‘Listen, they’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it. All right?’
Silence.
‘Jimmy? Jimmy?’
‘I stole from Madley, Jack. I saw an opportunity when I was in his office last night. His safe was open and I couldn’t resist … I … I … owe money everywhere and I … Shit! I thought this might give me some power back against him but …’
‘Fuck.’ There was one thing he knew about Madley, and that was he didn’t tolerate anyone crossing him. He knew Madley wouldn’t kill Matthews, he was a copper after all which made things messy. But as Matthews was now aware, Madley could destroy the life he had built in an instant and leave him with absolutely nothing. And for a man like Matthews, that would be a fate worse than death.
‘Shit, Jimmy! What the fuck did you take?’ Brady demanded, worried.
He listened to silence.
Matthews had already hung up.
‘Fuck it, Jimmy!’ cursed Brady as he stared at the deserted beach.
It was sublime; nature at its most beautiful. The black, thunderous North Sea raged relentlessly against the craggy, treacherous rocks. Brady looked down Tynemouth’s stretching, naked sands towards the haunting Priory. Raised high on a cliff top, the ruin dominated the horizon, overlooking, as it had done for centuries, the ravaging, wild sea.
In the halcyon days, he and Claudia had spent endless weekends discovering hidden beaches from Lindisfarne down through to Alnmouth and Bamburgh. They’d discovered desperately remote beaches brutally exposed to the harsh North Sea, so remote it was easy to forget civilisation. But stood now, watching the furious waves rant and rage against the jagged cliffs and rocks, Brady knew that there was no other beach along the Northumberland coastline that could be more dramatic and breathtaking than this one.
For a second he thought about calling Claudia. He needed more than ever to hear her voice. He stood for a moment and watched the ominous black clouds close in towards him.
Before he could talk himself out of it he had already got her number up and had pressed call.
He held his breath as he waited, not sure whether she would answer. He didn’t know how many messages he had left on her voice mail in that first month. But it was enough for her to think he was mad. He would find himself drinking bottle after bottle of whisky to forget her and then before he even realised what he was doing he would call her, unaware that it was three or four in the morning. She never once answered, forcing him to leave painful, awkward messages, pleading for her to just talk to him.
And then he got it. He suddenly realised that he was acting like a crazy stalker. So he quit. And for the past month he hadn’t attempted to contact her. That was, until now.
‘Jack?’ she hesitantly answered.
He held his breath, not knowing what to say. He had waited for this moment for six months and now he was lost for words.
‘Jack?’ she repeated.
He could hear an edge of worry in her voice.
‘Yeah, I’m here,’ he replied softly, not sure what else to say.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, suddenly sounding cold and professional.
‘I … just want to talk to you,’ Brady answered, unsure of what it was he wanted from her.
‘Don’t you think we’re past talking?’
Brady swallowed hard. He closed his watering eyes and covered his smooth, olive-skinned face with a trembling hand.
‘I … I … just needed to hear your voice,’ he answered honestly.
She didn’t reply.
‘I miss you,’ he said impulsively.
He waited, but she said nothing.
She was making it as hard as possible for him.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ he asked quietly.
‘I heard,’ she answered.
‘Don’t you miss me?’ he asked, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever done in his life.
‘Jack, this is pointless. You screwed up, not me. So stop turning this around. I didn’t destroy our marriage, you did. And it’s about time you accepted that. And as for missing me, you don’t miss me. You miss the idea of me.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘Really?’ asked Claudia.
‘Yes,’ answered Brady quietly.
He listened to the heavy silence and wondered what she was thinking.
‘I still love you,’ he said.
He heard her give out an exasperated sigh.
‘It’s too easy to say those words. Actions are what count, Jack.’
He dropped his shaking hand from his face and opened his eyes.
‘What more can I do?’
‘Until you know the answer to that, then there’s nothing for us to talk about.’
‘Wait, Claudia?’ Brady asked, desperate for her not to hang up on him.
Silence.
‘The job offer with O’Donnell?’
‘What about it?’ she asked, clearly not wanting to continue the conversation.
‘Why aren’t you taking it?’ Brady asked.
‘You know why,’ she coolly replied.
‘Claudia, look … can we arrange to meet up to at least talk about things?’
‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea, do you?’ she answered.
He didn’t reply. He couldn’t because all he wanted was another chance.
‘Look, Jack, I’ve got to go. I’m kind of busy right now.’
‘Sure, of course you are,’ answered Brady inaudibly.
He heard the line click as she hung up on him without even saying goodbye.
He watched, unable to move as the waves thrashed against the rocks on the beach below him. He breathed out slowly as he tried to steady himself. He felt wounded and didn’t know how to stop the actual physical pain he was feeling in his chest.
All too aware that time was getting on and that he had to get back to the station, Brady tried to get his head together. He rubbed his eyes roughly before glancing cursorily at the solitary, haunting, black outline that was the Priory. Then he turned and walked back to Conrad who was still sat with the engine idling, patiently waiting for him.
It was nearly midday and Brady was sat in his office going over what Matthews had said to him about Macmillan being behind Madley. Worse still, having the Chief Superintendent O’Donnell in his pocket. He knew O’Donnell and was certain that this could never be the case. Matthews must have got it wrong, that was all there was to it. He also had serious doubts about whether Madley was working for Macmillan. The other way round was more likely. Madley was a law unto himself, plain and simple.
Brady had been watching Macmillan, a corrupt politician, for the past year. He had recently been elected as Mayor. But the public didn’t realise the kind of man they had representing them. The police and the press were well informed of Macmillan’s dodgy past. Even Rubenfeld, a snitch for a local paper, couldn’t get his razor-sharp teeth into him despite Macmillan having a burglar for a brother and a prostitute for a younger sister. Both had a drugs habit to support and consequently, both had spent time in the station’s holding cells. But neither of Macmillan’s siblings’ illegal transgressions ever made the local paper’s front page.
And as for Macmillan, Brady knew his hands were dirty; but trying to prove it was another matter. The night Brady had got shot he had been staking out a new drug dealer, who his sources had told him was working for
