You reckon it could be the missing girl, sir?’ Conrad asked.
‘We can’t rule out coincidence. But all the same, she did have a breast job carried out at a clinic in Budapest.’
Brady took out his phone. He needed to get Harvey on this straight away.
‘Tom?’ Brady asked.
‘Fuck me, Jack! How the bloody hell did you end up with the victim’s missing head in your bloody car, eh?’ quizzed Harvey.
Brady’s silence was enough.
‘Well, at least it’s saved us a job hunting up and down the coastline looking for it,’ Harvey continued, filling in the awkward gap.
‘That’s if it’s her,’ Brady coolly pointed out.
‘Yeah … let’s not get a
Brady didn’t laugh.
He knew that in all likelihood it would belong to the girl lying in one of the thirty body refrigerators in Rake Lane Hospital’s morgue. The girl whose body had been sadistically raped, sodomised and then murdered.
‘Conrad’s traced the serial number from the silicone implants found in the victim’s breasts to a clinic called Virenyos in Budapest. We need to see if they match with the missing girl so I need the details of the clinic and the serial number of the silicone implants from her parents. But under no circumstances let them know what we’ve found.’
‘Conrad’s already informed us. So I went ahead and requested the clinic details and serial number from the parents,’ answered Harvey.
‘Thanks, Tom.’
Brady sighed as he disconnected the call, relieved that Harvey was already onto it.
‘Gates wants to know when you’re holding a press call, sir,’ Conrad informed him.
Brady momentarily took his eyes off the wing mirror and shot Conrad an incredulous look.
‘Not exactly looking my best right now,’ replied Brady.
Conrad didn’t respond.
‘You did put the briefing back?’ asked Brady. It was already nearly 3pm, which was when the briefing was supposed to take place.
‘Yes, sir,’ Conrad replied. ‘I pushed it back by an hour given the circumstances.’
‘Good,’ muttered Brady. It gave him some time to get his head sorted and make a couple of calls.
‘Oh, and sir, Claudia, your ex-wife—’ Conrad began.
‘I know who Claudia is, Conrad!’
Brady nervously rubbed the dark, emerging stubble on his face as he checked the wing mirror again.
Conrad refrained from saying anything. Instead he focused on the traffic lights, waiting for them to change.
‘I’m sorry, Conrad,’ apologised Brady as Conrad slowly pulled away. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.’
His deputy nodded,
‘I understand sir,’ he answered simply.
‘Claudia then?’ Brady asked.
‘She’s waiting in your office for you,’ Conrad nodded. ‘Seems she has some information.’
‘Do you know what it’s about?’ asked Brady.
Conrad shook his head. ‘No sir, she wouldn’t say.’
Conrad pulled into a rare parking space opposite the station.
Brady waited until he had turned off the engine before slowly getting out the car. He still felt shaken. His head and ribs still hurt and he couldn’t get rid of the stench of decomposing flesh from his nostrils. He knew the smell would be clinging to his skin. And he could feel the decay emanating from his pores.
‘Conrad, do me a favour will you? Go and tell Claudia I’ll be with her directly.’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Conrad as he locked his car.
He turned expectantly to Brady, surprised he wasn’t making a move towards the station.
‘I just need five minutes on my own to clear my head,’ Brady explained.
Conrad gave him a questioning look.
‘Get Harvey to leave a copy of the missing girl’s parents’ statement on my desk for me. Just in case the clinic and silicone details match.’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Conrad.
Brady watched as he walked across the road and up the stairs into Whitley Bay Police Station. Conrad turned and looked back at him briefly before going through the heavy, wooden double doors.
Brady was the first to admit that at this precise moment he didn’t look too good. His face told a recent story of having had the shit kicked out of him. He was temporarily vehicle-less while forensics treated his car as a crime scene and he was withholding evidence in his jacket pocket that fingered his brother Nick for the attempted murder of a copper.
In those early, blurred months over countless bottles of Scotch, Brady remembered talking to Nick about the reason his wife had left him. But he was certain he wouldn’t have mentioned Simone by name. Or had he? He wasn’t sure about anything any more.
The only thing he was certain about was the fact that he needed to find Nick before someone else did.
He took out his phone.
Trina McGuire was Nick’s girlfriend of old. And apart from Brady and Madley, she was the only other connection Nick had with the North East.
He scrolled down his list of numbers. He knew he had her in there somewhere. He’d had to call her enough times in connection with her wayward son, Shane McGuire. Trina was a lap dancer at the Hole in Wallsend. A place that only the hardened locals would dare visit.
Brady found her number. He pressed call and waited.
‘Yeah?’ croaked a sleepy voice.
‘Trina? It’s Jack,’ answered Brady.
‘Oh fuck! What’s he been up to now, eh? I swear I’ll drown him in the Tyne if he’s been stealing booze again!’
Brady cleared his throat.
‘No, Trina, this has got nothing to do with Shane.’
‘Then why the hell are you calling me at 2:47pm on a Saturday afternoon when I just crawled into bed a few hours ago?’
Brady realised that she must have had a busy night at work. Despite the recession, the sex trade was still going strong.
‘It’s Nick,’ Brady answered. ‘He’s back in the North East.’
‘So? What that’s got to do with me, DI Brady?’
‘I need to get in touch with him.’
‘Hadaway and shite, will you? Do what most people do, give him a call!’
‘He’s gone to ground. And I was hoping he might have got in touch with you.’
Trina was silent.
Brady knew her silence meant that she knew something. She was a woman of many words; too many at times.
‘No …’
‘Come on, Trina.’
Silence again.
‘What is it? What do you know?’
‘Nothing. Alright? I know nothing!’
‘Don’t make me put out a call to get Shane lifted. Maybe he’ll be a bit more forthcoming. Last time I heard he
