A Cold Killing (Rosie Gilmour) (26 page)

Rosie read over her story one last time, making the final changes as she prepared to send it over to McGuire’s private email. She’d listened to Olenca’s tape-recorded account of the murder so many times it was sure to bring another dimension to her already frazzled nightmares. But she ran the tape once more as she sat back in her chair, gazing out through the window of her flat across the city as a watery October sun slipped behind the office blocks. Olenca’s soft tones in fractured English somehow made the picture more graphic each time she listened to it. The images brought back dark memories of the voice of Emir, the Kosovan refugee, and Rosie was transported to the café in Central Station that day when he’d come to her, a ghostly, terrified figure, beaten and bruised. He had fled his captors in Glasgow only to be murdered while he was being protected by the police. And her mind drifted to the hospital bedside where she’d held his hand and told him not to be afraid as he slipped away. Her shrink had told her over many sessions that Emir’s death wasn’t her fault, that she had to rationalize it and put it somewhere in her head where she could manage it. Even the Bosnians she’d spoken to recently in Sarajevo had talked about their own guilt because of everything they’d been through. Everyone in Bosnia carried guilt, not for what they did but for surviving when so many had perished. They’d found a way to rebuild their lives, and so must she, they told her. She’d be helping Emir by exposing the people who’d murdered his best friend and were killing refugees and selling their body tissue. She knew Emir hadn’t died because of her, but the guilt still hung like a shadow over her life. Of course, she had to function, and she could keep the darkness at bay, but now and again it would sweep over her like this. She closed her eyes and massaged her head, trying to push the thoughts away. Her mobile rang and shuddered on the coffee table.

‘Adrian,’ Rosie said, ‘you outside? I’ll be down in five minutes.’

She attached the story to an email and pinged it across to McGuire, with a brief line saying she was off to pick up Olenca at her flat and take her to the police HQ, where Don and his bosses would take over. The detectives were booked on a flight out of Glasgow to Amsterdam that night and would be in Warsaw by the morning.

‘How are you, Adrian?’

He had his back to her, leaning on her car smoking, staring into space, but turned when he heard her voice. There was a little awkward moment when she wasn’t sure if he was going to greet her with a hug or if they were back to simply working together. She watched him come towards her, then he tossed the cigarette away and stepped forward to embrace her, tracing his fingers gently across the bruise on her cheek.

‘Is still painful?’

It was, but Rosie shook her head. She hugged him tight and felt a mixture of desire and safety against the warmth of his body. But more poignant than anything was the heaviness that the job was almost over and that he would soon be going away.

‘You okay?’ Adrian studied her face as though he sensed something was wrong.

‘Yes.’ Rosie let out a sigh. ‘I was just thinking about Emir while I was writing my story. Listening to Olenca’s voice brought back thoughts of him and everything that happened . . . I know it’s not good to dwell on things too much.’

Adrian nodded and eased her out of his arms, taking her by the shoulders.

‘Rosie, we cannot change the past. But if we don’t live our own lives now we are not true to the people who cannot be with us. People like Emir . . . and . . .’ His voice trailed off.

He didn’t need to say it, but Rosie could see that the image of his wife was in his head. It always would be.

‘Let’s get moving,’ she said. ‘Olenca will be waiting.’ She pressed her key and the locks on her car doors clunked open.

They drove down towards the Merchant City, Adrian staring through the windscreen. The silence in the car was broken only by the low chatter on the radio and the din of the late-afternoon traffic. Rosie managed to find a parking space close to the block of flats where Olenca lived in Ingram Street. They both got out and Adrian managed to get to the security door just as someone was coming out.

‘We’d better ring the bell.’ Rosie scanned the security buzzers and rang the one for the top flat. ‘In case she’s in the shower or something.’

No answer. She looked at Adrian, who shrugged. They waited and then Rosie rang again. This time they could hear the intercom crackling.

‘Hello?’ It sounded like Olenca.

