investigation. Six months ago Brady had managed to expose a lucrative business deal set up between two Eastern European brothers and a local North-East gangster. The Eastern Europeans, known to special intelligence as the Dabkunas brothers, had eluded the police. No trace of them had been reported in the UK since their illicit activity had been uncovered. It was now widely accepted that they had gone to ground in Europe. As for Ronnie Macmillan, the local gangster who had gone into business with the Dabkunas brothers, he’d found himself in Durham prison. Even Gates had been impressed with Brady. His exposure of the group had resulted in the Northumbrian force basking in media glory.
But the accolades had been short-lived. Very much yesterday’s news. Today was a radically different story.
Chapter Five
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the office door.
Brady looked up. ‘Better be good,’ he called out.
He was not surprised when Conrad opened the door.
‘Sorry, sir, but I think you’ll want to know about this,’ Conrad said as he walked in.
‘Go on,’ instructed Brady.
‘A woman was admitted to Rake Lane hospital in the early hours of this morning, sir.’
‘And?’
Conrad cleared his throat. ‘She’s in a really bad condition from all accounts. She was beaten up last night and left for dead. She’s spent the past six hours in surgery. Internal bleeding, a punctured lung and emergency surgery to her face.’
‘Where?’ asked Brady, frowning. His head felt like it was going to explode.
‘Sir?’
‘Where was she attacked, Conrad?’
Brady put Conrad’s uncharacteristic obtuseness down to the fact he’d only just returned to work after a significant period of sick leave.
‘The lower part of North Shields leading down to the docks. She was found in an industrial bin at the back of the Ballarat pub. If it hadn’t been for the landlord’s two Rottweilers kicking up such a fuss when he let them out in the back alley before going to bed, she’d definitely be dead.’
Brady massaged his throbbing temples as he thought about it.
‘Ballarat pub isn’t a great area to be hanging around, is it? At least, not for a woman.’
Conrad knew exactly what his boss was insinuating.
‘We don’t know whether she was working or not, if you get my drift, sir.’
‘Look, I’m not being funny, but doesn’t North Shields have its own Area Command? This is clearly out of our jurisdiction. We’ve got a briefing in about twenty minutes and I have a hell of a headache from trying to figure out what I’m going to say to DCI Gates afterwards,’ Brady said.
As far as he was concerned the conversation was over.
It felt as if he had been sitting behind a desk for months now. Staring at files . . . whiteboards . . . witness statements . . . following false leads like the one Conrad had just brought to him. But, crucially, not out there running this bastard down. He stood and walked over to the large window. His leg had stiffened up and he found himself limping slightly from the old wound in his thigh. His office was on the first floor of the old Victorian building that was Whitley Bay police station. The room was large enough to have an old leather couch in front of the window for the odd occasion when Brady didn’t make it home. He prised the dusty Venetian blinds open and looked down at the street below. It led out to the centre of the small town. It was late October, which meant that it was typically overcast and grey. The rain and biting wind had been almost continuous now for six months. Spring had been a week of blazing sunshine at the beginning of May, and then the temperature had plummeted. It had remained that way since. Climate change had a lot to answer for when it came to the bleak drizzle that constituted seasonal change in the North-East. Gone were the scorching hot summers of the seventies. Now all they got were flash floods and hailstones. Brady wasn’t surprised that an estimated 5.5