A Cold Killing (Rosie Gilmour) (13 page)

Tony shook his head.

‘Look. Rab was old. Past it. He didn’t like Tam dealing with the Russians and Albanians. He didn’t like the way it was progressing. He was old school. But the old school is dead and buried. Rab was one of the last of the dinosaurs. Down south, you either work with the Russians or you don’t work. They need us and we need them. Same goes for Spain. It’s big business now. They can get more guns than anyone else and sometimes they want guns that we can supply. Plus, they control a lot of the Eastern European drug markets. We need to work with them.’

‘So what are you saying?’ Rosie asked. ‘You want to invest Rab’s money and put your lot in with Tam?’

‘It’s not all Rab’s money,’ he said sharply. ‘Just remember that. He was getting suitcases full of fucking money driven over to Spain on a regular basis. Where do you think that came from? He was investing
our
money.’ He glared at Ruby. ‘
You
were investing our money.’

Ruby nodded slowly. She knew Tony wouldn’t have the first clue how to unravel all the accounts and investments she’d made. But the message was crystal clear. He wanted to get his hands on money – a lot of money. If Rab were here, he’d probably have told him to piss off, but the last thing Ruby needed was Tony or anyone else doing their own version of an audit into Rab’s investments. Her own bank accounts, where she’d siphoned off a small fortune from Rab, were safe – as long as nobody had an inkling. But she knew she’d have to give Tony what he wanted. And she would. In good time. Right now she had to provide whatever would make Tony happy.

‘Okay,’ she said, finishing her drink and tracing her finger across her bottom lip. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get things sorted.’

They sat silently for a long moment, then Tony’s eyes softened.

‘Why did you keep patching my emails and calls, Ruby? I’ve been phoning you non-stop. I wanted to see you.’

‘I lost my mobile. I’m getting a new one. But I’m not in a rush. I’m taking some time out, just travelling a bit. I don’t work set hours and I’m not on call, Tony.’

He nodded slowly, stroking her hand, and she felt a little twinge of desire as he ran his fingers along her arm.

‘All right. But I wanted to see you anyway.’ He touched her hair. ‘Listen. I’ve got a bottle of Moët upstairs in a room. I thought maybe we could have some lunch later and just chill for a while.’

Ruby touched his cheek with the back of her hand and moistened her lips.

As they stood up and walked across to the lift, Ruby could feel her heart quicken and she cursed herself for being so basic. She wanted him. In the lift, Tony pressed the eighth-floor button and as soon as the doors closed he turned to Ruby and kissed her, pulling her towards him, gently squeezing her breast. She slipped her hand down and brushed it across his groin as his tongue probed in her mouth. He was hard already, and he pushed his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, gently massaged her crotch over the silk knickers she’d chosen to wear, knowing how the afternoon would pan out. And, despite herself, despite her rage and anger at this bastard and her confusion of how the fuck she was going to handle everything that was happening around her, Ruby heard herself moan with desire at his touch. Like this, Tony was putty in her hands, and it was the only way she had any control over him, but it also made her a prostitute, just like her mother. She hated herself, because right now his touch and his body hard against her was what she wanted more than anything.

In the bedroom Tony stripped hurriedly, kicking his trousers away as he tugged at Ruby’s blouse, pushing her against the door. He didn’t speak, but she could hear him breathing hard as he pulled down her pants then lifted her buttocks and pushed himself inside her. Ruby groaned as she wrapped her legs around him while he thrust hard and urgently until she came, quickly, pulling the back of his hair as he kept going until he gasped and she felt the rush of him inside her and his body went limp.

Afterwards they lay on the bed and she watched as Tony drifted off to sleep, studying his handsome, suntanned face, his body hard from working out at the boxing gym, where he spent every afternoon punching the shit out of a heavy bag. He’d had a couple of professional fights and could have made a name for himself in the ring, but for the past four years he had become more and more steeped in the business since Rab Jackson had moved to Spain.

As he woke up, his eyes flickering, Ruby was on her feet and slipping into her skirt.

‘Why did you write that about Judy, in the email? What did you mean?’ she said coldly.

‘It was just to get you to answer. To get a response.’

‘Why?’

‘I know you have a sister who’s got some mental thing wrong with her and that you look after her.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Don’t ask.’

‘What do you know?’

‘Nothing. Listen, I’m sorry. It’s not important. I don’t know why I said it. Come back to bed.’ He held his hand out towards her. ‘You know you love it.’ He pulled the sheet back.

Ruby said nothing as she buttoned her blouse and shoved her feet into her shoes.

Tony sat up on the bed.