‘Olenca? It’s Rosie. I’m downstairs.’

Two beats, then Olenca spoke.

‘Er . . . Could you come up, please? I . . . I have some heavy luggage.’ The security door clicked but Adrian had already pushed the door wide.

‘Sure. Be there in two ticks.’

They climbed the three flights of stairs, Rosie a little out of breath from trying to keep pace with Adrian, who took the stairs two at a time, defying all the rules about smoking and impaired lung function. At the top of the stairs the door was open. Rosie glanced at Adrian, then a voice came from down the hall.

‘Come in, Rosie.’

They stepped inside and through the short, bright hall with its cream walls, their footsteps clacking on the fake wooden floor.

‘In here.’ Olenca’s voice came from the living room.

Rosie glanced at Adrian, and she thought she detected a flicker of alarm flash across his eyes as they stepped towards the doorway. But it was too late.

‘Get fucking in.’

The big guy was built like a tank and had a gun pointed at the side of Olenca’s head, which was wedged in the crook of one of his beefy arms. Both her eyes were black and puffy. Rosie’s stomach dropped to the floor. She risked a glance at Adrian. His face wasashen and his expression blank as he fixed his eyes on the guy.

‘And don’t you even think about moving a muscle, you big prick,’ the guy spat at Adrian.

‘I’m so sorry, Rosie.’ Olenca’s voice was a whimper. Tears and mascara smeared her face.

‘Fucking shut it, ya wee slut.’

Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry as a stick. She took a short breath.

‘Listen,’ she managed to say, ‘whoever you are. This is just stupid. Really stupid. The cops will be here shortly. They know we’re here,’ Rosie lied, conscious of her voice shaking.

‘Fuck off and shut up.’

Rosie stood her ground.

‘I’m telling you. They’re coming up in about ten minutes, and you’re in big trouble, pal. So why don’t you just do the sensible thing and walk out of here now. Nobody knows who you are or where to find you. Nobody will come looking for you.’

‘Shut the fuck up, I said.’ His voice rose an octave and his eyes were crazed.

He pushed the gun into Olenca’s head and tightened his grip on her neck. She struggled for breath and scraped at his arms. He loosened his grip a little and she gasped a lungful of air.

‘Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?’ the fat guy said. ‘Well, I know
who
you are – you’re that reporter bird. But what are you trying to do? I heard about that shite the other day that got Dunn and Tony locked up. And I’ll tell you this. I don’t give a fuck about them. They can rot in jail for all I care. But this is
my
money.’ Olenca squeaked in agony as he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. ‘
My
fucking money. She’s
my
property. I was supposed to do the bitch in that night, but I kept her, because I’m fucking pissed off with doing Tony’s dirty work. I’m my own man now, and this wee slut’s going to make me a right few quid. I’ve made a deal to sell her. Right? Then I walk in here and find she’s packing up to leave.’

‘Listen,’ Rosie pleaded. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this.’

‘Naw, you’re right. It doesn’t have to be like this. I can pump a bullet into you and big Lurch there and walk right out of here with this bitch under my arm, and nobody will even know where to find the pair of you.’ He grinned from wild, coked-up eyes. ‘Aye. She told me all about you. She was fucking stupid enough to think that you were going to get her out of this and away back home to the shithole she came from.
You
– selling her a fucking fairy story about the cops protecting her. What a load of fanny. Because the cops don’t give a fuck about anybody – especially people like her.’ His eyes flicked around the room. ‘You think they’re coming here to save her? Are they fuck! They don’t give a shit.’

‘They do. Please. Listen to me. Just let her go and you can walk right out of here.’

‘Fuck off!’ he bellowed.

Then, the gunshot. Rosie jumped as the bullet went through the floor inches from her foot. Christ! This nutcase really was going to kill them. He had a mad smirk on his face as he fired again, this time past her. She heard glass smash behind her and something slip off the wall onto the floor. Then another shot rang out, and the fat guy stared at them, stunned. Blood gushed from the side of his head and for a second he stood wavering on his feet. Then another shot, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Rosie turned to Adrian and saw the gun, no bigger than the palm of his large hand. Olenca passed out on the floor.

