Vanishing Point (16 page)

‘Adamson’s already sent it?’ questioned Brady feeling sick.

He’d clearly underestimated Adamson.

‘Yeah, he sent me this material over ten minutes ago.’

‘You haven’t given him anything yet, have you?’ Brady asked

‘No … haven’t worked on it yet.’

‘Stall him for me, will you? I just need some time.’

‘If it wasn’t you, Jack, you know what the answer would be …’

‘I know, Jed. But if this wasn’t so important I wouldn’t be asking you.’

‘Alright. But I can’t hold Adamson off for long. You know that.’

‘I know. Thanks, mate.’

Brady listened to the dull tone of silence.

He breathed out. It had been harder than he had imagined asking Jed to cross the line.

Brady had to be certain that Nick was the driver.

Until he had indisputable evidence in front of his eyes, he was still clinging onto a sliver of hope that it was all some horrendous coincidence.

Chapter Twenty-Two

He opened the file left by Harvey on his desk.

It was already 3:47pm. The briefing was now supposed to be going ahead at 4:00pm. But due to recent circumstances it had been postponed. Again, mused Brady with frustration. But this had to be done. Given the fact that the Ryecrofts had suddenly turned up at the station wanting answers, he had to familiarise himself with the report on the missing girl.

Despite a desperate search, the serial numbers for their daughter’s breast implants couldn’t be found. Neither could the paperwork and receipts for the operation. The Ryecrofts weren’t sure whether their daughter had taken them with her or placed them for safe-keeping somewhere. Or even if they had been thrown out by accident. All they knew was that the police wanted the serial implant numbers for a reason. And that a murder victim had washed up on the shores of Whitley Bay. Consequently, Brady couldn’t blame the Ryecrofts for refusing to sit around waiting at home for further news about their missing daughter. Brady reckoned he would have done the same if he had been in their situation.

He looked at the photograph of Melissa Ryecroft.

He picked it up, studying it.

He stared at her face, searching for a similarity.

Long brown hair, large, dark brown eyes.

The problem was, he couldn’t tell.

The damage to the murder victim’s severed head had completely disfigured the face. The extent of the knife wounds and …

Brady stopped.

It was unthinkable what they had done to her.

It was something that Brady had never before witnessed in all his years as a copper.

He looked back down at the photograph.

There was no denying it. Melissa Ryecroft had the same body type as the murder victim.

Brady thought of her father sitting waiting for him downstairs.

How could he tell him that the murder victim had had all her teeth removed? As a consequence, this ruled out the option of using Melissa Ryecroft’s dental records as a form of ID, which given the circumstances would have been preferable.

Instead he would need Melissa Ryecroft’s parents to ID what was left of the body.

He picked up the notes in the file that accompanied the photograph. He needed to make sure he knew everything there was to know about the missing girl before interviewing her parents.

*

Brady made his way to the interview room.

He knocked on the interview door before walking in.

Kodovesky gave him a surprised look, reminding Brady that his face was a mess.

‘Go on, take a coffee break. Conrad will be here in a minute,’ suggested Brady.

The young DC looked like she needed some fresh air. He couldn’t blame her. The air in the small room was stale and claustrophobic.

Brady stretched his hand out towards Brian Ryecroft first, then Michelle Ryecroft and finally, their eleven-year-old daughter, Lucy.

‘DI Jack Brady,’ he introduced, aware that the cuts and bruises on his face weren’t exactly the best look for a Detective Inspector.

Brian Ryecroft nodded at him. He was too lost in grief and anguish to pay much attention to Brady’s run-in with a brick wall.

Brady realised that Melissa Ryecroft was very much her father’s daughter. They had the same handsome, perfectly shaped face. Strong, but with precise symmetry. They were both dark: dark hair, eyes and skin with a slight tanned hue to it. They had a look about them which spoke of Italian ancestry.

Ryecroft’s jowly jaw was locked and his full lips were downturned. His receding black hair was peppered with silver strands. More silver than black, thought Brady. What would have been a neat, orderly haircut was now all over the place from where he had obviously dragged a nervous hand repeatedly through it. His brown, heavily bagged eyes were filled with pained acceptance. A pragmatic, cold reality had kicked in. His daughter had been gone since Thursday morning; it was now Saturday afternoon after 4:13pm.

