‘Good,’ replied Brady, relieved it bought him time. ‘Anything else?’
‘Ainsworth said your car will be ready when it’s ready.’
Brady sighed heavily.
‘His words, not mine, sir,’ explained Conrad apologetically.
Brady nodded. He’d expected such a response from Ainsworth. Especially if Conrad was doing the asking. Brady didn’t know what it was about Conrad that riled Ainsworth so much, but the cantankerous old bugger treated Conrad the way he treated uniform. And to say he treated uniform like a bunch of incapable idiots was putting it mildly.
‘I’ve just seen the pictures of the head, sir, and … the note …’
Brady looked at Conrad, waiting for him to say something.
He didn’t.
‘If that’s all …’ Brady said.
Conrad didn’t move.
Brady realised that he looked uneasy. His face was a little too strained, his jaw too tight; even for Conrad.
‘What does it mean, sir?’ asked Conrad worriedly.
‘I wish I knew …’ muttered Brady.
He nervously dragged his hand through his hair, desperate not to have this conversation.
Conrad looked at his boss. He looked a mess. And it wasn’t just that he’d been beaten up by Frank Henderson. There was something else wrong. Conrad could see it in his eyes.
‘Sir?’ tentatively began Conrad, not knowing how to say what he was thinking. ‘Do you think it was a threat?’
It hadn’t even occurred to Brady. Instead, he’d thought Nick was sending him a warning. But for his own good.
Now Brady considered Conrad’s question.
Could Nick be working for someone who wanted to hurt Brady? But why would his own brother be doing this to him? Brady didn’t have the answer and that worried him.
And if Brady was to go by the look on Conrad’s face, then he should be worried.
Brady could picture the smudged black words as if the note was right in front of him:
‘Who’s “N”, sir?’ asked Conrad.
Brady sat silent. He couldn’t answer Conrad’s question.
He wasn’t even sure if he had the right answer anyway.
Brady shrugged as he looked up at his deputy.
‘Your guess is as good as mine, Conrad,’ answered Brady.
Brady picked up his jacket from the back of his chair just as his phone started to vibrate.
He grabbed the phone, recognising the number immediately.
He knew he had no choice but to take it. He looked at Conrad’s concerned face.
‘One minute, yeah?’ Brady said. ‘I’ll be straight up after this call.’
He waited until Conrad had left.
‘Yeah?’ he quickly answered.
‘Figured out who’s playing games with you then?’
‘Fuck you!’ answered Brady.
He didn’t have time for Matthews’ games.
‘Sounds like you haven’t,’ stated Matthews sourly.
‘Don’t you have better things to do with your time than hassle me?’ demanded Brady.
‘What do you think? Banged up in here with the worst shits possible. Constantly watching my back so I don’t end up in a fucking morgue …’
‘Look, Jimmy, I haven’t got time for this,’ Brady pointed out.
‘What happened to you visiting me? Didn’t I say I had something that might interest you?’
‘You know the score better than anyone! I can’t come and see you because everyone here thinks you’re some bent ex-copper on the take. Now if I visit you, what does that make me look like?’ answered Brady. ‘Add in the fact that I have my hands full here with a murder investigation.’
He was started to lose his patience with Matthews. He had bigger problems to contend with than whatever it was Matthews thought he had over Brady.
‘Your worst nightmare is just beginning, Jack. And being seen talking to me is nothing compared to what’s going to happen if you don’t get your arse over here and find out what I have to tell you.’
‘Why can’t you just say it now? Save me a hell of a lot of trouble. Especially considering I’m heading a murder investigation here. I haven’t got time to shit let alone take a couple of hours out to visit you.’
‘If you don’t make the time that’ll be the least of your worries,’ warned Matthews.
‘Says who?’
‘How about your old man who you and that shit Madley set up?’
‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,’ answered Brady.
He clenched his right fist tight as he waited for Matthews’ response.
‘Fuck you do. And so does Ronnie Macmillan,’ answered Matthews.
‘What do you mean?’ questioned Brady as his heart started to beat faster.
‘Let’s say I saw him and his boys here making a special visit to see your “Da”. Remember him, Jack? Or did you think he’d been got rid of like that fucking tramp that Madley had torched to death?’
Brady was speechless.
His heart wasn’t racing now. It had stopped.
‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ answered Brady.
‘Fuck you do! Anyway, get your arse in here first thing tomorrow and don’t forget my fucking baccy!’
With that Matthews hung up.
Brady stood still. He couldn’t move.
Madley, he thought. He needed to talk to Madley.
Brady pressed Madley’s number.
‘Yeah, Martin … it’s me. We’ve got a problem …’ Brady began.
Brady had no idea why Ronnie Macmillan would want to talk to his old man. But it was clear there was trouble coming his way. Or should he say, even more trouble.
Ronnie Macmillan was trouble of the nastiest sort. The kind of trouble that Brady could do without.
Brady wearily sighed.
He knew he should go and visit Matthews but he didn’t have the time. The day was running away from him and he still hadn’t held the briefing.
Brady put his jacket on and left his office, locking the door behind him.
He didn’t trust anyone.
And after the day he’d had, who could blame him?
Brady attempted to run up the stairs to the second floor but failed miserably. His leg was now giving him so much jip, coupled with the pain from his bruised ribs, that he found himself limping. He paused for a moment, wincing as he bent down to massage the old wound, waiting for the agonising spasm to cease.
Too many months behind a desk, he mused. Six months of paper-pushing to suddenly being thrown a case of this magnitude was taking its toll. Both physically and mentally.
He had a briefing to hold and he was late. Add in that the briefing had already been put back by too many
