Blind Alley (11 page)

‘Well . . . looks like Bentley’s got something on Madley. I just hope for your sake that you really were interested in Bentley’s case because of the similar MO and not because of Madley.’

‘Of course, sir,’ answered Brady.

Gates stared hard at Brady. Cold and detached.

‘Good. I’d hate to think that you were trying to protect someone here. Or even forewarn them.’

Brady wasn’t surprised that Gates knew his connection with Madley. After all, Jimmy Matthews had come clean that he had been in Madley’s pocket. Feeding him whatever scraps of police intelligence he had in order to wipe out significant gambling debts. Brady had never quite figured out how Matthews could afford his lifestyle on a modest copper’s salary. The answer was easy once you realised he was on Madley’s payroll.

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, sir,’ Brady said, knowing that he was playing a dangerous game.

‘Don’t take me for an idiot. You know exactly what I’m saying. But by all means sit there and pretend you don’t.’

Brady didn’t answer him. It took all his effort not to break eye contact. He was furious at what Gates was daring to imply. He knew a few corrupt coppers, such as Matthews who was currently banged up in Durham prison. But Brady wasn’t one of them. He had never crossed the line with his friendship with Madley – not once. So for Gates to sit there accusing him of being bent was wildly unfair and, crucially, unsubstantiated.

‘What I’d like to know is why would DI Bentley’s victim be asking to see you?’

Brady sat back. He was absolutely stunned.

‘She’s regained consciousness?’

‘That’s what I’ve just said. Before you showed up, DI Bentley said that she was awake. But she’s refusing to talk to him or his officers. Instead she asked for you, which obviously surprised him. But what surprises me is that you’ve just sat there and told me you don’t know her.’

Brady was temporarily speechless as he tried to figure out how the hell to get out of Gates’s snare.

‘I take it you have nothing to say in your defence, Detective Inspector?’

Brady cleared his throat first. It felt so dry he didn’t know if he would be able to get the words out. ‘I didn’t tell you that I knew her because she’s an informant. I wanted to protect her identity. Trina McGuire is someone I’ve had contact with over the years. But it has always been in a professional capacity and I have never compromised her safety.’

Gates remained impassive. Whatever Brady was selling, Gates clearly wasn’t buying.

‘I don’t like being lied to, regardless of whether she’s your informant,’ Gates replied.

Brady realised that he had no choice but to tell Gates the truth, or at least part of it. He still had to protect his brother Nick’s identity.

‘Trina McGuire worked with Nicoletta. She was the one who gave me the information on the Dabkunas brothers and Ronnie Macmillan. If it wasn’t for her, Nicoletta wouldn’t be alive – let alone in protective custody.’

‘So why didn’t you mention her name in your report when the investigation was over?’ Gates asked. His eyes were filled with distrust as he waited for an answer.

Brady breathed in. He hadn’t expected this when he walked into Gates’s office. He had assumed he was going to get a bollocking – understandably. But the last thing he had expected was to walk into a spider’s trap; the more he tried to free himself the more enmeshed he became, and all the while Gates sat back watching him squirm.

He tried again to explain himself: ‘I didn’t want her to end up in the witness protection system, sir.’

It was an honest response. If she had been a witness the judiciary system would have used and abused her for its own ends. Once they’d finished with her she would have been thrown like a piece of rotting meat to a pack of wild, snarling dogs. The world that Trina McGuire inhabited was unforgiving and if it had become public knowledge that she’d snitched to the police then she would have paid a high price for it – her life.

Trina McGuire had worked for Ronnie Macmillan at the Ship Inn – or the Hole as it was known locally, for obvious reasons. It was a notorious strip joint which stood alone in a deserted no-man’s land against the backdrop of a shipping industry that was long gone. The Hole had been left to rack and ruin once Ronnie Macmillan had gone down for his part in the sex-trafficking ring. It now sat abandoned like the River Tyne and the disused docklands behind it. Gone were the ships and twisting sky-high cranes that had dominated Wallsend; a small town once known globally for its thriving shipping industry. It was better known now for its ever-increasing dole queues and crime figures.