‘What’s the matter? Where are you going? Listen, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to sound threatening about your sister. I don’t know any more about her. I thought she was dead.’

Ruby could feel her throat tighten with emotion. She stood up, looking down at his naked body, his erection already starting to swell. She looked away.

‘Listen to me, Tony. And listen good, because I’ll never say this to you again.’ She paused as he looked up and she stared him in the eye. ‘If you ever harm, or do anything, or even plan to harm Judy, I will kill you. Am I clear about that? I will kill you.’

She turned and was about to walk away, her insides shaking with anger and frustration that this fucker thought he had her where he wanted her. And he did – if she was prepared to let him get away with it.

Then Tony spoke, his voice suddenly the voice of the cold, hard bastard she’d heard before.

‘You listen to me, Ruby. We need to talk about money and you need to give me the bank accounts and the arrangements. I’m taking things over now.’

‘Fine. I’ll call you when I can get it all sorted and give you all the numbers.’

‘What about us? I mean, this?’

She turned her head quickly.

‘This was a shag Tony. There
is
no us.’

She walked out, her hands trembling so much that by the time she got to the lift she could barely push the button.

It was pitch black and the rain was falling horizontally as Rosie drove out of Roddy Thompson’s driveway and into Kilmaurs’ eerily deserted streets. She’d be glad to get back to her flat tonight for a long soak in a hot bath. So many scenarios raced around her mind, and added to them now was the notion that the former DCI had looked after Ruby Reilly financially when she was a forlorn little girl after her mother’s murder. Sure, it was possible, if he was riddled with guilt, for him to stick a few quid in a bank account for her to access when she became a teenager. But would a man in his position really do that? She wouldn’t tell McGuire about her latest theory just yet. Her gut instinct told her Thompson knew more about Ruby than he was letting on.

Driving out of the village, Rosie was conscious of a car behind her, far too close to her bumper, considering there was only the two of them on the road. Then, she felt herself being shunted forward and she struggled to keep control of the car.

‘What the fu—?’ She peered in the rear-view mirror to see who the nutter was. ‘Bloody joyrider!’ she muttered to herself.

Then, she squinted again in the mirror. Shit! The driver was wearing a balaclava. She blinked quickly to make sure, but as she did her car was shunted again. Christ! And now, as she automatically accelerated, she heard the screech of an engine as the car came after her. Blind fear pulsed through her and her head felt foggy and confused. Suddenly, she couldn’t even remember the turn-off she’d taken to come into the village earlier. She must have missed it, because now she was on a tight country road with twists and bends leading into pitch blackness. Where was the fucking dual carriageway she’d only come off half an hour ago? She was sure it hadn’t taken this long on the back road to reach Kilmaurs, so where the hell was she going now? She put her foot down and hit a bend at over fifty, grabbing the steering wheel tight as the car swerved. Behind her on the brow of the hill she could see the lights of the car hammering on her tail. Wherever she was headed, it was deeper into the country, but she had no option but to keep driving as fast as she could in the hope she would see the lights of a village or a main road. Another stiff bend veered left then swiftly right. She caught a glimpse of a farm-road entrance and thought briefly of turning into it, but there was no sign of life, just the silhouette of a house in the distance with no lights on. She glanced at her mobile on the passenger seat, thinking of dialling 999, but she was too terrified to pick it up as the car gained on her. She put the boot down as the road rose up to a tight hill then dipped down, and as it did, her car nearly took off, suddenly submerged in a flooded road and then aquaplaning out of the blackness at the other side. ‘Oh God, please let me get out of this,’ she murmured. The car was only a few yards away. Her mobile rang, startling her for second, and she automatically glanced at it. But that was all it took – the car went out of control as she turned and twisted the steering wheel, trying to keep it on the narrow road. Then, as if in slow motion, she was heading for a ditch and an open field. She closed her eyes, bracing herself. This is it, she thought, as the car careered off the road and plunged into the soft earth, coming to an abrupt halt right in front of a huge tree trunk. Another second and it would have been head on. She saw stars as her head banged on the side window on impact, and the airbag nearly knocked her out, but she was conscious enough to recognize that the car had gone past and was now hurtling up the road into the distance. What if it came back? She had to get out of here. No, better to remain inside with the doors locked. But here, she was a sitting target. She was about to open the door when her mobile rang. She answered it.

‘Rosie.’ A woman’s voice.

She struggled for the breath to answer, but nothing came out.

‘You there, Rosie Gilmour?’

‘Yeah.’ She tried to breathe through her nose.

‘It’s me. The woman from the café.’

‘Fuck!’

