Blind Alley

by Danielle Ramsay

  Brady had managed to talk to Wolfe, the Home Office Pathologist, after he had made his statement. The autopsy on Davidson had unsurprisingly been prioritised. Wolfe had been able to confirm that Davidson was still alive when he had been locked in the boot of the car. That he was still alive even after the car had plummeted over the cliffs to the sea and rocks below. That he had died a painful and excruciating death, slowly drowning, trapped in a small, dark, enclosed space. Bound so tight he couldn’t move, let alone get free, watching as water slowly started to fill up around him. Worse still, he would have died knowing that whoever had done this to him had Claudia. That he had not been able to save her. That as he lay there, fighting against inevitable death, Claudia could be suffering a similar fate.

  Brady fought the compulsion to get a bottle of whisky and blot it all out. Anything was better than this tortured, manic state. But he’d been there once before when Claudia first left him. Six months on the sick with a crippled leg, a lapful of divorce papers and a bottle of whisky permanently in his hand. Life had been a dark, miserable existence then, but at least he had been so drunk he didn’t remember most of it. It was tempting. So very tempting.

  No! Don’t go there. Not again. He sat there repeating the words over and over in his mind.

  At 9:58 p.m. his mobile rang. Brady was still on the floor beneath the window. He pulled himself together and scrambled along the polished wooden floorboards for the phone. Grabbing it, he looked at the caller – unknown.

  ‘Brady,’ he answered, trying to sound calm. He was anything but.

  ‘Drive down to the end of Davy Bank towards the Tyne. You’re looking for an empty warehouse. You can’t miss it. Twelve thirty a.m.’

  ‘What do I bring?’

  ‘Yourself. Anyone else and she’s dead. Understand?’

  ‘Is she all right? Can I talk to her?’ Brady asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  ‘Nick. You tell us where he is. Then we let her go.’

  Before Brady could ask anything else the line went dead.

  He sat there, not moving as he absorbed what had just been said. The caller’s accent wasn’t local, he was from the South. Brady automatically thought of Johnny Slaughter and then he remembered Weasel Face – Madley’s hired gun. He was from the East End of London.

  Was it him? I don’t know . . . I don’t fucking know.

  Brady tried to calm himself down. He had to focus. He was meeting them at 12:30 a.m. He knew the location; Davy Bank was in Wallsend. The road led down towards the Tyne River. It was filled with warehouses, workshops and factories. Most of them in disuse now. In other words the ideal place to do an illegal trade. Brady’s life for Claudia. Brady was only worth keeping alive until they got the information they wanted on Nick. He was under no illusion. They would put a bullet through his head as soon as he talked. Brady accepted that. He had no choice. But he would make sure that Claudia was released before he said a word.

  Brady thought about calling Gates. But as soon as he did he discounted it. If he passed on this information to his superiors he knew the chances of being allowed anywhere near the kidnappers would be nil. They would hand the situation over to a hostage negotiator and an Armed Response Team. The outcome? Claudia would end up dead. The kidnappers would shoot her as soon as the police showed up instead of Brady. He had no other option than to follow her abductors’ instructions and not report it. Not that he saw it as a problem. He had been suspended from duty so at this precise moment he was a civilian.

  Then he thought about calling Madley. He knew he could help him. Madley had the kind of back-up that Brady needed – ruthless. But something in him warned him against turning to his old childhood friend. Too much had happened in the course of the past few days. He didn’t trust Madley any more. He had no idea whose side Madley was on. Brady realised Madley was on Madley’s side, always had been. Thoughts of Jake Munroe and what he had done to Trina McGuire to extract information about Nick’s whereabouts was enough for Brady not to turn to Madley. After all, Munroe was on Madley’s pay, as was Weasel Face. Brady couldn’t discount the evidence. He had seen Weasel Face in Durham prison’s visiting room talking to Munroe. What more proof did he need? Would Madley really hire men to kill Davidson and kidnap Claudia so he could get Brady to trade his brother’s life for Claudia’s? Brady wasn’t sure any more. And that was what worried him.

  Why kill Davidson? Why not? Maybe he was just a casualty. Maybe it was that simple.

  Brady breathed in. He needed to clear his head. He had to think straight. The last thing he wanted to do was walk into a hostage situation and end up not only losing his own life, but also Claudia’s. Davidson’s life had already been wasted. Brady would be damned if Claudia became another casualty in this search for Nick.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Brady parked his car. It was Friday: 12:25 a.m.

  He had made one call. He was not expecting to walk out of this situation alive. So he had called the only person left – Nick. Whether it was for himself that he left the message explaining exactly what was about to happen, he didn’t know. But he had said where he was going and what was about to follow – his life in exchange for Claudia’s. Maybe it was his way of mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen. Because if he was honest, he held out no hope of Nick hearing it. He hadn’t responded to the other messages that he’d left over the past few days, so why this one?