Gates waited. He still wasn’t convinced.

‘If I’d disclosed that she was one of Ronnie Macmillan’s women we both know what would’ve happened to her. She’d have ended up on the bottom of the Tyne and I can guarantee that the only people to know she was dead would’ve been the ones who’d dumped her body in there. I didn’t want that on my conscience.’ Brady looked at Gates. There was nothing more he could say. It was up to Gates to decide whether he believed him or not.

‘All right.’ It was dismissive and abrupt. ‘I want two things from you. Firstly, I will inform DI Bentley that you’ll be paying a visit to Trina McGuire. If you are the only person she’ll talk to then I want you there. Anything to help Bentley’s team get who they believe is responsible. And understand this, Jack.’ He paused as he stared hard at Brady. ‘You will tell Bentley everything she tells you. Are we clear on this?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Inside, Brady felt physically sick. He was being asked to get a witness statement from Trina McGuire – regardless of the consequences for her. But this was no straightforward statement; Bentley wanted it to finger Madley. To name him as her drug dealer and the man responsible for ordering the savage beating.

Why the fuck was your card there, Madley?

Brady couldn’t get his head straight. It was clear to him someone was after Nick. That they had beaten Trina McGuire up to get information and as a warning.

But who? Who would do that? Fuck . . . not Madley? Surely not Madley?

Brady’s mind darted all over the place as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He knew that Madley wouldn’t have been stupid enough to have left a calling card. Unless – Brady thought of the henchmen that Madley surrounded himself with, not exactly the sharpest pencils in the box. The more Brady thought about it, the more it made sense. He could imagine one of Madley’s men screwing up like this. But not Gibbs or Carl. Madley trusted these two men and there was a reason why; they never made mistakes.

Then who? Unless . . . unless Madley had been set up?

For whatever reason Brady couldn’t shake his hunch that Madley was in trouble.

‘Good. I’m pleased you understand the significance of what you’re being asked.’

Gates leaned forward again and started keying something into his computer. He wasn’t even looking at Brady as he spoke: ‘I want you and your team doing everything in your power to apprehend this rapist. Two months is a long time. Too long. I want him caught and I mean now.’

‘Yes, sir.’ There was nothing else Brady could say.

‘Every new detail or information you get on this case you bring to me. I want to be updated every hour if need be. From where I’m sat, Jack, it looks like you need to be managed. Whether you’ve lost your edge or you’ve decided to sit back on your laurels after the success of your last investigation I don’t know and to be perfectly honest, I don’t care.’ Gates stopped typing and turned to face Brady. ‘Either you shape up and start delivering or I hand your case over to Adamson. We haven’t got the budget to support dead weights around here. Not any more.’

Brady winced. It felt as if Gates had punched him in the stomach.

He wondered whether Gates had already run this by Chief Superintendent O’Donnell. He knew that the force were cutting back on officers – they’d already had a number of casualties of the police budget being slashed left, right and centre. They already had DI Adamson at Whitley Bay station – Brady’s nemesis. He knew that Adamson, who was Gates’s protégé, would take great delight in taking the ‘runner’ that Brady currently had on his hands and dramatically turning it around.

Gates had already turned back to his typing.

‘Sir? How is Bentley so sure that this attack on Trina McGuire is connected to Madley? I mean, a card with details of the nightclub recovered at the crime scene isn’t exactly conclusive evidence against him. It could have been left by anyone.’

‘Except it wasn’t. I don’t believe in coincidences Detective Inspector. Do you?’

Brady didn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Gates.

‘Sir?’

‘For God’s sake, Jack. Can’t you see I’m busy?’ Gates snapped.

Brady ignored his outburst and continued. He had no choice.

‘What if this is connected to Ronnie Macmillan? She worked for him. Maybe word has got back to him that she talked to me? And there’s the—’

But before Brady could finish, Gates abruptly cut him off. ‘Enough! Ronnie Macmillan is in Durham prison where he belongs and his Eastern European business associates have dropped off the radar. They’ve gone. It’s over with. End of story. Now get out there and do what you’re paid to do for a change.’

