Brady watched as the realisation hit Ryecroft.
In that moment Brady knew that Ryecroft was certain it was his daughter lying in the morgue.
Ryecroft stared at Brady as he absorbed this final, damning fact. He shook his head. ‘Whatever you do don’t tell my wife. She didn’t know that … that Melissa was pregnant. She needed money to go private. So she came to me and asked. I wouldn’t give her the money until she told me why. But she promised me it had nothing to do with that bastard Marijuis… . she promised me… . she promised … All she wanted was to be a model … that’s all she wanted …’ he mumbled.
‘Did you personally take her to a private clinic?’ asked Brady.
Ryecroft looked at Brady, surprised by the question.
‘No … I … she said she would take care of it if I gave her the money. That she was too embarrassed as it was … She told her mother she was staying at her friend’s for the weekend a month back and I presumed that’s when …’ he shook his head. ‘I asked when she came back on the Monday and she just said she didn’t want to talk about it.’
Brady wasn’t sure what Melissa had spent her father’s money on, but it definitely wasn’t a private clinic.
‘So, you didn’t know where she went for the abortion?’
Ryecroft shook his head, ashamed at his answer.
Brady caught Ryecroft as his body suddenly collapsed forward sobbing with anguish at what he had just been told. Until then he had been holding out that it was just coincidence. That she’d turn up unharmed and life would automatically go back to normal.
Brady held him and waited for the man to compose himself.
Conrad opened the door and looked at Brady.
Brady shook his head, signalling to Conrad to give them a few more minutes.
Conrad understood and discreetly closed the door.
Brady continued to hold Ryecroft as his bulky frame convulsed with agonising sobs.
Brady had had a gut feeling that Ryecroft hadn’t been as forthcoming as he could have been during the interview. There were a few moments when Ryecroft had over-reacted, or had got angry. Too angry. And he had seemed too adamant that his daughter didn’t have a boyfriend. And that she had never had one.
Even a fool wouldn’t believe that of a girl who holidays abroad for her sixteenth birthday with her girlfriends independently of her parents. Throw into the mix the breast augmentation job. This girl was clearly way ahead of her sixteen years.
Brady could imagine that Ryecroft and his eldest daughter were close enough for her to have managed to borrow money from him to get an abortion done privately. She wouldn’t have gone to her mother; that much was clear. She was a daddy’s girl. And she knew how to work it. And Ryecroft obviously adored her. He was no different from most parents today. When it came to their children, it was easier to pay their way out of trouble. And the trouble here was this Eastern European man named Marijuis.
And whether that was his real name was debatable.
Ryecroft suddenly straightened up. ‘I’m sorry …’ he mumbled, embarrassed.
He went over to the table and picked up a fistful of tissues from the box that had been put there intentionally.
‘It’s perfectly understandable, sir,’ replied Brady quietly as Ryecroft roughly dried his face.
Brian Ryecroft had to go out looking strong. He needed to have his head together. For the sake of his wife and his youngest daughter. They were all he had now. And he would be damned if he’d let anything happen to them. What had happened to Melissa was his fault. He knew that. And he would live with that knowledge until the day he died.
He was relieved that they hadn’t witnessed his breakdown. He breathed in deeply as he composed himself, making a promise to himself that it wouldn’t happen again. No matter what.
‘Thank you, DI Brady. I would like to be taken to Rake Lane now if you don’t mind. Get this over with,’ Ryecroft stated.
Brady nodded.
‘Of course, sir. Our family liaison officer is already waiting for you.’
Brady knew it wasn’t worth asking Ryecroft why he’d withheld information. He was suffering enough as it was without Brady adding to it.
And anyway, the worst was yet to come, thought Brady.
Brady hadn’t told him the cause of death.
He was still waiting on Wolfe’s call to confirm his suspicion. And until then, he couldn’t release that information.
Not even to Brian Ryecroft.
No matter how much Brady wanted to prepare him for the horror of what some maniac had done to his daughter, he couldn’t.
‘Conrad, get Harvey and Kodovesky to check out flights on Thursday from Newcastle to either Heathrow or Stansted,’ ordered Brady as he and Conrad walked along the corridor. ‘I need to know whether Melissa Ryecroft was booked on a flight and if so, who was booked next to her. And crucially, who made the booking.’
‘Yes, sir. What about CCTV footage of the airport and the grounds?’
Brady nodded.
Conrad seemed to be thinking what he was thinking. That she hadn’t got on any plane to London. That much was clear. Brady’s gut feeling was telling him that someone picked her up from the airport. And he was certain that this twenty-eight-year-old Eastern European – or perhaps Romanian – boyfriend going by the name of ‘Marijuis’ was involved in Melissa Ryecroft’s disappearance. Brady wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been behind the Facebook message offering her the false promise of a meeting with a top London model agency.
But they had to check out all possibilities.
‘And make sure we get a copy of all numbers logged to and from her phone ASAP, will you?’ ordered Brady.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Conrad.
‘We should have had those by now,’ muttered Brady distractedly. ‘And tell Daniels and Kenny not to bother continuing going through the CCTV footage last night down on the Promenade.’
Conrad shot him a questioning look.
‘They’re going to have their hands full going through the footage at the airport,’ said Brady.
His mind was preoccupied with the surveillance footage that Jed was currently digitally enhancing for him. He was struggling to focus on the work at hand. All he could keep thinking about was Nick and who and what he was involved in. He didn’t need any CCTV footage of the anonymous 999 caller to know that it had been Nick. He had more damning evidence.
‘Conrad, can you make sure we’ve got everything together for the briefing? Chase up Ainsworth if you have to for the crime scene photographs of the head.’
Conrad’s steel-grey eyes narrowed at the prospect of asking Ainsworth for anything, let alone telling him his job.
Brady reached his office door. He paused before entering.
‘And, Conrad, tell him I need images of the note and any forensic information they have,’ instructed Brady.
‘Sir?’ questioned Conrad, puzzled.
Brady still hadn’t told anyone about the note. There was only himself and Ainsworth’s team who knew about it. He still hadn’t quite figured what it meant and why it had been left for him.
The obvious came to mind. But until he had more evidence he didn’t want to accept who could be behind the murder of the girl, and who had left him the note along with the victim’s head.
For all Brady knew, they could be two separate crimes. But he seriously doubted it.
He looked at Conrad. He was waiting for Brady to explain himself.
Brady shook his head.