The time jarred with Brady. He was running over. Things were starting to get away from him. If he wasn’t careful he would lose the plot.

It was clear to Brady that this was a man in his mid to late fifties who loved his daughters. Spoiled them, as much as he spoiled his forty-something wife.

Ryecroft had his own business in construction. A self-made man who had made good. Brady imagined the women in his life played him like a fiddle. Not one of them would be wanting for anything. Which explained why his missing sixteen-year-old daughter attended a private school in Tynemouth, sporting her fake breasts amongst other material possessions.

‘I … I …’ Ryecroft broke down. Tears streamed down his jowly, lined face as he dropped his head, unable to look at Brady.

A knock at the door broke the awkward moment.

Conrad walked in.

‘Sir,’ he greeted when he saw Brady sitting across the table from the Ryecrofts.

Tactfully pretending not to pick up on Ryecroft’s breakdown, Conrad placed a steaming black coffee in front of him.

‘Two sugars, sir,’ Conrad said.

He turned to Michelle Ryecroft, whose red-rimmed blue eyes watched Conrad for a sign. Any sign of hope from the outside world, instead of the hell that she was living in the interview room.

‘White tea, two sweeteners,’ Conrad said. His steel-grey eyes were filled with sympathy, his voice filled with professionalism. Finally, he placed the chilled can of Coke Zero down in front of Lucy Ryecroft. He shot her a warm, gentle smile before pulling a chair out and sitting down beside his boss.

Lucy Ryecroft uttered a weak, ‘Thanks.’

Her eyes weren’t only the same colour blue as her mother. They were also just as red-rimmed and puffy from crying. Her pubescent skin was patchy with red blotches and trails of black smudged mascara. Her blonde highlighted hair had been scraped back into an aggressive, angry ponytail.

It looked to Brady’s eye as if she was trying her hardest to get back to being a kid again. No GHD straighteners had been used that morning. Nor had foundation with eyeliner and lipgloss. Instead, she was wearing a baggy Hollister t-shirt, her scrawny arms covered in bruises and nail indentations where she had gripped them so hard that she’d broken the skin.

The painful, troubled adult world was now too dangerous and dark for her to want to cross over into. After all, her older sister who had tried to grow up too fast, too hard, had disappeared.

And the one unspoken question, the elephant in the room, was whether the headless girl washed up on the beach was Melissa Ryecroft.

Brady swallowed hard.

He had some painful questions to ask.

First, one had to be directed at the person who held herself responsible for Melissa’s disappearance: her younger sister.

‘Lucy?’ Brady gently began.

She dragged her red, bloodshot eyes up to Brady’s. They shone with a mixture of fear and self-loathing.

‘I’ve got to say that from what I’ve read of your statement, you’ve really been a great help. But …’ Brady paused, gauging her reaction.

The girl looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.

‘You say that Melissa got on a train to London, early Thursday evening. Yes?’

Lucy nodded.

It didn’t go unmissed by Brady that she had bitten her bottom lip hard, causing blood to trickle out.

‘Here,’ Brady offered as he handed her a tissue from the box beside him.

She didn’t understand.

‘Your lip,’ Brady gently said.

‘Oh … thanks,’ she mumbled as she tasted the blood.

‘What I don’t understand is, if she had left on the 5:30pm train to King’s Cross, why update her Facebook page shortly beforehand, saying the exact opposite?’

Lucy looked at Brady, startled.

She obviously hadn’t realised that the first thing Brady got Harvey to do when the Ryecrofts had reported her as missing was check out her Facebook page. And to see whether she blogged or used Twitter.

‘Did she get on the train or was she met by someone?’

Tears started to flow down the young girl’s face.

She looked nervously from her mother and then to her father’s anguished face.

‘She made me promise not to tell,’ whispered Lucy.

It was barely loud enough for Brady to hear.

He noticed the Ryecrofts tense at their daughter’s admission.

