splashes back on your old man and leave the bottle of Scotch clutched in his hands and the matches and petrol container beside him.’
‘Is that the best you’ve got?’ questioned Brady, trying to sound calm despite the fact his heart was racing so fast he thought it would explode.
Maybe it was the guilt he was feeling for asking Madley to sort the old bastard out once and for all. Maybe that was why he was sweating? His old man had spent twenty years inside for the brutal rape and murder of his mother. It should have been a minimum of thirty, but then some parole board decided to release him on good behaviour. Times had changed though. Nowadays a life sentence was seven years. Brady realised he should have been thankful that his old man had spent so long inside. But in his mind, the old bastard should have spent the rest of his life banged up.
‘Who the fuck in their right mind would torch someone alive and leave the evidence on them?’ questioned Matthews.
‘He’s a fucking drunk, Jimmy. I don’t give a shit who he tells that story to because no one would believe him. Have you forgotten that he’s already served time for murder?’
Brady steadied himself. He knew that his old man was capable of cold-blooded murder. Had already proved that once before. So why not this time? And anyway, he reasoned, his father had been tried and convicted by a jury. If there was a shadow of a doubt, surely his defence lawyer would have exploited it.
Matthews had nothing on him or Madley.
Matthews spoke again. ‘I know you got Madley to arrange it.’
‘Do you?’ asked Brady, a hard edge to his voice.
‘I’ve got better things to do with my time, Jimmy, than listen to your crap!’
‘Wait!’ shouted Matthews with an edge of desperation.
‘Give me one good reason why,’ demanded Brady.
‘Because I’ve heard something that might interest you.’
‘Like what?’ Brady asked, feeling nothing but disgust for Matthews.
‘Alright, your old man wants to settle a score with you and Madley. Convinced himself you set him up. But he’s not the only one. Two of Macmillan’s henchmen showed up about a week ago. Visa and bloody Delta they’re called. Reckon their names are something to do with them being Macmillan’s debt collectors,’ Matthews stated.
‘His men, Visa and Delta, where are they from?’ asked Brady.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just tell me, Jimmy!’
‘From their accents I’d say London. Why?’
Brady ignored his question and moved on.
‘And they wanted to talk to you?’ Brady was starting to get a real bad feeling about what Matthews was going to say next.
‘Who the fuck do you think? Nelson fucking Mandela? Of course me!’
‘Why?’ questioned Brady.
‘They heard that I was a copper who also worked for Madley. They wanted some dirt on Madley to stitch him up.’
‘What’s Macmillan’s problem with Madley?’ asked Brady.
This was news to him.
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Ronnie Macmillan is buying up everything he can in North Tyneside. He bought that lap dancing club down by Wallsend docks off Benton Way.’
‘The Ship Inn, better known as the Hole,’ muttered Brady. ‘In Gainers Terrace.’
‘Yeah, that’s the place. But then again, “bought” is another word for going in and just taking it over. The owner of the place got pushed out by Macmillan and his men. Or pushed into the Tyne depending on who you listen to, because the guy just disappeared. And no sooner, Ronnie Macmillan’s taken the place over.’
‘What’s that got to do with Madley?’ asked Brady.
‘Because they’ve been leaning on him. Ronnie Macmillan’s got himself a lucrative trade going on in the sex business. His new partners are Eastern European by all accounts, and dangerous fuckers. But Macmillan’s got big plans. He wants to expand out to Whitley Bay. And that means buying Madley out. He wants the Blue Lagoon and the Royal Hotel because they’re located right on the sea front. What do they say? Location, location, location? He could do a great trade there with an upmarket lap dancing club and a hotel right next door for punters to book in with one of the girls. Imagine the bookings he’d get from stag parties alone,’ stated Matthews.
Brady breathed in deeply. Why the hell hadn’t Madley told him any of this?
‘But that’s crazy,’ he replied. ‘The council wouldn’t sanction a lap dancing club on the sea front.’
‘How dumb are you, Jack? Fuck me! Do I have to spell it out for you? Ronnie Macmillan’s only the puppet. The puppet master is his brother, Mayor Macmillan. He’s the guy pulling all the strings and he’s the one who would pull any string it took to license a strip club in Whitley Bay,’ answered Matthews. ‘Anyway, from what I remember there’s quite a few lap dancing bars up and down South Parade so it shouldn’t be that hard for Macmillan to get the council to agree. Greedy bastards that they are. What do you reckon, Jack? What would they choose? Revenue or protecting the local residents’ interests?’
Brady didn’t answer him. There was no point given the fact it was a rhetorical question.
‘Exactly!’ spat Matthews.
‘And from what Visa and Delta implied, Ronnie Macmillan’s one pissed-off boss. I never saw him, which was a good thing. It was bad enough to know he was waiting in the car outside.’
Brady listened. He could hear the fear in Matthews’ voice.
‘Why’s Ronnie Macmillan pissed off then?’ questioned Brady.
‘He offered to bring Madley on board. Business partners, like,’ explained Matthews.
‘What? Sex trafficking and sex slavery and all that shit?’
‘Yeah, that’s about the sum of it. But Madley’s refused. Doesn’t want to get his hands dirty through using women’s bodies. Moral man, he said. Fucking Catholic raised.’
Brady sighed. Relieved to hear it. Even though he already knew it, it was good to have it verified. And good that it was coming from Matthews who had previously been adamant that Madley was caught up in sex trafficking.
‘And then the stupid bastard won’t sell up. Won’t go in to business with Macmillan and won’t sell to him. No wonder Macmillan’s pissed off. The guy’s been more than fair. So …’ Matthews paused.
Brady felt his stomach contract. He knew why now. Why Simone Henderson’s body had been dumped in Madley’s nightclub. And then why the three-nines call to the emergency services had been made, bringing the police to Madley’s door. It was a warning to Madley to get out. That if he didn’t go, this was just the start of it.
‘Why did Ronnie Macmillan’s men come to you?’ asked Brady, feeling sick. ‘What did they want?’
Matthews went quiet.
Too quiet, thought Brady.
‘What the fuck did they want from you?’ he repeated insistently.
‘I’m sorry, Jack …’ Matthews stuttered. ‘I honestly didn’t know it would end up like this …’
‘What the fuck did they want from you?’ Brady was shouting now. ‘What did you do?’
‘They brought in a photograph when they visited. They wanted me to ID it. That’s what they wanted,’ muttered Matthews. ‘They knew I was involved with Madley. That I spent a lot of time at the Blue Lagoon and so they thought I might recognise her.’
‘Tell me it wasn’t Simone? Tell me you didn’t tell them she was a copper?’
‘I had to … one word from them and I’m dead. For fuck’s sake, Jack! You have no idea what it’s like in here! No idea! It’s killing me … fucking killing me! They threatened me with Kate. Said if I refused to co-operate they’d go after her and they would … they would hurt her so bad …’ Matthews faltered, unable to articulate the details of what they said they would do to his estranged wife.
‘Anyway,’ he muttered. ‘If they hadn’t got the information from me, they would have got it from someone else. You see, Simone Henderson made herself too obvious. Too keen to get close to Ronnie Macmillan. Women like her don’t work as hookers; even high-class hookers. She’s the one who got too confident. Careless even. She should have stayed in London, Jack. This was her call.’