Brady pushed his chair back and stood up. It was clear that Gates thought he was trying to protect Madley. That he was coming up with ridiculous theories to throw Bentley off the scent. But nothing could be further from the truth. Brady had a really bad feeling about Trina McGuire, who had done this to her and why.

Brady reached the office door but before he had a chance to walk out Gates spoke again.

‘DI Bentley has been watching Madley for some time now. Every move has been scrutinised. Madley’s been branching out of Whitley Bay for a while. He’s built himself quite an empire and got some powerful business associates along the way.’

This caught Brady’s attention. He thought back to the two well-heeled businessmen in Madley’s office. It was obvious they hadn’t wanted to be seen there. Whatever deal was being brokered they wanted their identities protected.

‘He’s known in North Shields, Wallsend and even Newcastle,’ Gates continued. ‘Rumour has it, he’s even got connections in London. He has an army of street dealers throughout the North-East who work for him while he sits back in his office keeping his hands clean. But not any more. Bentley has some intelligence on him which means he could be going down for a long time.’

‘How can DI Bentley be so sure about Madley?’ Brady asked, unable to keep quiet. This was news to him. He accepted that Madley was involved in various shady business deals and that he had a reputation for looking after his own. But as to running some major drugs cartel in the North-East? Brady found this hard to accept. He had heard the rumours. But that was all he believed them to be – rumours. The Madley he had grown up with had values and an unerring sense of loyalty, which was why they had remained friends. Brady wasn’t a fool. If he really believed that Madley was corrupt he would have no time for him – regardless of the past they shared.

‘He has his sources. Not everyone is in Madley’s back pocket, Jack.’

Gates had made his point. He turned back to his work.

Brady’s eyes flashed with fury at this comment. He clenched his fists tight as he resisted the urge to tell Gates exactly what he thought of him. Now wasn’t the time. It could wait.

Unceremoniously dismissed, Brady walked out of Gates’s office feeling like he’d had the worst kicking of his life. He had to try and salvage what career he still had left. He had to get his priorities straight. He had to forget about Madley and whatever he’d got involved in. Madley was not Brady’s problem now. He’d made that quite clear earlier. And as for Nick, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Had proved that countless times before. Brady was the one who seemed to have a problem holding things together.

He breathed in deeply. He needed to keep his head down and make some serious inroads into the serial rape case. But first he would do as Gates had ordered. He would visit Trina McGuire – but he would be damned if he would hand anything over to DI Bentley. He would not have her sacrificed for the sake of another copper’s career.

Chapter Thirteen

Brady stuck his head out of his office door. ‘Conrad!’ he shouted.

He was waiting for Conrad. Had been waiting for him for the past few minutes.

‘Sorry,’ Conrad called out as he came running up the corridor. ‘Got caught up with something.’

‘Yeah? Well, we haven’t got a lot of time. And we have even less now,’ Brady replied. ‘Have you got the photofit of the rapist?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Conrad answered, gesturing to the file in his hand.

‘Good. That’s something.’

Brady started walking off down the corridor. He was losing the day. It was fading fast and he’d got nothing done. He’d spent the last hour chasing down DI Bentley so he could lick his arse. It was on these occasions that Brady hated the job. He’d apologised for trespassing on Bentley’s investigation. And then been forced to listen to Bentley’s crap as he went on and on. Luckily, Conrad had walked in, giving him the perfect excuse to get off the line. The upshot of the conversation was that Brady had agreed to visit Trina McGuire and to divulge everything she said to him. In fact, Bentley had had the bright idea of Brady walking in with a hidden tape recorder. Not that she would notice. Given the extent of her injuries he would be surprised if she could even move, let alone raise her head to look out of the swollen slit that was her good eye. The other one had been operated on to repair the bones that had been ruptured during her attack. The doctor had explained that she had suffered both an orbital frontal bone fracture and a direct orbital floor fracture. In other words, something like a baseball or a fist had been rammed so forcefully into her face that they had been worried she was going to suffer brain damage.