  He switched the headlights off and cut the engine on his car. The place was desolate, the streetlights broken, adding to the feeling that he was in no-man’s land. He got out of the car. There was no point in waiting any longer. He looked around the deserted area. There was nobody around. But then, what was he expecting? No one in their right mind would be down here at this time of night. It was well and truly off the beaten track. The place was no longer used. The buildings scattered around him were empty. The factories and warehouses had been abandoned when the shipping industry had disappeared.

  Brady headed for the warehouse right at the end of Davy Bank. He was sure he’d seen a torchlight stabbing around in the blackness.

  He had resigned himself to his fate, so he had no fear. Not for his own life at least. The fear that he did have was for Claudia. He had no idea how this would turn out but he would do everything in his power to make sure she survived.

  He approached the wasteland in front of the warehouse. He saw two cars parked up. Expensive black 4x4 Land Rovers. What else did he expect? He continued walking past them heading towards the door.

  ‘Brady?’ a voice said behind him.

  The accent had a heavy Cockney twang.

  ‘Yeah?’ Brady answered, his voice steady, despite the cold pressure of the barrel of a handgun now pressed against the side of his head.

  Brady wasn’t surprised. After all, they’d been expecting him.

  ‘Get down on the ground!’

  But before Brady had a chance to follow the order he had his legs taken out from beneath him. He lay in as much surprise as pain, face-down in the dirt as his arms were forced back behind him and his hands quickly handcuffed. Before he even realised it something connected with his left calf.

  FUCK!

  His leg exploded with pain.

  It took him a few moments before he realised he couldn’t move it without excruciating pain. It had to be broken. He raised his head off the ground to see who had attacked him. There were two men wearing black balaclavas and black military-style combat trousers and jackets. One held a gun, the other a crowbar. Both had attitude.

  Before he had a chance to do anything one of the masked men bent down and yanked his head up by his hair.

  ‘Time to get up,’ he ordered.

  His friend joined him. Between them they dragged Brady to his feet. They were about Brady’s height but heavy set and muscle-bound. He had no chance against them, with or without their weapons.

  One moved ahead and opened the warehouse door while the other one kept his gun to Brady’s
head as an encouragement to make him walk forward. Brady had no idea who they were but he knew that they meant business. These men were not your local hard nuts or criminals. They were trained militia.

  A third militia type appeared out of nowhere carrying a semi-automatic rifle.

  Brady had to remind himself that this was Wallsend, not some war-torn country ruled by despots.

  ‘He’s alone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The man holding the semi-automatic looked around the bleak, dark landscape for confirmation before turning his eyes onto Brady.

  All Brady could make out were the slits of his eyes through the black balaclava. It was enough to unnerve him. They were cold and detached. Brady was purely a business transaction. Nothing more. Nothing less. His life was what they were paid to take.

  ‘Move it!’

  Brady did as instructed, despite the crippling pain as he dragged his left leg along. The cold metal at the side of his head was enough incentive to make him move.

  The warehouse was a huge, dark, empty space. Parts of the concrete floor were covered in water from where the rain had come in through the leaking roof. Brady looked up at the rotting wooden rafters overhead. There was no first floor, it was just one large cavernous room. But what struck Brady was the fact that it was empty.

  Where the fuck is she? Where the fuck is Claudia?

  Brady tried to keep calm, keep his wits about him. If he ended up dead then Claudia would inevitably die.

  If she’s not already dead . . .

  The only item of furniture in the room was in the centre. It was a chair. A gloomy light bulb hung down from the ceiling above it casting an eerie, pale glow over the middle of the warehouse. Just enough to illuminate the seat and presumably the occupant.

  ‘Go on,’ instructed the masked militia guard behind him as he poked the gun into the side of Brady’s head. ‘Take a seat.’

  Brady did as he was ordered and limped over to the seat. He sat down, wincing as he tried to straighten his left leg out. All he could do was edge the leg out at an angle that caused the least pain. He looked at the two masked guards in front of him. The third guard had taken his handcuffs off and was busy securing his wrists to the arms of the chair with black duct tape. He then wrapped it around his chest, restraining his body to the back of the chair.

  It was ludicrous. He was obviously unable to put up a fight. His wrists were already secured to the chair and there was a good chance his leg was broken.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Brady asked, unable to disguise the thick contempt in his voice.

  The reply was swift. A crack to the left side of his face with the gun.

  The pain was horrific. It took him a moment to come back to his senses. The gun had struck his jaw in the exact same place as Munroe’s fist.

  ‘Fuck!’ cursed Brady as he spat out blood.

  He knew this was just the start of it.

  Before he had a chance to talk again the guard carrying the semi-automatic rifle disappeared. Brady realised now that there was a door at the back of the warehouse. Where it led, he had no idea.

  He sat and waited for whoever was in charge to show.

  Minutes later heavy, echoing footsteps signalled the armed guard’s return. Brady looked up. He was dragging something – someone. He realised then that it was Claudia. It had to be. She had a bag over her head but it was her. He recognised her clothes. Her body.

