Betrayed (10 page)

‘Exactly. And the same with the money. Lot of it goes back there. The UVF and IRA top brass would tell you they’re against drugs and work to clean up their areas. But it’s all crap. They turn a blind eye as long as they get a kickback sent over. But it’s all so well orchestrated, it’s hard to get anything that would lead you to a conviction. Almost impossible in fact. There’s so much traffic back and forth across the water. With both sides.’

‘So what you going to do to get someone to talk about the dead guys?’

‘Well … It’ll be all over the papers for the next few days … Gangland killing. There’ll be plenty of speculation, so hopefully it will throw up a few names. We’ve got a team out at Coalburn and the areas at the moment, trying to
question a few people. But we’re not holding our breaths over getting a conviction on this one.’ He stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Anyway. Fuck them. At least they’re dead.’

CHAPTER NINE

So far, so depressing, Rosie thought, as Matt pulled into the motorway car park. Tracking a ferry load of rat-arsed Rangers fans from Glasgow to Eindhoven wasn’t her idea of a midweek break, but it had to be done. It was more of a fact-finding mission than anything else, Rosie and McGuire had decided. The whole exercise was to determine exactly where McGregor and his cohorts went and who they met during the run up to the match. They’d simply follow them and take pictures if the opportunity arose. It didn’t prove a lot, but it would be enough for some groundwork.

The bus shook to the dull thud of stamping feet. Fists pumped against windows as they belted out the song: ‘And the cry was No Surrender … Surrender or you’ll die … DIE! DIE!’

‘Christ.’ Rosie stretched her legs as she got out of the car. ‘Listen to that. They’re well pissed. I’ll be surprised if half of them actually make the match tomorrow.’

Matt had followed the bus south as it turned off the M6 to the motorway cafe. The singing had started by the time the fans had all piled out of the Tavern pub at seven in the morning and onto the bus. Rosie and Matt were at the end of the street watching discreetly as hordes of locals turned out to wave the bus off with the kind of reverence usually reserved for soldiers going to war. One of the cheeky fans dropped his trousers and mooned out of the side window, much to the hilarity of those left behind. Matt had kept a modest distance behind the cavalcade of cars and coaches bedecked with banners and scarves, blazing south towards Ramsgate to catch the ferry to Ostend.
Bears On Tour
, one of the red, white and blue banners read. Sure, Rosie thought – in more ways than one.

‘They’re a scary lot when you see them all together like that,’ Matt said.

‘I know. I hate all that sectarian shit. They’re bad enough with it when they’re sober. But when they get boozed up, you just know something’s going to kick off.’

They watched as Eddie McGregor got off the bus with Mitch in tow and followed the crowd into the cafe. Jimmy Dunlop had dropped back a couple of steps and was walking with a man who looked like a taller, older version of himself.

‘I wonder where he’s left the money for the coke deal,’ Rosie said. ‘If this all stands up and he is picking up coke, it’s not as if he’s going to hit the bank in Holland for a few grand. He’ll have it on him.’

‘Look,’ Matt said. ‘The other guy. Mad Mitch. He’s carrying a holdall. Maybe it’s in there.’

As more fans filed off the bus, Rosie suddenly felt sick as she watched a pale-faced drunken man stagger and projectile vomit in the car park.

‘Christ,’ Matt grimaced. ‘Glad I’m not sitting next to him all the way to Eindhoven.’

Rosie consoled herself with the fact that they’d already made some progress back in Glasgow. Liz had played a blinder at the farewell party in the Tavern. When she’d met them yesterday to return the camera, they were blown away with the pictures. The function room above the pub was like a shrine to the UVF. Even if nothing else happened, they already had a scoop with pictures and video footage of the UVF’s secret rooms above the bar. The Tavern, on the face of it, was just another Rangers pub. But these pictures would expose it for what it really was. McGuire couldn’t believe it as they pored over the images adorning the walls – photos of Rangers football stars down the years, alongside UVF flags and posters. Closer examination of the pictures showed printed names of those who had sponsored them for that year, and Liz had informed Rosie that she’d been told the fees for having your name up on the wall for all to see were almost a grand a year, all of it going straight to the UVF. Young Declan was already doing a trawl of the names to see if any of them flagged up an interesting profile. Crucially, there was also footage of Eddie McGregor and
Jimmy Dunlop talking quietly at the bar. The audio wasn’t great, but there was a mention of a meet with the contact in Utrecht, around an hour’s drive from Eindhoven. Marion had organised a hired car from Eindhoven for following McGuire. She’d also booked them rooms at the hotel where the bus load of Rangers fans were staying.

