Brady didn’t exactly understand the meaning of the message. Apart from the obvious – that it was a threat. And he didn’t know why they were targeting him. But it could easily be for the same reason that Frank Henderson had attacked him outside Simone’s room – because they had found out that Simone had returned to the North East on police business connected with Brady. If Henderson had got the wrong Brady, why not them?
Brady had no proof that the two Eastern European brothers had put the note and severed head in his car. But the fact that they waited for him to leave the hospital and then followed him was evidence enough in his books. That and the fact that the note was signed with the same ‘N’ burnt into Simone’s left breast and on the emblem of the signet ring they were both wearing.
The last thing Brady wanted was Claudia being targeted, or worse, ending up like Simone Henderson. He knew what he had to do. He had no choice and she knew it.
‘Okay,’ Brady conceded.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Claudia.
‘I said so, didn’t I?’ replied Brady irritably.
He was angry with her. Furious that she had kept all this back from him and yet was now expecting him to take the blame.
‘And you won’t take any of this to Gates or Adamson?’ uneasily questioned Claudia, needing to be certain.
‘I said I wouldn’t,’ assured Brady, but his voice was hard.
‘Thanks, Jack. I can’t say how much I appreciate this …’
But it wasn’t only Claudia he was protecting; he was also trying to protect his brother, Nick.
‘I need you to pull everything you have on Ronnie Macmillan. Understand? I want more information on these Eastern European men he’s gone into business with and I need it in the next hour or so.’
Claudia looked at him, about to shake her head and say it was an impossible task.
‘Don’t even try and tell me you can’t do it. Because I know you can. You’ve got a hell of a lot of information back at your office that I don’t have access to. You have informants and you have sex trafficked women that you’ve freed. Contact them. Interview them. Anything that leads us closer to these men, Claudia. And I mean anything.’
‘Jack. Do you know how difficult that’s going to be? It’s a Saturday for God’s sake! I’ve got no chance of getting all that you’re asking together on my own. And, Christ, most of the women have returned to their countries of origin.’
‘Ring them then,’ suggested Brady.
‘Do you fully understand what you’re asking me to do for you?’
‘Do you understand what you’re asking me to do for you?’ retaliated Brady, his face darkening.
He was in no mood to be messed with; and especially not by his ex-wife who was asking him to risk his career to bloody well protect her own.
Brady was under no illusions. Claudia and DCI Davidson, her new boyfriend, co-headed a groundbreaking new Human Trafficking Centre in Newcastle equal to Sheffield’s. It was clear that she would sacrifice Brady to keep her position, both professionally and personally.
‘Why?’ questioned Brady.
‘Why, what?’
‘Why keep my name? Brady. Is it just to piss me off? Or were you banking on there being a time like this one when you could use it to stitch me up?’
She looked away, refusing to answer him.
It was something that had been troubling him ever since he had figured out that the Brady Simone had been talking about wasn’t him.
‘If you need help you can have Kenny and Daniels,’ he stated, getting back to the real issue.
‘Oh, you have to be kidding me. Bloody Laurel and Hardy? I don’t think so!’
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘What about Anna Kodovesky? I’m sure she’d be more help in one hour than those two knuckleheads would be in a whole week working with me.’
Brady thought about it.
‘Alright,’ he conceded.
Kodovesky was good at her job and she kept her mouth shut.
Daniels and Kenny were responsible for most of the sick jokes that did the rounds at the station. Additionally, neither of them knew when to keep quiet. And in a case as delicate as this, Brady needed discretion.
‘Thanks,’ said Claudia.
‘Yeah,’ muttered Brady suddenly standing up and walking towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Claudia asked.
‘Gates’s office. He wants to see me,’ he bluntly answered.
‘Jack?’ questioned Claudia, worried.
Brady walked out his office, slamming the door behind him.
Brady breathed in deeply as he looked at himself in the mirror in the gents’.
He was still shaking from his run-in with his boss, DCI Gates. He had requested a meeting to supposedly get an update on the murder investigation. But it had soon become apparent that Gates was more interested in giving Brady a kicking to add to the one he had already had from Frank Henderson.
The upshot was Gates wanted a ‘case management review’ with Brady on Monday morning to decide what action he was going to take against him in relation to Henderson and Adamson’s separate complaints. And also to discuss reassigning Conrad to Adamson.
Brady still felt winded. He and Conrad were a team. He couldn’t imagine having another DS. Brady didn’t work well with a partner. Everyone knew that. No one better than Gates. But somehow, he and Conrad had just managed to find a way of working together. Whether Conrad realised it or not, Brady couldn’t imagine not having Conrad there. Conrad was irreplaceable.
And then there was the report that Gates had demanded by Monday. He wanted to know exactly how the murder victim’s head had ended up in his car and what precisely he had been doing at St Mary’s Lighthouse.
Brady bent over the washbasin and turned the cold tap on, trying to block out the image of what he had found in the black bin liner. He cupped his hands together and filled them with running water before dousing his throbbing face. It was still a mess. He didn’t know how the hell he could give a press call to the public tomorrow looking as if he was the one who needed to spend a night in the cells. Another salient point made by Gates.
Brady suddenly straightened up when he heard the door open. He swung round, praying that it wasn’t Adamson. Now wasn’t the time to explain why Simone Henderson had mentioned to her flatmate that she was coming back up to the North East to meet with Brady. While he now knew that it had been his ex-wife Simone had been talking about, the information afforded him little consolation, given the fact he had no choice but to keep silent and accept the outcome.
‘Bloody hell, bonnie lad! I’ve been hunting everywhere for you,’ puffed Turner, out of breath.
Brady shot him a quizzical look. ‘Aren’t you meant to be clocking off? Your shift finished at 8pm, Charlie.’
Turner shook his scraggy head. He looked troubled. His small beady eyes barely visible beneath the sagging eyelids.
‘What? What’s wrong?’ he asked as he walked over to his old friend.
‘Just left the station and was about to get in my car and this kid came at me out of nowhere. Thrust this at me. Said it was for you and it was urgent,’ he said, holding his trembling hand out.
Brady took it. It was a blank envelope but he could feel something inside.
‘Where did he go?’ asked Brady, trying to keep his voice level despite the rising panic.
‘Disappeared before I could say anything,’ answered Turner, his voice still shaky. ‘Legged it down the back lane behind the station.’
‘What did he look like?’
