir?’ Conrad said tentatively. ‘Tell me this isn’t connected to Simone Henderson. Because we’ve already got our hands full with our own investigation.’

  He had been worried that this would happen. That as soon as his boss heard about what had happened to Simone Henderson that he would go all out to apprehend whoever had done this to her. Regardless of the consequences.

  Brady looked at Conrad’s worried expression.

  ‘No, like I said, I want to cover all possibilities with our case,’ calmly reassured Brady. ‘Now we’ve got that sorted, get your jacket. We need to be somewhere, which means rescheduling the briefing for 2pm.’

  Conrad didn’t move.

  ‘Come on, Conrad. We haven’t got all day,’ stated Brady as he stood up.

  ‘Sir? I’m sorry … about Simone.’

  Brady nodded.

  ‘I know you are,’ he answered. ‘So am I.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Left here.’ The sudden instruction from Brady came halfway through a conversation on his BlackBerry. ‘No, not you!’ His attention returned to the person on the other end of the line. ‘I’m talking to Conrad. Listen, I’ll call you later. Alright?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jack!’ replied Rubenfeld. ‘This won’t wait.’

  ‘That’s the same line you’ve been threatening me for years. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you and then we’ll meet? Call you later,’ concluded Brady, not giving the hardened hack a chance to argue.

  ‘I said left,’ repeated Brady, relighting his cigarette.

  ‘Sir?’ Conrad asked as he turned to Brady.

  ‘What?’ asked Brady as he dragged on his cigarette.

  ‘Do you think this is a good idea?’

  ‘It is if I want to find out what’s happened to our murder victim.’

  ‘As long as you remember that’s why we’re here, sir,’ warned Conrad as he pulled into Rake Lane Hospital.

  ‘Drop me off at the emergency entrance. Then meet me at the morgue,’ Brady instructed, ignoring Conrad’s comment.

  Conrad didn’t reply.

  Instead, his steel-grey eyes looked straight ahead as he did as he was told and parked by the emergency entrance. His strong jaw remained firmly set as he watched Brady get out, throwing what was left of his cigarette butt to the ground.

  Conrad noticed that the ground was covered in cigarette butts. Smoked by either patients driven to distraction by their prognosis, or their equally worried relatives.

  He watched Brady stride towards the entrance. He knew exactly where he was heading. And that was straight for trouble. He didn’t trust Brady to let it go. He decided to park the car and then follow him. The problem was, he knew exactly where he would go – and it wouldn’t be the morgue.

  Without looking back at Conrad or the car, Brady made his way
through the addicts who were standing, regardless of the smoking ban now in place on the hospital grounds, shivering in dressing gowns and slippers, with tubes attached to their arms and portable oxygen tanks or morphine drips.

  Desperate wasn’t the word.

  Brady walked straight over to the reception desk and flashed his ID badge at the receptionist.

  ‘Here to see Simone Henderson,’ Brady said.

  The receptionist nodded at Brady before keying the name into the hospital’s database.

  ‘ICU, Ward 7, Room 2,’ she replied when she found her.

  Grateful, Brady nodded.

  Before he turned away the receptionist stopped him.

  She conspiratorially bent forward.

  ‘I think you should know that two men were in first thing this morning asking if they could see her. I thought it was suspicious at the time since she’s under police protection and they obviously weren’t officers.’

  ‘What did they look like? The two men?’ Brady asked.

  ‘Maybe late twenties, early thirties? Dark, good-looking. Well-built. And they had a funny accent like they were foreign. Definitely not from around here.’

  Brady accepted that anyone who didn’t have a Geordie accent was seen as being foreign in North Tyneside.

  ‘I thought they were lawyers or something … you know? Both wearing suits. Expensive-looking. Looked like they had money.’

  He nodded, thinking back to the two men he had seen talking to Simone in the Blue Lagoon. They could easily have fitted the receptionist’s description. But as for their accent, Brady didn’t get close enough to hear whether they were locals, or to clearly see their features.

  ‘Was there anything about them that stood out? Something they said, maybe? Or even a distinguishing mark?’

  ‘There was something that struck me as odd …’

  Brady nodded for her to elaborate.

  ‘One of them had a large platinum signet ring on the third finger of his right hand.’

  ‘Why did that strike you as odd?’ quizzed Brady.

  ‘Because when they turned to leave I realised that they were both wearing them. One of them had his hand in his pocket you see. Then his phone rang. And when he took it out I saw that he was wearing an identical ring. And on the same finger.’