‘What?’

‘I . . . I’ve been in a crash. My car has just been run off the road. Somebody . . . someone behind me.’

Silence.

‘Where are you?’

‘Don’t know. Somewhere off the Kilmaurs road. Some bastard wearing a balaclava tried to do me in.’ Rosie paused. She had to pull herself together. ‘Listen. Please. Don’t hang up.’ Her head was thumping. ‘I need to meet you.’

‘Are you injured?’

‘I bumped my head. But I’m okay, I think.’

‘Is the person who was chasing you gone?’

‘I don’t know. I think so. I saw the car speed past me, after he forced me off the road.’

‘Is your car moving? I could maybe phone an ambulance or something.’

‘I’m in a bloody field. I’m going to phone my office. I’m okay. I’ll be back in Glasgow shortly. Can we meet? Tonight?’ Rosie couldn’t afford to lose her.

Silence. Then she heard the woman take a breath.

‘I saw on the news tonight that the friend of that guy who was murdered has been found dead. Hawkins.’

‘That’s right. Dead in his flat. Are you able to meet me later? I’ve got some questions.’

Silence.

‘I’ll call you in an hour.’

She hung up.

‘Shit!’ Rosie shouted in frustration. ‘Shit!’ Her hands trembled as she fumbled, trying to search for McGuire’s number. He answered immediately.

‘Gilmour, where are you?’

‘Mick. I’ve been in a crash. Some bastard ran me off the road.’

‘What the fuck? Where are you?’

‘Somewhere near Kilmaurs.’

‘Kilmaurs? That’s fucking Ayrshire. What the Christ are you doing down there?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get back. Can you get someone down here fast? My car’s in a field. It’s pissing down. I’m stranded . . . Some bastard in a balaclava was after me.’

‘What the fuck are you doing, Rosie? In Ayrshire?’

‘I . . . I came to see a retired copper.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I know. I wanted to see if there was anything to tell, first. But I need to get out of here.’

‘Will I get the cops?’

‘No! Definitely not! Just get one of the drivers or the boys to come down. I need the car pulled out of the field.’

She gave him rough directions on where she thought she might be and how far she’d come off the road.

‘Just sit tight. Someone will be down shortly.’

‘Yeah, okay, Mick. I’ll sit tight.’ Not that she had much option.

*

Two hours later Rosie was in a little bistro at the far end of Ashton Lane, studying everyone who came in, hoping one of them would be the woman on the phone. She’d called an hour ago and agreed to meet. It had been an edgy conversation, laced with expletives from the woman. What if she turned up, she’d asked, to find that Rosie had brought the cops with her? Rosie had had to convince her that wouldn’t happen. It had better not, the woman had said. Whoever this dame was, she sounded like one tough cookie. Rosie would be ready for her.

The place was crowded with the evening mix of students cashing in on the cheap food offers, tourists drawn to the trendy West End, as well as staff and a few well-known faces from the nearby BBC studios. From her table at the terrace doors Rosie could just make out the familiar kitchen window in the nearby tenements behind the high red-brick wall. So many nights she’d spent there with TJ in his flat after dinner, sitting with the large window wide open, the buzz of Ashton Lane drifting up towards them. She thought of all the promises they’d made, declaring how much they needed each other. Her gut ached, she missed him so much at that moment. Yet it had been her who had made it more complicated than it needed to be. The distance between them while he was working in New York had proved to be a bigger problem than they’d both anticipated. But it could have worked. Rosie knew it was down to her, that when it came to the crunch she’d messed up again. She shook herself out of her reverie. She should let it go, she told herself. So why was she still sitting here looking longingly at TJ’s kitchen window? What kind of screwed up was that?

Her mind drifted to Adrian and Bosnia, and she scrolled down her contacts list on her mobile and stopped on his name. She’d love to phone him right now and tell him what had happened with the nutcase who ran her off the road. She knew if she asked for his help he’d be over in a heartbeat. But she held back. She hadn’t heard from him in over a week, and it niggled – even though she’d convinced herself she wasn’t involved with him. Adrian was different. Emails and phone calls weren’t his style. But things had changed between them now, because of the reckless moment in Sarajevo when a simple brush of each other’s arms on the way back to her hotel room had unleashed a fire. They had fallen into the night together. She sighed, shaking her head. And as she did she saw a striking woman come through the swing doors and stand confidently, scanning the room. This could be her. Rosie made eye contact as the woman looked in her direction, and she strode across to her table.

‘Rosie?’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘Yep.’ Rosie motioned her to sit down and called a waitress.

