Blind Alley by Danielle Ramsay

always been inevitable and they had been fooling themselves that it could continue. Or Nick’s betrayal had been too much for Madley to swallow.
    Brady respected Madley’s wishes. There was nothing more to say. He turned to leave, not wanting Madley to see the pain in his eyes.
    ‘Jack? Remember, Nick’s pissed off a lot of people. Including Johnny Slaughter. From what I’ve heard he’s still after him. And then there’s those bastards he got caught up with—’
    Without turning back, Brady muttered: ‘Thanks.’
    He could have forewarned Madley about the card for his nightclub the Blue Lagoon that Forensics had found. But he didn’t. Brady had never crossed the line and passed on information to Madley. He was worried that Madley was in trouble. That someone was setting him up, but Brady was powerless to say anything. He knew that DI Bentley would do a good enough job of informing Madley. It seemed they were both playing their cards close to their chests. Brady was under no illusions – Madley knew a hell of a lot more than he was admitting. He had known him long enough to know when he was lying. The question was, why?

Chapter Eleven
    Brady returned to the station. He was in a foul mood. His run-in with Madley had affected him more than he wanted to admit. That and the fact that he still couldn’t get hold of Nick. His conversation with Madley had made Brady realise he had no one he could really depend on. Not any more. He rarely talked to Nick, let alone got the chance to see him in person. But Madley had always been there for him. Someone who really knew him, like Nick. Understood his background. And now? Brady thought of Trina McGuire – a drug-addicted prostitute who had once been the most beautiful girl to walk the streets of North Shields. She’d been filled with the promise and optimism of youth, only to have her naivety literally knocked out of her. Life could be shit depending on the streets where you grew up. It was a postcode lottery. Trina was a fine example of that.
    Brady sighed heavily. He needed to get his head together. He had more pressing things to worry about, including trying to make some headway with the serial rape investigation that had developed into a ‘runner’. Not good for his career, team morale, or the hundreds of young women who should have the freedom to go out drinking in Whitley Bay at the weekend without worrying about some twisted, sadistic rapist on the loose.
    He got out of the car and slammed the door. He took a deep breath before walking over to the station. The air was thick and heavy with a sea fret. He could literally taste the sea salt in the air. He climbed the steps, avoiding the dog-piss-covered ramp that DCI Gates had built as part of his new PC policy. It was his way of showing the public that Whitley Bay police station did not discriminate against the disabled criminal. Not that it had ever been used as intended – yet. But Brady was certain that with the draconian cuts the current government was making to disability benefits, the ramp might end up being useful. Slashing benefits to those in dire need could result in people turning to crime just to survive. And he wasn’t talking about the second and third generations who knew nothing but a life on benefits, he was talking about the most disadvantaged in society being easy government targets. Unfortunately, it would be the police force with its ever-decreasing budget that would have to pick up the tab for the government’s solution to the country’s debt.
    Brady opened the heavy wooden double doors that led into the station. The smell of stale urine from too many drunken louts dragged in to sleep it off in the cells hit him. Nora, the station’s cleaner, did her best but it was an uphill battle. The old Victorian green-tiled corridor had seen better days, as had the building, which was decrepit with flaking walls and maze-like corridors. But Brady wouldn’t have it any other way. Even the out dated