‘Jesus, Adrian. How the fu—?’

‘Hurry. We must get out of here. Get some water on her. Hurry. The neighbours will call police. They will have heard the gunfire.’

The fat guy lay on the ground as Rosie went to the kitchen and returned with mug of water and a cold cloth. She cradled Olenca in her arms and patted her face with the damp cloth. She sparked back to life, her face red and swollen.

‘It’s okay, Olenca. You’re safe. We’re getting you out of here. But we must be quick. Can you stand up?’

The fat guy shuddered on the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head and spreading across his shirt. But his eyes were wide open, and his face was contorted in anger and shock. Rosie got Olenca to her feet as Adrian went across to him.

‘Go,’ he said to Rosie.

She looked at him.

‘But?’

‘Go. I’ll be there in a moment.’

She supported Olenca and walked her to the door. She looked over her shoulder and saw Adrian going through the guy’s pockets, taking anything he could, including his mobile. Rosie helped Olenca along the hall and out of the front door. At the top of the stairs she heard a muffled shot. She exchanged a glance with Olenca, and said nothing. When they got to the second floor a man came running towards them, taking the stairs two at a time, and he brushed past them, almost knocking them over. Olenca gripped the bannister and Rosie gently pulled her fingers away and slowly they made their way down the stairs. As they got to the ground floor they heard a scuffle above and a sharp groan. They looked up in time to see the man who had pushed past them now flying through the air. He hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.

‘Don’t look!’ Rosie said.

She pushed Olenca ahead of her towards the front door. Then Rosie looked over her shoulder and saw the mangled figure splattered on the floor, his skull cracked in half and the contents of his head like a thick, blood-soaked sponge seeping on to the tiles. By the time she had got Olenca into her car and the engine running, the front door opened and Adrian casually appeared from the building as though he were going out for a stroll. He got into the passenger seat and closed the door.

Rosie drove towards Pitt Street police HQ in traumatized silence.

‘I get out here, please, Rosie. It’s for the best.’ Adrian said as they stopped on the corner of Blythswood Street. He turned, fixing Rosie with his soft grey eyes. ‘I call you later.’

He opened the door, stepped out and lit a cigarette. Then he walked away and didn’t look back.

‘We need to get Hanlon in here to work out what we tell the cops, Gilmour. Because a couple of plods are on their way down from Pitt Street and they’ll want answers pronto. I mean, this is fucking crazy. Not one but two dead bodies. What is it with this big Bosnian guy? Every time you’re with him there are stiffs all over the place.’

‘Mick, it was us or them. It’s that simple. If it weren’t for Adrian, I’d be dead, and so would Olenca. That’s a fact.’

‘Yeah, but fuck me, Rosie! You could just have given the cops the girl’s address and told them to go and get her.’

‘I know, but I wanted to take her myself. It was me who got her to agree to cooperate with the cops. And thank God I did go to the flat, because I’m not sure the police would have handled it the way Adrian did. They might have screwed the whole thing up, and Olenca would have been killed. It was the right thing to do. I don’t care what you say.’ Rosie’s voice shook with emotion. She’d been on the verge of tears since she handed Olenca over to the cops.

*

When Rosie had met Don and his DCI boss in the side room at police headquarters in Pitt St, Olenca was so upset they had to bring in a nurse to calm her down before they were able to speak to her. Rosie stepped outside with Don and the DCI. Don had told her his boss was old school and didn’t always play by the rules when he wanted to nail a villain. So she’d decided to put her cards on the table, stressing it was off the record. There were two bodies, she said, one in Olenca’s flat with gunshot wounds and the other at the bottom of the stairwell. They had to get someone down there quickly. The DCI had looked at her, incredulous, as Don nodded to him that she would be telling the truth. His face reddened as he paced up and down the corridor, his voice an exasperated whisper.

