Vanishing Point (27 page)

‘What? What did they do?’ he forced himself to ask.

‘They … they … in van. Edita … took me. I … see cut fingers off …’ She paused, unable to continue as she looked down at her own fingers.

‘Who? Who did that to her?’ Brady asked.

‘Marijuis and Mykolas Dabkunas.’

‘What about the man with the scar?’ asked Brady trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘What did he do?’

‘He not see. In front. Drive,’ answered Nicoletta, not understanding the full implication of her answer for Brady.

‘Did he know?’

Nicoletta frowned unsure of the question and then shook her head as tears uncontrollably slid down her face.

‘Music … loud … in back …’

Brady nodded, in some small way relieved.

‘They bring back me … Edita keep … but …’ She suddenly hid her hands as she recalled what had happened to her friend.

Brady resisted the urge to reach out and try and comfort her, realising that words were futile.

He sat back and waited. As he did he couldn’t help noticing that the bartender appeared too interested in what they were discussing.

Brady leaned forward, realising he was running out of time.

‘These brothers, the Dabkunas brothers, were they wearing gold signet rings with the letter “N” on them?’

She looked at him, surprised that he knew.

In that one look he realised he had crossed the line. Asked one too many questions.

Her eyes were filled with horror.

‘How? How know?’ she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Brady realised that she was scared. Not of them, but of him. She feared that she had been tricked into talking and that he was one of them.

She suddenly stood up, knocking her drink over as she did.

‘Nicoletta?’ Brady said softly, as if talking to a frightened child.

For that’s all she was, some eighteen or nineteen-year-old child, afraid and emaciated through lack of food. Still scared of the bogeyman. But in her case the bogeyman was real. He had come one night and taken her. Delivering her into a nightmarish hell.

‘No … no!’ she cried out, backing away.

Brady grabbed hold of her arm, trying to make her sit down and listen.

‘Nicoletta, I can help you … please.’

‘No …’ she cried out, wild-eyed. ‘You … you?’

‘No, Nicoletta,’ assured Brady, realising that the situation was getting out of control. ‘Listen to me, what happened to your friend won’t happen to you. I promise you. I can help get you out of here,’ he pleaded.

He attempted to reach out. Calm her down.

But she backed even further away from him.

‘What the fuck’s going on here, eh pet?’ snarled a male voice. ‘Swapping fucking life stories, are we?’

Caught unaware, Brady looked up.

In that split second, Nicoletta legged it. As far away from him as possible.

Then suddenly the club’s hired muscle, Davy, was in the frame. The bartender was standing behind him.

‘Come on, lads … we’re just having a friendly drink. Nothing to get hot and bothered about,’ replied Brady.

But he didn’t have a chance to say another word.

In one swift action Davy dragged him out of the booth to his feet. Brady might have been 6´2? but Davy was easily 6´7?.

‘Get out!’ ordered Davy close to Brady’s face.

Too close.

Brady could smell the sour stench of tobacco and coffee, coupled with the beer and curry he’d gorged on the night before Friday night traditionally being beer and curry night for the hardcore locals.

‘If I see your fucking ugly mug back in here again, those cuts and bruises on your face will be nothing compared to the pasting I’ll give you!’

‘Davy man!’ interrupted Trina. ‘Will ye hadaway and shite! Bloody bloke’s going now. Alright. No harm done like!’

‘Ronnie wants to know what you three have been fucking chatting about,’ Davy the bouncer fired back.

Trina shot the bartender a dangerous look. He’d fucked her over. And there was one thing that Trina McGuire took exception to, and that was betrayal.

The bartender ignored her, making it quite clear he didn’t give a shit. His loyalty was with his boss, Ronnie Macmillan and not some has-been lap dancer-cum-prostitute.

‘Talking about his copper mate Adamson,’ snapped Trina. ‘Alright? Wanker’s trying to close us down. He’s doing undercover work. That’s why he’s in here every other day. Or were you too dumb to realise that?’

Brady tried hard not to react.

The thought of Adamson turning up at the strip club straight into Davy’s ‘Love/Hate’ fists quite appealed to him. It definitely wouldn’t be the kind of hand action that Adamson would be expecting.