  ‘What the fuck have you done to her?’ Brady shouted.

  The answer was another heavy, resonating crack to the side of the head.

  The pain was blinding.

  ‘Fuck you!’ Brady spat.

  But he knew they were just playing with him. This was nothing.

  He struggled in vain to get free as Claudia’s body was thrown unceremoniously down at his feet.

  ‘Claudia? Claudia?’ he asked, desperate for a response.

  The guard who had dragged her in bent over and yanked the black bag off her head. Her face was badly swollen and bruised but it was her. It was Claudia. Relief coursed through him. She was still alive. He could feel his eyes stinging. The reality too much to accept.

  Then it hit him. Her damaged face. The bruises and cuts on her arms and around her neck. Even though she was gagged he could see that her lip was bleeding. There was a nasty two-inch split that needed stitches. He felt sick as he looked at what they’d done to her. He didn’t want to think about what else they might have done. The thought was too repulsive to even wonder whether it had happened. But he knew animals like this were capable of anything.

  Why? There was no fucking need to touch her. Why the fuck did they touch her?

  Claudia looked up at Brady. He tried to hide the shock he felt. One eye was completely swollen shut. But the other one was filled with absolute terror as she stared up at him.

  Whether it was at seeing Brady there, unable to move, unable to save her, he didn’t know. All he knew was that her chances of survival were low. The kidnappers had removed the bag from her head. That wasn’t a good sign. It meant she could identify them. Brady tried to talk himself down. They were all wearing black balaclavas so maybe he was over-reacting.

  ‘I’ll fucking kill you if you touch her!’ shouted Brady as he attempted to stand up.

  The guard with the rifle turned it onto Claudia.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  Brady resisted.

  The guard jabbed hard into her lower back.

  She moaned, her eyes filled with tears.

  Brady sat back, his hands clenched tightly around the arms of the chair.

  ‘Why don’t you give us what we want, Jack?’ asked a voice with a heavy Eastern European accent.

  Brady couldn’t see the speaker.

  But he saw Claudia’s reaction. It was enough. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear as she looked up at the man standing behind Brady.

  He felt sick inside. She recognised him. He could tell. She could see his face.

  No, Claudia! Fucking no! Don’t look at him!

  He could feel the adrenalin coursing through his body. He had to get her out of here. But he didn’t know how. He was trapped. Tied to a chair with a shattered leg. He couldn’t save himself, so how the hell did he think he could save her?

  All he could feel now was blind rage. At his own stupidity for walking into this situation. How did he think it was going to end?

  They would have no choice but to shoot her. Bastards like this lot were too organised. They wouldn’t leave any loose ends. Anything that could tie them to the atrocities they carried out. Claudia was a liability. A witness who could identify them.

  A hand was placed on Brady’s shoulder.

  ‘I have been looking forward to meeting “the” Jack Brady for some time now. You caused us a lot of problems. And wasted us a lot of time and money. But I am sure you know that,’ he said as he slowly removed his hand.

  Brady couldn’t help but notice the gold signet ring with a diamond-encrusted ‘N’ emblem on one of the manicured fingers. This had to be one of the Dabkunas brothers. It made sense. Ronnie Macmillan’s killing in prison to silence him. Trina McGuire’s beating and rape to force her to reveal Nick’s whereabouts. Kidnapping Claudia so they could lure Brady in. Their ultimate goal was revenge. Brady had exposed their lucrative sex-trafficking business venture with Ronnie Macmillan. And Nick? Nick had betrayed them. They hadn’t known that he was only on their payroll to infiltrate them. Not until the end did they realise that Nick was undercover.

  Brady looked down at Claudia. She was trembling as the tip of the rifle rested in the small of her back.

  ‘Let her go. Then I’ll talk.’

  ‘If we do not?’ he questioned.

  ‘Then I won’t talk.’

  His captor laughed. It was cold and detached.

  ‘You really think we cannot make you talk?’

  ‘Try me,’ Brady said.

  ‘Take her out,’ the man ordered.

  The guard standing on
Brady’s left went round and dragged her to her feet.

  Brady looked at her. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be all right. But she was petrified. He could see it in her eyes and there was nothing he could do. She was going to die and she knew it.

  Her eyes fixed on him, wild with panic, as she was taken away.

  Brady attempted to lunge forward, anything to stop them. But he was hit in the face. This time with a rifle butt. The chair fell backwards, taking Brady with it. He crashed to the ground, cracking the back of his head against the cold, uneven concrete.

  The next thing he remembered was being doused in cold water. He came to, gasping for air. He looked around. Two expensively suited dark-haired men were standing in front of him – the Dabkunas brothers.

  ‘Where is she?’ Brady cried.

  No one answered him. He looked around at the two remaining masked guards.

  Where the fuck is the third one? Where is he? Where’s he taken her?