‘You can’t just bump people off in Glasgow city centre and walk away,’ the DCI said.

Rosie had been tempted to reply that it hadn’t stopped a succession of hoodlums getting away with it over the years.

‘We need a statement from you, Rosie,’ he insisted.

‘I have to speak to the
Post
’s lawyers first,’ Rosie replied.

‘So who shot this guy?’ Don asked.

‘I can’t tell you that. It would compromise my contact.’

‘He’s fucking killed two people,’ the DCI rasped. ‘Christ almighty!’

‘It was them or us. I’ll testify in court to that. But I’ll never reveal the name of my contact.’

The DCI shook his head, defeated.

‘Fair enough. I see where you’re coming from. But you’d better see your lawyer sharpish, because someone higher up than me will want to talk to you very, very soon.’ He paused. ‘Listen. I appreciate what you’ve done here.’ He gestured towards Don. ‘He’s told me the risks you take. But there’ll be problems with this. And I can’t do anything about it. Go and see your lawyer.’

Rosie had then driven down to the office, explaining to McGuire that nothing had gone according to plan at Olenca’s flat. She could hear him almost hyperventilating as she spoke.

*

Tommy Hanlon, the
Post
’s lawyer and the youngest QC in the country, came breezing into McGuire’s office, still wearing his court attire, stiff white shirt and bow-tie under a black jacket. And a wide, playful grin on his face.

‘Fuckity fuck, Gilmour! You don’t mess about, do you?’ he chuckled as he slapped a file on McGuire’s conference table. ‘I’ve been in court all day, then I’ve just had to cut short a briefing with one of my biggest clients to come down here and wipe the blood off the fucking walls!’ He kissed Rosie theatrically on both cheeks. ‘Right. Let’s hear it.’ He plonked himself on the sofa next to her.

Rosie explained what had happened when they went to Olenca’s flat.

‘And where’s this big bloke? Adrian?’

She shrugged.

‘I don’t know where he is now. But I’d be surprised if he’s anywhere around here.’

‘The cops are going to want to know who he is . . . Everything about him. Do you know him well?’

‘I do. But I’m not about to tell the cops. No chance.’

Hanlon looked at the editor, who gave a defeated shrug then turned to Rosie.

‘We’ll just have to see how it pans out with the plods. But there are two stiffs lying in the city centre, and you and the Polish girl are key to this investigation. That’s the tack they’ll take.’

‘They’re not murders, though. The guy was going to kill all of us. He had a gun pointed at us, for Christ’s sake. And by the way, Olenca doesn’t know how to get in touch with Adrian either. She’ll have told the police this was the first time she saw him. But it’s not a murder. It was self-defence.’

‘Yes, I know. But since this isn’t actually the movies, or downtown Beirut, the authorities here like to be able to put things in boxes. They call them trials, Rosie.’

‘Listen. I’ve just handed a girl to the cops who can bring down some of the biggest criminals in Glasgow and beyond for arms dealing and for murder. What more do they want?’

‘I know. And that’s how we’ll need to play it.’ He sat back with his hands behind his head. ‘I’m not that worried about it – depending on who comes in here. And I think you’ll have been forgiven for turning over the police chief a couple of years ago, once they realized the kind of bastard he was. I don’t think there will be a bad feeling about you as such. But they will need to mop this up. They can’t just have dead bodies and pretend it didn’t happen.’

‘I can talk about that. I can back up what Olenca will say, what the guy was trying to do – sell her for money. I’m happy to do that.’

‘And about the shooting?’

‘Well, I can say the truth of what happened. But not give the name.’

‘And what about the guy on the stairwell?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he slipped.’

‘Aye, right.’ Hanlon shrugged. ‘Fine. If you get away with that. You might. We need to speak to some people.’ He looked at McGuire. ‘How’s your clout with the chief constable these days?’