‘Now let him go, will ye?’ Trina demanded.

Davy did as he was told while the bartender walked back to behind the bar.

‘You, out!’ Trina then ordered as she stared at Brady.

‘I’m going … I’m going, alright?’ Brady said, putting his hands up to show there was no resistance.

‘Too right you are! Turning up here causing trouble for me and my mate!’ shouted Trina.

Brady was sure it was more for the benefit of Davy and the bartender than for him.

He walked to the door and left before Davy had second thoughts.

‘And don’t come back!’ Trina shouted after him.

He turned to look at Trina as she stood in the open doorway and spoke quickly and quietly. ‘Listen, if Nick gets in touch with you, let me know. You’ve got my number. Give it to Nicoletta and let her know that I can help her get away from this. There’s a woman called Claudia who works with sex trafficked girls. She could get her into a safe-house. Yeah?’

‘Fuck off, will you?’ Trina shouted.

‘You’re better than this.’

‘Save it, Jack,’ she replied bitterly. ‘We both know you don’t mean it.’

Brady shook his head as he looked at her.

‘And you tell that little shit Adamson that he’s going to get his soon enough!’

‘Do you want me to do something about him?’ asked Brady.

‘What?’ sneered Trina. ‘You’re going to investigate one of your own for beating up girls from a strip club and forcing us to perform sexual acts on him for free? He thinks he can haul us in because of what we do for a living. Don’t think your lot would be interested, do you, Jack? We’re seen as no better than shit on your shoes! Whose word would they believe? A detective inspector or a lap dancer-cum-prossie?’

Brady didn’t answer her. She was right. Unless he had strong evidence that Adamson was abusing his power as a copper then he couldn’t do anything about it. Simply put, he was a copper who liked to exert his power – especially when it came to women.

‘Anyway, once Davy’s finished with him, the wanker won’t be able to wipe his own arse again!’ Trina stated.

‘I mean it, Trina, you’re too good for this …’

‘Yeah? Tell my landlord that!’ Trina snapped.

If Brady wasn’t mistaken there were tears in her eyes.

Before he could say another word she angrily spun around and walked back into the club.

Helpless, Brady watched her disappear.

Brady made his way out to the Saab. Conrad had already turned the car around ready to head towards the embankment. As he walked towards the car his mind was reeling with thoughts of how he could get Nicoletta away from Ronnie Macmillan and the hell she was living in.

He got in the car as Conrad thrust it into gear. It was pulling away before he’d even had a chance to shut the passenger door.

Brady turned and looked back at the club. There was a reason why Conrad was so eager to get moving.

Two well-dressed, dark-haired men were now standing by the front door. They looked sharp. Expensive suits, well groomed. But trouble none the less.

As Conrad drove off towards the embankment Brady realised that there was something worryingly familiar about them.

‘Conrad, turn the car round!’

‘Sir?’

‘Turn the car around!’

The tyres squealed as Conrad slammed on the brakes and threw the car into a three-point turn.

‘Shit!’ cursed Brady.

The men had gone.

‘Who were they?’ asked Conrad.

‘They were the men with Simone last night in Madley’s nightclub. I saw them …’ Brady explained without thinking.

Conrad looked at him, surprised.

‘Sir?’

‘I was there. I walked into the Blue Lagoon for a drink after the Fat Ox. That’s all, and there she was, stood drinking with them at the bar.’

‘What did you do?’ questioned Conrad.

‘What do you think?’

Conrad shook his head.

‘I walked out … I walked out and left her there. With them. The two suits who were stood there just now watching us,’ Brady said. ‘Wait here,’ he instructed as he got out the car. ‘And call back-up if I don’t come back out in five minutes.’

Without waiting for a response he slammed the door and crossed the road over to the club.

Before he got to the door it was thrown open.

Davy the hired muscle was in his face.

‘Fuck off, pal,’ shouted the bouncer as he shoved Brady in the chest.

Brady pushed back hard, throwing him against the door.

‘Where are they?’ he bellowed. ‘Where the hell are they?’

‘Don’t fucking push me, pal. Or you’ll lose that pretty face of yours!’ Davy threatened.

