Vanishing Point. Danielle Ramsay
before she was decapitated. Whether she was shot in the head or received a blow to the head which caused cardio-respiratory arrest, I can’t say.’
Brady nodded, relieved.
‘The knife that was used?’ Brady asked.
‘Ten-inch stainless steel hunting-survival knife with a five-and-a-half-inch large serrated spine capable of easily cutting through bone. I’d say the handle was also steel with a knurled handgrip as there’s no traces of fabric or any other material on the neck wound.’
Brady nodded as he wondered what kind of person carried such a knife.
‘Finally,’ Wolfe began. ‘The burn mark of the scorpion and the letters “MD” are intriguing. Reminiscent of cattle branding. And from the condition of the wound, I’d say it’s only two days old.’
‘How long do you think she’s been dead?’ Brady questioned, not wanting to think about the implications of a branded victim.
‘I’d say she’d been dead for about three hours before she was found on the beach,’ Wolfe answered. ‘Time of death was approximately 1am, or thereabouts.’
‘She looks in a bad way for just three hours,’ Brady suggested as he looked at the swollen and discoloured body in front of him.
He caught Conrad’s puzzled expression, which told him he was equally surprised.
Wolfe gave Brady a withering look.
Brady remembered that there was one thing with Wolfe that you couldn’t do and that was question his skill.
‘I’m certain. From the body’s rate of cooling and the degree of rigor mortis and the partially undigested food in her stomach, she had been dead for three hours before she was discovered.’
‘The tide was coming in at 1am. So, whoever dumped her in the water must have known that she would be washed up onto the beach.’ Brady shook his head as he considered the implications.
‘Which means that they wanted her to be found, laddie,’ Wolfe noted.
Brady looked at the body, wondering why she had been gang-raped then murdered. And crucially why her murderers wanted the body found.
‘The head …’ began Brady. ‘Makes identification damned difficult without it or her fingers. Why would someone go to those lengths to make sure she can’t be identified and then want her body found?’
‘Mortui vivos docent,’ Wolfe simply replied.
He nodded at Brady’s puzzled expression.
‘Latin for,’ he paused for effect, ‘the dead teach the living.’
Chapter Fourteen
Brady checked his watch. It was nearly 12pm. He was running late.
He had someone to see connected to Simone’s attack. Whether he would glean anything was another matter, but he felt compelled to follow it through. But first, he needed to get a hold of Amelia back at the station. He needed her to do him a favour. Whether she would was questionable, but he had no option but to ask.
‘As fast as you can, Conrad,’ instructed Brady.
He was on edge at the thought of what lay ahead of him. And the prospect of walking back into the station wearing the brunt of Frank Henderson’s fists wasn’t helping.
Conrad simply nodded as he reversed his new dark silver sports Saab Phoenix out of the hospital parking space, all too aware that Brady was holding a take-out black coffee from the hospital cafeteria. He didn’t want coffee spilt all over the new interior, or his highly-strung boss.
Brady took a slug of lukewarm, weak black coffee. He forced it down, despite its bitter, burnt taste.
‘Would you believe this is worse than the station cafeteria’s coffee?’
‘I did warn you, sir. Which was the reason I didn’t want one,’ replied Conrad as he slowly pulled his car out of the hospital grounds.
The muscles in Conrad’s jaw were knotted as he concentrated on the busy traffic ahead. That and the call he had received while he had waited in the car when Brady had gone off to get some coffee.
‘Christ, Conrad …’ muttered Brady as he shook his head.
‘Sir?’
‘What do we have? An unidentified, decapitated victim whose head is still missing, aged between sixteen and eighteen, savagely gang-raped, then murdered and dumped in the sea with the intention of her body washing up on the shores of Whitley Bay beach,’ Brady said, sighing. ‘And then there’s the markings burnt onto her body which suggest …’ he faltered.
‘Sex trafficking, sir?’ suggested Conrad.
Brady turned and looked at him, mildly surprised.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Just that the letters “MD” and the scorpion seem like an ownership mark, sir.’
Brady wearily nodded. ‘And that’s exactly what’s worrying me, Conrad. You tell me what sex traffickers would be doing in Whitley Bay of all places?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ answered Conrad, as much at a loss as his boss.
‘That’s the problem, Conrad, neither do I,’ replied Brady. ‘In all the years I’ve been stationed at Whitley Bay I’ve never come across a crime of this nature. I really hope we’re wrong.’
From the tense expression on Conrad’s face he obviously felt the same way.
Brady took another mouthful of the bitter coffee. He was still waiting for Claudia to get back to him regarding the markings found on the victim. He knew better than to chase her up. He had no choice but to wait for her call. If the victim was a sex slave, then Claudia was right – she wouldn’t be the only one.
‘I’ve heard that Adamson’s out to cause trouble for us,’ Conrad began tentatively.
‘Don’t you mean he’s out to cause trouble for me? Nothing new there then, Conrad.’
Conrad shook his head. This was serious and he needed his boss to know just how serious.
‘Frank Henderson has made an official complaint about you, sir. And Adamson is demanding to know why we were in the ICU. That, and why Simone Henderson’s flatmate claimed she was coming up to the North East to see you in connection with an old case you both worked on.’
Brady felt his stomach knot. What exactly had Simone got involved in, and why had she brought his name into it?
‘Adamson can go fuck himself,’ muttered Brady darkly.
‘Rest assured, one day it will happen, sir,’ replied Conrad dryly.
Brady turned and looked at Conrad, surprised by the hardness in his voice. Conrad never had a bad word to say about anyone, especially a colleague. But Adamson was a different case entirely. Conrad had spent his first two years of training at Headquarters in Ponteland with Adamson and so knew him of old. After they’d both passed, Conrad swore never to work with the man again. Brady had never asked Conrad exactly what Adamson had done to elicit such an uncharacteristic reaction from his deputy and Conrad had never volunteered one.
Conrad was the kind of guy you wanted around. He was level-headed, reliable with an unerring sense of fairness. Add to that his unquestionable sense of loyalty where Brady was concerned, and the fact that he knew when to keep his mouth shut, and he was invaluable. Without Conrad by his side, Brady didn’t know what he would do. Ironic given how much flak he gave DCI Gates when he had first assigned Conrad to him, never mind the hard time he’d given Conrad for being the poor, unfortunate sod appointed as his sidekick.
Brady took another slug of the unpalatable black coffee as he thought