‘Oh my God … Lucy? What? What didn’t you tell us?’ questioned Michelle Ryecroft, her voice shaking.

Brian Ryecroft’s eyes flashed with a sudden anger.

Brady looked at them, wishing they weren’t in on the interview. But Lucy Ryecroft was a minor; he had no choice. He could have a social worker here with her, but her parents had refused. Wanting to be present. Not wanting to let another child disappear from their sight.

‘She … she was flying down to London.’

Brady nodded.

He already suspected that was the case. He had just had a look at her Facebook page.

Melissa had updated her wall from her mobile stating that she was flying first class, all expenses paid, accompanied by her agent for a meeting at Models 1 agency.

Powerful stuff, thought Brady. Especially for a sixteen-year-old kid.

‘They said first class,’ Lucy whispered. ‘That they were paying. All she had to do was turn up with her passport and an overnight bag …’

‘Was she just supposed to be staying the night?’ Brady asked.

Lucy nodded, head down. Eyes fixed on her small, delicate hands.

‘So, when was she supposed to return?’

‘About 5ish yesterday. To make it look as if she had been at school all day …’

Brady frowned.

‘She told Mum and Dad that she was staying over at Libby’s house to revise. She said they’d be up late studying so it was better that she stayed the night and that they’d then go to school together the next day.’

Brady looked at Brian and Michelle Ryecroft. Their expressions told Brady that this was exactly what had happened; their eldest daughter had played them.

‘Why did she tell you all this, Lucy?’ questioned Brady.

It seemed odd that Melissa would go to so much trouble hiding this from her parents to then tell her younger sister.

It didn’t add up.

‘She’d gone to get a shower last weekend. It was Sunday night I think and I … I had gone into her bedroom and … checked out what she was up to on her computer. The page was still up and it was on her Facebook page. Some guy had written on her wall that she was stunning. Real model material. He asked her to email him her contact details and he’d start talking to people in London to arrange a meeting and a photo shoot. All at his expense. He suggested that if she was up for it, he could get her in front of them on Friday. Yesterday …’

‘Do you remember his name?’

Lucy shook her head.

‘No … before I could read any more Melissa had suddenly come back in. She’d forgotten something.’

Brady tried not to show his disappointment. A name would have been good. But then again he mused, whoever this bastard was, he definitely wouldn’t be using his real name.

Harvey and Kodovesky had gone through her Facebook account and no such message was on her wall. Brady presumed she must have taken it down. Worried perhaps, that one of her friends might mention it to their parents, out of teenage jealousy and spite. Brady imagined that a good-looking girl like Melissa would have her fair share of envious admirers.

‘What made you decide to sneak in to her bedroom?’ asked Brady.

A look briefly crossed Lucy’s face which spoke of a history of sibling rivalry. She then shrugged.

‘You know? Like, there was something different about her …’

‘Go on,’ prompted Brady gently.

‘She was … more arrogant than usual,’ Lucy said as she shot her father a nervous glance.

Brady noticed Michelle Ryecroft squeezing Lucy’s arm in support.

Brian Ryecroft on the other hand looked agitated. But he kept his mouth firmly shut. Even though it was clear that he didn’t agree with his younger daughter’s perception of her older sister.

‘She also kept saying things like, she wouldn’t be finishing sixth form because she was going to move to London soon. That she was going to be a model. That … that there were people, important people who believed in her. Said that she had something special. That they could make her famous, like. You know? A supermodel like Gisele Bundchen or Kate Moss or something? Stupid stuff like that. That … that she might then move to Europe …’

‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Brady asked, realising that a girl Melissa’s age wouldn’t be making such grand plans on her own.

‘No,’ answered Brian Ryecroft quickly.

Too quickly for Brady.

Ryecroft looked across at his wife for backup.

She shook her head but Brady couldn’t help noticing the tears welling up in her eyes again.

He thought back to Wolfe’s autopsy findings. The victim had had an abortion as recently as a month ago. An abortion that hadn’t gone as planned.

‘But surely she must have had one. Beautiful girl like Melissa, I imagine she must have had lots of boys chasing her.’

‘What about Marijuis?’ Lucy asked innocently, as she turned to her mother.