‘The two men. The suits. Where are they?’ repeated Brady as he tried to force his way past him.

‘I mean it, pal, fuck off if you know what’s good for you!’ snarled the hired muscle.

Before Brady had a chance the bouncer aggressively pushed Brady backwards, forcing him out the way of the door.

Brady stumbled, losing his balance.

It gave Davy enough time to disappear inside.

Brady lunged for the door, but he was too late. It was locked.

He stood outside, pounding on the door. It was useless. He’d have to come back with back-up and a warrant to search the premises. But by then it would be too late. His other option was to sit and wait for them to leave.

He walked back to the Saab.

‘Did you get a look at them?’ asked Brady as he climbed in.

‘No sir,’ replied Conrad. ‘I vaguely saw two well-dressed young men in suits, but that was it. It was too dark to make anything else out. Did you, sir?’

Defeated, Brady shook his head. That was all he had seen himself. It wasn’t enough to put together a photofit. He was certain about that.

And he was certain that they weren’t the Dabkunas brothers, the ones caught on the hospital surveillance cameras. These boys weren’t Eastern European – they looked more like locals.

‘What do we do now, sir?’ questioned Conrad.

Before he had a chance to answer he heard a crunch of gravel as a low-slung, sleek black Jaguar glided past them, headlights off. Brady realised the car had quietly made its way from behind the lane that led round to the rear of the club. It drove straight past Conrad’s Saab heading for the only way out: the embankment.

Brady was certain that the shadowy figures in the front were the two suits who had been watching him and Conrad. In the back were two more figures: one a petite, long-haired female and the other a taller, bulky shadow, presumably male. Brady panicked; he was sure it was Nicoletta in the back.

Brady caught the shadowy outline of the other face. It looked like Ronnie Macmillan. But he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be fucking sure. It was too dark.

‘
Shit!
’ he cursed.

Before Brady had a chance to instruct Conrad to go after them his deputy was already swinging the car around. But before he managed to turn, two cars sped out from the lane behind the club and blocked him in.

‘
Turn the car
!’ yelled Brady.

‘I can’t, sir,’ replied Conrad through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t move.’

Brady turned round to see if he could make out the licence plate. But they were gone. Disappeared up the embankment. They had two routes, either turning right onto Buddle Street which would take them to North Shields, or Neptune Road which was the back route leading to Newcastle.

‘Conrad, knock those cars out of the way before I do some real damage!’

‘I can’t sir,’ answered Conrad. ‘We’re completely blocked in.’

‘Then get out the car and get them to move! Just do something! And call that Jag in. They’re holding a girl against her will,’ shouted Brady, realising it was no doubt futile as there were only two routes out of the place, one to town and one to the coast. Add in the obvious – that he had no details on the car, or even the occupants.

Realising he had no other option he got out the car, leaving the door wide open.

He legged it across the road towards the embankment, ignoring the painful spasms in his thigh and the burning in his ribs.

The unlit Jag had gone. And he had no idea which route it had taken. And it was too dark to see the licence plate.

His stomach twisted as he stood there with the realisation that something was about to happen to Nicoletta. Something bad.

If they thought she’d talked to a copper, then she was done for; once and for all.

He watched as the two cars that had blocked them in now sped up the embankment, one disappearing right, the other left towards Newcastle.

He took out his BlackBerry. Hand shaking, he somehow found Trina McGuire’s number and pressed call.

‘Trina?’ Brady said when she answered.

She didn’t reply.

‘Trina, they’ve got Nicoletta. They’ve driven off with her. I reckon it was Ronnie Macmillan in the back with her and his two suits were in the front of the car.’

Again, Trina said nothing.

‘Where, Trina? Where would he take her?’ Brady asked, desperate.

‘Don’t you understand?’ Trina hissed. ‘I’ve done this to her. I told her she’d be safe talking to you.’

‘Trina … I had no idea that she would react like that …’ answered Brady.

‘What did you expect with all those questions? Eh? You just kept pushing her!’

Brady didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He’d known he’d blown it when he asked her about the signet ring.

‘Fuck you and your job!’ hissed Trina in response to his silence.

‘Give me Nicoletta’s surname. Please, Trina! So I can try and get some details on her.’