Читать книгу Vanishing Point - Danielle Ramsay - Страница 11

Brady took a deep breath before entering the first-floor conference room. He had to get himself together. He would be no use to anyone in this state. Especially Simone. He did his best to sneak in. The room was filled with over twenty coppers; a mixture of uniform and CID all crammed in together. The atmosphere was electric. One of their own had been targeted. And this wasn’t some random attack. This was a brutal attempted murder. Brady scanned the room, recognising most of the faces. At least half of them had been called in from other area commands, but Brady knew most from the Sophie Washington murder investigation six months back.

Brady worked his way to the back of the room. His eyes automatically scanned the whiteboard next to Gates who was addressing the room. He held his breath as he took in the photograph of the blackened crimson clotted mess around Simone’s open mouth, an all too vivid contrast against the clean shiny white incident board.

Brady’s eyes then uncomfortably moved across to the images of the nightclub’s gents’ blood-stained floor. With gut-wrenching clarity, he registered that the blood was Simone’s.

Why the Blue Lagoon?

He didn’t like the answer that kept coming to mind. When she had been stationed at Whitley Bay, she, like the rest of them, would end up having a late night drink in Madley’s club. He remembered that she had seemed too interested in Madley and his whereabouts. When Brady had challenged her, she confided that she had heard that Madley’s nightclub was being used as a front. Brady had laughed it off, telling the over-zealous rookie that every resident in Whitley Bay knew that, never mind the police. He had updated her on Madley’s drug-dealing reputation and that to date he had never been caught. But Simone wasn’t interested in Madley’s drug activities. She had claimed that it was something bigger than that, involving someone more dangerous than Madley. Brady had tried to get more from her, but despite being a rookie she was savvy enough not to hand over everything she knew to a commanding officer who would then take the credit for all her undercover observations.

Brady continued to stare at the photographs, despite feeling sickened by the images. He couldn’t shake the idea that if he had gone over to her last night then she wouldn’t be fighting for her life.

Gates’ voice suddenly caught his attention.

‘I’ve just received an update from the hospital and … it isn’t good. Simone’s out of theatre now, but she’s still not regained consciousness. She’s lost a lot of blood and there was significant internal damage. More than they expected, which has caused some complications. She’s in ICU right now, so all we can do is pray that she pulls through.’

The room was tense.

Gates had everyone’s attention; especially Brady’s.

He was roughly Brady’s height and build, despite being ten years older. Gates’ muscular, toned body was a testament to the hours he put in at the gym. Everything about him was regimented and controlled. Even his aggressively receding dark hair was cropped short, unashamedly exposing his baldness.

Brady wanted to walk. Anywhere was better than being stood there. But he was unable to move. His gaze obsessively returned to the large whiteboard. He tried to focus on the clumps of frenetic scrawl, recognising it as Gates’ handwriting. Anything was better than looking at the gruesome photos of Simone’s injuries or the crime scene.

He suddenly felt someone staring at him. He turned and caught Amelia Jenkins’ eye. She was sitting at the front of the room observing everyone. Brady expected no less from her; after all she was the police psychologist.

As if conscious of his gaze, Amelia adjusted her skirt. She shot him a concerned look and then turned her attention back to Gates.

Brady forced his attention back to the Detective Chief Inspector, who was still speaking.

‘I know that every one of you will give one hundred and ten percent to this case and, given the circumstances, I would expect no less.’

Gates then turned to Adamson and gravely nodded.

Brady watched as Gates sat down and Adamson stepped forward. He couldn’t help but notice Adamson’s arrogant expression. This was exactly what he was born to do; exert his power. Brady waited while he made the most of the situation.

Adamson straightened his thick, dark burgundy tie as he cleared his throat, allowing the tension in the room to build. The air soon became electric as the team waited for Adamson to speak.

Eventually he nodded, acutely aware that he had them. ‘The assailant knew exactly what they were doing when they cut her – otherwise Simone Henderson would already be dead. The incision that was made across her abdomen was carried out by a skilled hand. The knife missed the inferior and superior vena cava which saved her life as these branch out into the femoral artery and vein. If he’d cut any of these major vessels then she would have bled to death in a matter of seconds. The heart pumps about eight litres a minute and given the average adult roughly has four to five litres … well I’m sure you can do the maths. The question we need to ask is why did they want to risk her being found alive?’