‘Let me make a call.’ McGuire went behind his desk and dialled.

*

Rosie sat in the canteen on the ground floor drinking coffee with Hanlon while McGuire talked to the chief constable on the phone in his office.

Hanlon took notes as they discussed how best to handle the cops when they arrived, and he made it clear to her what would happen if she refused to give up the name of the shooter in the flat. She explained to him that no matter what happened she could never give Adrian up, and she recounted how Adrian had been there for her for the first time nearly two years ago when one of big Jake Cox’s thugs had come to murder her. It was the first time she’d admitted to the lawyer that it was Adrian who had saved her life that night. Hanlon told her their best hope was that McGuire could pull a few strings, given how the
Post
had more or less solved their crime for them – and not for the first time.

Rosie’s mobile rang, and she saw it was Mickey Kavanagh.

‘I need to take this call.’ Answering, she said, ‘Hey, Mickey. What’s happening? I’ve been meaning to call you, but the last couple of days have been mental.’

‘So I hear,’ Mickey said.

‘Really? You don’t miss much. What do you hear?’ He couldn’t possibly know about the last hour’s events in the flat.

‘I heard about that stooshie in the warehouse with that prick Dunn and Co. What a result that was, getting them wrapped up like that. But by all accounts you nearly got done in. Did you get hurt?’

‘I got a few slaps,’ Rosie said. ‘But my face is still as lovely as ever.’

‘I’m sure it is, sweetheart, but listen, I’ve got a name for you. In London. The heart of the corruption. Fuck me. It’s a middle-management guy in Customs, but it’s been covered up by the top brass.’

‘Do you mean the fake licence and the arms dealing?’

‘Yep. Apparently the guy was on the take big time, taking bribes to issue a fake licence. Once you’ve got the paperwork with the official stamp on it, nobody really questions it hard at the border.’

‘And they’ve traced who the guy is?’

‘Yep.’

‘Is he arrested yet? Are they going to do him?’

‘I’d say they’ll do him, but he’s not arrested yet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the spooks will probably take care of it. I mean, nobody wants to see a guy at the heart of the system being in court for faking an arms-dealing licence. That just doesn’t sound good at PM’s Question Time or in the papers. They’d get hung out to dry.’

‘But we have a story to that effect.’

‘But you haven’t got a story you can prove, Rosie – well, not yet, as far as I know.’

‘No. We don’t, Mickey. But if I can get to the guy, then maybe I can prove it. We can just go down there and monster the bastard.’

‘That might work – he might just burst if you tell him you know everything.’

‘I’m up for that. What’s his name?’

‘Terence Rygate. He’s the civil servant. Here’s his address. He’s actually been earmarked for better things. There was talk of moving him to the Foreign Office.’

‘Not any more, I take it.’ Rosie was delighted that it was the same name Boswell-Smith had given her.

‘No. But the chain of corruption money goes higher up.’

‘How high up?’

‘All I’ve been told is that a big name was a director in the company – or used to be.’

‘Christ, Mickey. You don’t half love this drip-feed shit. Who is it? Give me a name before I burst.’

‘Thomas Elridge.’

‘The deputy finance minister? You’re kidding!’

‘That’s what I said when I heard it.’

‘Jesus!’

‘I said that too.’

‘Why would he get involved in that?’

‘Don’t know. Maybe the company seemed legit in the beginning. Who knows?’

‘So does he know he’s been rumbled? Will he have heard about Dunn’s arrest?’

‘Apparently he hasn’t been around for a couple of days.’

‘I need to speak to the editor about this. I want off the leash and down to London pronto.’

‘Well, if it were me, I’d get moving fast, Rosie. Because this shit will be cleaned up very quickly. Know what I mean? They will want to make this disappear.’

‘Not if I can get there first.’

‘I’ll call you if I get any more. But be careful. You owe me a big dinner.’

He hung up.