‘Bastard!’ cursed Ryecroft.
‘Brian!’ hissed his wife.
‘Well … what other word would you use to describe him? Apart from paedo!’
Michelle Ryecroft didn’t answer him. Nor did she disagree.
‘How were they communicating?’ asked Brady.
‘Texting … or phone calls,’ answered Michelle Ryecroft.
‘On her BlackBerry?’ asked Brady, realising he would have to get Harvey to chase up her call details dating back from last November.
Michelle Ryecroft nodded.
‘So why let her go back for the breast augmentation surgery?’
Michelle Ryecroft thought about it.
‘Because she talked about nothing else. She wanted it as a Christmas present. Had this idea that she wanted to be a model. And to be one, she needed to have larger breasts … you know what it’s like …’ she explained apologetically.
Brian Ryecroft shook his head.
‘We … we made her promise that if we paid for the operation she would never see Marijuis again. And … and she agreed.’
Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Oh Lucy … no … Tell me you didn’t know that Melissa was still seeing him?’
Lucy nodded, too scared to speak.
Brian Ryecroft’s head suddenly lifted, spinning round to face his eleven-year-old daughter. The look on his face was pure rage.
‘Lucy?’ gently questioned Brady as he leaned forward.
‘I … used to look at her BlackBerry, like. When she’d leave it lying around. I’d … I’d just play around on it …’
‘Look at her messages maybe?’ asked Brady.
‘Something like that. There were all these messages there … ’cos that’s all she ever did was text. And they were mainly from someone named “Mandy”. It was obvious it was him, you know? And his English was lousy which is how I knew.’
‘You sure it wasn’t just text speak?’
She nervously looked at him and shook her head.
‘I think I know bad English like, from text speak.’
She then dropped her eyes and began fidgeting with the ringpull on the Coke can.
‘Go on,’ Brady encouraged.
She took another tentative sip of Coke as she thought about it.
She then nodded, putting down the drink before apprehensively looking at Brady.
‘She told me that she was going with him to London. That he was the one who had contacted the model scout because he believed in her. He arranged it all. Gave the scout her details and … you know the rest.’
‘Do you know have any idea who it was who put this message on Melissa’s Facebook page about the model agency, Lucy?’
Lucy numbly shook her head.
‘No … I have no idea …’
Brady watched her as she looked away, tears filling her eyes.
‘What did she promise you to make you keep all this a secret?’
Lucy looked back at Brady, weighing up whether she should say.
‘She said that I could have her Superdry jacket and … and her BlackBerry.’
‘You’ve got her phone?’ asked Brady.
‘No, I got the jacket before she left and she promised me her phone when she got back on Friday afternoon … She … she said that Marijuis was buying her an iPhone 4S for agreeing to go to the meeting in London,’ replied Lucy, biting her lip again.
The realisation that her sister hadn’t returned was hitting her hard.
‘Lucy? Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell us any of this?’ questioned Michelle Ryecroft, her face ashen.
‘I … I … promised Melissa …’ mumbled Lucy. ‘I … I just thought she’d got delayed coming back from London … The last thing I was going to do was have her think I was a snitch …’
‘Was the name of the clinic in Budapest Virenyos by any chance?’ Brady turned to Michelle Ryecroft.
He didn’t need her to answer; the reaction on her face was enough.
‘How? How did you know …’ she asked before her face crumpled with realisation.
Brady decided not to ask whether her daughter had had an abortion. They had already gone through enough. If Melissa had, he was certain that she would never have told her parents. The internal scarring on her body was telling enough in itself.
‘Sir?’ Brady said, stopping Brian Ryecroft before he left the interview room.
He turned and nodded at Conrad to close the door behind him.
Brady had chosen to wait until his wife and daughter had left before having a word with Ryecroft.
Brian Ryecroft eyed Brady suspiciously.
Brady swallowed. His throat was dry. The words were difficult to speak.
‘I’ve arranged for a family liaison officer to take you to Rake Lane Hospital, sir,’ began Brady, unable to bring himself to say the word ‘morgue’.
Ryecroft shook his head.
‘There’s no need. I have my car outside. I’d rather drive.’
‘I recommend that your wife drives your daughter home and you and the liaison officer go ahead without them,’ Brady suggested.
‘Why?’ asked Ryecroft. ‘What haven’t you told us?’ he demanded as he searched Brady’s face.
‘The body we have… . the woman we need you to ID … is …’
‘Go on.’
‘She’s in a really bad way, sir. I just don’t think it would be wise for your wife to be there.’
‘How bad?’
‘Her head has been removed …’ Brady began.
He knew that this small detail had been withheld from the press. Too gruesome to be released for public consumption, Gates had decided.
‘Sir?’
Ryecroft looked at Brady, his eyes filled with emotion as he tried to fight back the tears.
His face was ashen as he tried to make sense of what Brady had just told him.
‘Do you think … do you think it’s my daughter? Honestly? Do you really think it’s her?’ asked Ryecroft.
Brady looked away. He couldn’t stare at the agony that was etched across Ryecroft’s face.
Suddenly Ryecroft grabbed hold of Brady, forcefully pinning him against the wall.
‘For fuck’s sake! Tell me!’ he spat.
Brady had no choice but to look him in the eyes.
He reluctantly nodded.
‘I wish I could say I wasn’t sure. But … there are a lot of similarities between your missing daughter and the body.’
‘What the hell do you mean, similarities? You’ve got a photograph of her surely? You must be able to tell?’
‘That’s the problem, sir, the damage to her face is so extensive that it’s difficult to say. But the hair and body type match, as do the brown eyes … and …’ Brady looked Ryecroft in the eye.
He had already had word back from Wolfe before the interview that the head matched the body. No question.
‘But … the autopsy shows that the victim had had an abortion about a month ago …’