Brady was too aware that the room was silent, a few heads shaking. The same thought would be going through everyone’s mind – that even though Simone Henderson was found alive, she’d been left in a condition which guaranteed she would never talk. These were hardened officers used to dealing with the worst possible crime. But this was different. This was one of their own.

‘We know from the forensic evidence that …’ Adamson cleared his throat as he looked back at the gruesome images ‘… that Simone was attacked at another location and then dumped in the toilets.’

Adamson shook his head at the gravity of the attack but Brady couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was loving every minute of this. All eyes on him. Everyone waiting for his next word.

‘You can see that her left breast was also burnt during the attack. And the word ‘PIG’ slashed across the other breast. We’ve run the image through our national database but no matches have come back.’

Brady looked at the image of Simone’s burnt left breast. He could make out the raised mark of the letter ‘N’ that had been burnt deep into the flesh.

Two victims on the same night. Both branded; flesh burnt. Both found yards away from one another. One in a nightclub, savagely cut up, and another headless, washed up on a beach. But even Brady had to admit to himself that the burnt ‘N’ on Simone’s breast bore no similarity to the branding of the scorpion and the letters ‘MD’ found on the murder victim.

‘We know from the nightclub’s security tape that Simone was with two men,’ Adamson paused and pointed to the whiteboard. ‘This is the best image we have of them. As you can see, there’s not a lot to go on. But we’re hoping that the bar staff who were on duty last night will be able to help us with a photofit.’

Brady looked at the grainy freeze-framed images. Adamson was right, all you could make out was that they were both dark with short hair. Nothing more. Brady had replayed the scene of Simone with the two men over and over again in his head but he still couldn’t come up with anything that would be of any use. His problem was that he hadn’t seen their faces – they had both had their backs to him. If he had, then he would have had no qualms in sharing it with the investigating team, despite Adamson.

Nothing had been mentioned of Brady’s presence in the nightclub. He would have known by now if they had caught him on the club’s surveillance camera. But Brady had come in through the back door of the club used by Madley and his men. Brady knew there was no camera covering that door. Madley was too clever for that. He ran his affairs from his first floor office above the nightclub and liked the assurance that he could come and go unnoticed. And that included his business associates. The last thing they or Madley wanted was footage that could fall into the wrong hands – especially the police’s.

It was from there that he had spotted Simone standing at the bar with the two men. She had turned and caught his eye and in that one look had said enough. So he had left. The only person who had known he had been there was Simone. And now she was … Brady couldn’t bring himself to think about the consequences of him turning and discreetly leaving.

‘Simone left at approximately 1am and then two hours later we get a tip-off call from an unregistered mobile to say she’s been attacked and left in the gents’ at the Blue Lagoon …’

Brady looked at Adamson.

Adamson paused. For effect. Brady was sure of that.

Brady narrowed his dark brown eyes as he watched Adamson, knowing what was coming next.

‘The very same nightclub owned by Martin Madley. A local businessman who, we have been led to believe from certain sources, is connected to drug dealing. But as of yet, this is something we haven’t been able to prove. Whether Simone’s attack has anything to do with Madley is something we have yet to determine.’

Brady was certain that Madley had nothing to do with Simone’s attack. This wasn’t his style. In all the years he had known Madley he had never hurt a woman, let alone a copper. Aside from that, he was too clever to leave one of his victims in his own nightclub. Brady couldn’t figure it out. All he knew was that his gut feeling was telling him that Madley had been set up. Someone was sending him a very clear message. But who and why were questions that only Madley could answer.

‘We have already taken a statement from Martin Madley and he has a watertight alibi proving that he was nowhere near his nightclub last night.’

Brady looked at Adamson’s expression which clearly showed that he didn’t believe Madley.

‘We also have Simone’s blood results back and there are strong traces of Rohypnol. Whoever did this to Simone knew exactly what they had in mind.’