‘Gin and tonic,’ the woman said, giving the waitress a sideways glance.

‘Two.’ Rosie handed over the empty glass of lime and soda she’d been drinking. She had the feeling this encounter would call for a couple of drinks.

The woman tossed her hair back and took a cigarette out of a packet, offering one to Rosie, who declined. She watched as she lit up. Roddy Thompson wasn’t wrong when he said that Ruby was her mother’s double and that her mother had looked like screen goddess. She was all razor-sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that darted around the room, part trapped animal, part disdain. Then she looked straight at Rosie as though waiting for her to speak.

‘I know who you are.’ Rosie held her stare.

It was risky to barge right in, but this blade had an air about her that if you didn’t get in first you’d be forever on the back foot.

Silence. She took another drag of her cigarette and blew it upwards out of the side of her mouth.

‘Yeah?’

The look was defiant, but Rosie caught just a glint of fear somewhere behind the eyes.

‘Ruby . . . You’re Ruby Reilly.’ Rosie didn’t take her eyes off her.

Silence. The mask wasn’t exactly slipping, but it had moved a little. She blinked, glanced down at the table.

‘Fuck’s sake!’

‘It’s all right,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘Don’t worry. Nobody else knows. Nobody
will
know.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’ Rosie reached across and put her hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ruby.’

‘Aye.’ Ruby shook her hand. A reluctant smile, somewhere between disbelief and defeat, spread across her face. ‘Tell me now. How did you know?’

The waitress arrived at Ruby’s shoulder and put the drinks down in front of them. She lifted her glass, swirled the ice around and nodded a cheers before taking a huge gulp. Rosie felt like doing the same but kept herself to a sip. She ignored Ruby’s question and let the silence last three beats.

‘What were you doing in that café in King’s Cross that day?’

Ruby glared at Rosie.

‘I sure as fuck wasn’t there to kill anybody, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘I’m not. But I’m curious. Well, actually, everyone’s curious to know why you bailed out before the cops came.’ Rosie leaned across, her elbows on the table, so their heads were close. ‘What were you running from?’

Ruby took another swig of her drink and put the glass down.

‘The cops,’ she said, deadpan. ‘But I’m sure you’ve worked that out for yourself.’ She took another puff of her cigarette. ‘But listen to me, Rosie. I’ve got nothing to do with that fucking shooting, and those big Russian bastards who blew that old guy’s brains all over the wall. If you have any suspicions in that direction then say it now and I’m straight out of here. Right fucking now.’

‘That’s not what I think.’

‘Well, your paper, and that other bloody one, the
Sun
, are printing all this shite about the mystery fucking Scots bird who may be involved. I mean, fuck me! That fuckwit waitress giving interviews, just making things up as she goes along. I should have punched her over the table while I was in there at the time. Arrogant wee bitch. I even read somewhere that she said she twigged I was with the guys earlier on . . . that I was giving them a signal. What a load of fucking shite!’ She snorted, full, soft lips and a dimple on one cheek as she almost smiled. ‘It’d be laughable, if it wasn’t so serious.’

Rosie couldn’t help smiling. She put her hand up.

‘I know, Ruby. That was in the
Daily Star
. We didn’t print it, though we had the story from some freelancer. But to be fair, we haven’t said anything about your involvement, or even hinted at it.’ Rosie paused to make sure Ruby had registered that. ‘I don’t think that’s why you were in the café. But where were you coming from?’

Ruby looked over Rosie’s shoulder, her eyes hard as she bit the inside of her jaw. She was edgy, angry and definitely scared. But there was a whiff of danger about her, and she would fight like a man if she had to. Rosie liked that.

‘I was on the Eurostar. I came from France. Well, Spain, actually.’ She stopped and sat back. ‘But before I say any more, what’s your angle with me? What do you want from me? Why did you want to meet me?’

‘You called me, Ruby. Remember?’ Rosie threw it right back at her.

‘I know I did.’ She fiddled nervously with her cigarette packet, opening and closing it, tapping it on the table. ‘Because the more crap that goes into the papers about this mystery fucking Scot who may be at the centre of the murder, the more the cops are going to look for me.’ She raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. ‘And that, I don’t need. Believe me. I felt sorry for that poor guy lying there that morning, and his pal in a right state. Weeping all over the place. And now he’s dead, too. I mean, what the fuck’s going on? That’s why I phoned you earlier . . . when I saw that in the news. Something’s going on.’

Rosie nodded. ‘Yeah. You’re right. Something
is
going on.’ She put a hand up. ‘And maybe we can talk about that . . . But tell me this first . . . Where in Spain were you coming from?’