‘Ronnie Macmillan’s boys?’ asked Brady.
‘Yeah, the Macmillan boys. Nasty shits. Think the designer suits and sunglasses and the black Jag mean something. Means shit. They’re still ugly, hired thugs, regardless of the Armani name tag.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Brady.
‘She comes in. The copper. Stunning looking. Too fucking good for those suited gorillas. Joins them at the bar. They know who she is and it seems that she already knows them. Macmillan’s boys buy a bottle of champagne but they never touch a drop. She drinks maybe four glasses, if that. Then an hour and a half later I notice that her speech has started to slur and her eyes … you know that look? Pupils dilated? Can’t stand up. She wasn’t pissed though. But she was wasted. I reckon when she went to the loos they slipped something in her drink. I see it happening all the time in here.’
Brady knew that Carl’s assumption was right. The lab had found significant traces of Rohypnol, the date rape drug, in Simone’s blood and urine.
‘Why didn’t you do something if you thought she’d been drugged?’ asked Brady, an edge to his voice.
‘I’m paid to serve people not to fucking babysit!’
Brady could hardly get in Carl’s face about this; he was no better. He had seen Simone talking to Macmillan’s suits and walked out. If he had only gone over and asked her what the fuck she was doing with them, then she might not be in intensive care.
‘Did she leave with them?’ he asked.
‘Visa made a call and then ten minutes later they leave. Literally carrying the copper. They walked off down East Parade towards Brook Street.’
Brady shot him a questioning look.
‘I was having a tab break out front,’ Carl explained.
‘Since when has Madley allowed his staff to have breaks? Let alone allow tab out front?’
‘When Madley wants me to keep an eye on a situation. Visa and Delta chucking money around in his club to impress a copper is a situation.’
Brady nodded. He could see that.
‘How did you know she was a copper?’ asked Brady.
‘Just did. Been around you too long. Anyway, I have a thing for faces. Remembered her being in here with you a couple of times.’
Brady winced. That was over a year ago when he had last been in the Blue Lagoon with Simone, then a DC and his junior colleague.
‘What happened next?’ he asked.
‘A black panel van, Mercedes I think, is parked up in the back lane of the Avenue pub. Visa and Delta and the copper approach it and are met by two evil-looking shits dressed in black suits. Ex-military, I’d say.’
Brady frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You can just tell. They had this edge about them. Real nasty edge.’
‘Did they look Eastern European?’ asked Brady.
‘Yeah … foreign. Dark, dangerous, with a fucking glint in their eye which told you they’d slit you from ear to ear if you looked at them the wrong way.’
The Dabkunas brothers, thought Brady.
‘What about the driver?’
Carl shook his head. ‘Couldn’t see the driver from where I was stood. The van was parked facing the other way.’
‘How did you see all this stood out front?’
‘I was having a tab break. I’m allowed to stretch my legs,’ slowly answered Carl as he started polishing again.
‘What made you follow them?’
‘Madley asks me to do something, I do it. No questions asked.’
‘Can you describe the van?’ asked Brady.
‘Yeah, cost a lot of money. New. Mercedes-Benz black panel van. Tinted windows. You know the type used for carrying cargo?’
‘Yeah,’ Brady replied, getting the idea of what kind of cargo they’d be carrying. ‘Did you get the licence plate at all?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No,’ answered Carl.
Brady raised his eyebrow.
‘It was dark. You do the maths,’ answered Carl, giving Brady a look.
Brady wasn’t sure whether the barman had actually seen the licence plate. But he knew not to push him.
‘Why did they do that to her? Simone?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Carl shrugged.
‘Come on, Carl. You don’t expect me to believe that?’
‘Look, this goes nowhere. Alright? The shit that’s going on now is dangerous. For me … for Madley … Even you.’
‘Who? Who are you scared of?’
Carl stared at Brady. ‘Who do you think?’
‘Ronnie Macmillan.’
Carl’s reaction told Brady he was right.
‘Why? What’s Ronnie got to do with this?’
‘Everything,’ answered Carl as he stared hard at Brady.
‘Go on.’
Carl shook his head. ‘Alright, but I’m only telling you because he’s leaning really heavily on Madley. Understand? He needs sorting and if that means banging him up to get him off Madley’s back then so be it.’ Carl paused for a moment, looking down the corridor which led to the entrance upstairs to Madley’s office.
‘A black Jaguar turns up Brook Street and then pulls into the Avenue car park at the bottom of the back lane. Right by the Merc van.’
‘What happened next?’ asked Brady.
‘Visa and Delta had hold of the copper. She was completely wasted by now. Whatever they had given her had kicked in. Couldn’t stand up. They were arguing with the two Eastern European guys. It looked as if it was about to get nasty. Looked like the two ex-military-looking guys wanted to put her in the back of the van, but Macmillan’s boys weren’t letting her go. Then Ronnie Macmillan gets out the back of the Jaguar and steps in. He said something to the Eastern Europeans. Whatever he said calmed the situation down.’
‘Who took her then?’
‘Who do you think? Ronnie Macmillan. He opened the boot of his Jaguar and she got dumped in there. Visa and Delta got in the front, Ronnie Macmillan got back in the back and they drove off, followed by the Merc van.’
‘Did you see the driver of the van?’ asked Brady, trying to keep his voice level. He needed to know. To know whether it was Nick.
Carl looked at him and shook his head.
‘No, like I’ve already said, it was dark.’
‘Which direction?’ asked Brady.
He was already thinking that he’d get Conrad to check out the CCTV footage they had along the Promenade. He knew that where they’d parked up there were no cameras, which was why Adamson wouldn’t have seen either the black Jaguar or the Mercedes van. Let alone Ronnie Macmillan’s boys dumping Simone Henderson’s drugged body into the boot of Macmillan’s car.
‘They drove along the Promenade and turned up Marine Drive.’
Brady had a feeling that Macmillan might have taken her back to his club in Wallsend. After all, he did have private rooms there which guaranteed his clientele anonymity. It was the kind of place where no one would ask questions. A perfect front for whatever Ronnie Macmillan and the Eastern European brothers were involved in. And then there were the abandoned warehouses and buildings that Ronnie Macmillan had been buying up. He could