Rohypnol was effective at wiping the victim’s memory and removing their inhibitions. Brady had dealt with numerous rapes where the victim’s only memory was of drinking in a pub or nightclub and then coming to the next morning, completely unaware of what had happened over the past four to even twenty-four hours.

‘It’s crucial we find the identity of the caller,’ Adamson continued. ‘We’re releasing the tape at the press conference later and seeing what results we get. Hopefully, someone will recognise the caller’s voice.’

Brady watched as Adamson caught Amelia’s eye. Brady couldn’t help but notice that something passed between them.

‘This is all we have to go on,’ Adamson said. ‘But someone out there will know him.’ He turned to press play on the emergency call.

‘A female police officer is locked in the gents’ toilets in the Blue Lagoon nightclub … If you don’t get there in the next few minutes she will bleed to death.’ The voice was low and muffled, as if the caller was holding a gloved hand over his mouth. But there was no question that there were traces of an accent; a Geordie accent.

‘Sir? Can you elaborate? Can you give us your name and address? Sir?’ The phone line clicked dead.

Brady inwardly recoiled. He clenched his hands as he steadied himself.

No … It can’t be …

He could feel himself starting to sweat as his mind raced.

It’s not possible …

Brady closed his eyes as he tried to block out what he was thinking.

The voice, despite being distorted, sounded like someone from his past. Someone who had been very close to him. Brady quickly discounted the possibility as being too incredible.

It was just a distorted Geordie male voice. One that no doubt sounded like any number of men in the North East.

He breathed out and opened his eyes, only to meet Amelia’s inquisitive look.

He quickly composed himself and focused on Adamson.

‘We’ve gone through the surveillance footage in the Blue Lagoon from the point that she left with the two men she was seen with, up until when she was discovered attacked in the nightclub. But how she ended up in the gents’ is beyond us. There’s nothing on the security tapes. Forensics are currently examining the toilets to see whether it was possible that she was brought back in through the window in there which faces out on to the back of the premises.’

Adamson stopped and looked around.

‘All we have to go on is the anonymous caller and these two men seen with Simone two hours before she was discovered. It’s crucial we find these men and the male caller. As you can see, we’ve got our work cut out. But it’s our job to find out who did this to her and why.’

The room bristled with agitation. Everyone more than eager to get started.

‘Thank you, DI Adamson,’ said Gates, resuming command. He stood and deliberated as he looked around the tense room. ‘I don’t need to add that this isn’t just any ordinary investigation. I’m sure there’s a lot of you here who remember Simone for the hardworking, capable officer—’

Suddenly Gates’ voice stopped. Something or someone had caught his attention.

Gates’ dark brown eyes were now unnervingly fixed on Brady. They belied the cold, detached intelligence of a man who would never allow himself to be compromised.

Brady waited for Gates to address him. He was dressed in his typical black uniform with gold braid, as befitted a man of his rank. Brady looked at the heavily etched lines on Gates’ hard face; a testimony to his dedication to the job. His skin was covered in harsh, pitted acne scars, some partially hidden by a permanent five o’clock shadow, but there all the same. Irritably Gates pulled the cuffs of his expensive white shirt down past his black uniform as he glared at Brady.

‘Can I help you, Jack?’

Brady tensed. He now realised that he had made a mistake coming in. What had he been looking for? He didn’t know. But the last thing he wanted was disapproving glances from colleagues who had heard the rumours about his relationship with the victim.

But worse than that, he was certain he had recognised the caller’s voice, despite the attempt at disguising it. He cleared his throat, aware that the entire room was watching him.

‘I was just waiting until the briefing ended so I could have a word, sir,’ Brady answered, inwardly cursing.

‘My office in ten minutes.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Brady answered.

‘If that’s all, you can leave,’ Gates ordered. ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough work to do.’

Brady caught the mocking stare of DI Robert Adamson who was clearly enjoying his downfall. Brady held his breath as Gates shot him a cold, penetrating glare before he turned to Adamson and quietly muttered something. Adamson nodded in response as he shot Brady a dismissive look.

Brady turned and left the room, feeling more certain than ever that his career was shot to hell.

More so, if he was right about the identity of the caller.