Inside the motorway cafe, Rosie sat at the window while Matt went to get them sandwiches. She looked at the text message from Adrian. He was already in Eindhoven, and had checked into the hotel. She was surprised at how much she was looking forward to seeing him. They hadn’t spoken much in the last few weeks, not since his phone call informing her of the fate of the Serbian war criminal they’d tracked from Glasgow to Belgrade. But that was Adrian’s way. He didn’t do small talk. But still, she knew he’d be there for her if she needed him. She’d managed to screw a decent wedge of cash from the
Post
to pay him to work for them for as long as the investigation took, over the two legs of the Rangers Champions League matches. If she’d asked, he’d probably have done it for free, but she wasn’t about to admit that to McGuire. She felt safer just knowing he’d be in Eindhoven when they got there. She’d decided to leave Javier until the Spanish end, when she could see how it was all panning out.

By the time the ferry pulled out of the terminal at Ramsgate, Jimmy had already intervened in two arguments between
drunken fans. As he relaxed in the bar, Eddie sent him and Mitch across to sort out another rowdy table after two of the fans were on their feet poking each other in the chest.

‘Sort them lads, for fuck’s sake,’ Eddie said. ‘The last thing we need is a rammy drawing attention to ourselves.’

Jimmy and Mitch crossed to the table of drunken fans. He knew most of them from the Tavern, but more importantly, they knew him and Mitch.

‘Right, boys.’ Jimmy stepped between them. ‘Sit the fuck down and behave yourselves. You’re going to end up getting arrested.’

Both of the men sat down and the table fell silent. Fans from nearby glanced over and turned away. Jimmy leaned towards them.

‘Eddie says you’d better screw the nut.’ He stabbed a finger. ‘There are a lot of families and youngsters on this trip as well as you, who just want to go and enjoy the match. Now there’ll be plenty of time for you to get drunk and do whatever the fuck you like when you get to Eindhoven. But right here and now, just behave. Unless any of you want to go for a swim.’ He made eye contact with each one of them. ‘And I’m serious about that.’

‘Okay, man,’ they muttered as Jimmy turned and left.

He went over to where his father sat with three of his old workmates from the shipyards.

‘All right, Da?’ Jimmy said.

‘Aye. Fine, son,’ his father answered, but his gaze was forlorn. He had hardly touched his pint.

‘Come on out and we’ll get some fresh air.’ Jimmy nodded towards the deck.

‘I think I will.’ His father got to his feet and walked behind Jimmy.

Out on the deck, Jimmy lit a cigarette as they stood staring out to sea at a watery sun behind a pale grey sky. His father held a roll-up cigarette between his nicotine-stained thumb and index finger and smoked it until it was almost burning his skin.

‘Maybe you should chuck that, Da,’ Jimmy said, glancing at the fag.

‘No’ much point now.’ His father flicked the fag end into the sea.

They stood in awkward silence, Jimmy afraid to look at his father and see the sloping shoulders that used to carry him as a boy when he’d run to meet him coming home from his shift on a Friday night. Jimmy could just make out the fading tattoo on his still muscle-bound forearms, beneath the black hair. The red hand of Ulster and the letters
UVF
written in black ink beneath it. They leaned on the railings in the breeze, looking out at the white trail from the wake of the ferry, and Jimmy glanced at his father’s face, seeing the haunted looked he’d had since he’d broken the news a few days ago. He thought he heard him sniff and when he looked straight at him, he was shocked to see tears welling
up in his eyes. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even seen his father cry at his mother’s funeral, though in the weeks that followed he’d heard him sobbing through his bedroom wall in the middle of the night. The memory of it still broke his heart. He leaned across and tentatively put an arm around his father’s shoulder.

‘You’re all right, Da,’ he said, choked. ‘I’ll never leave your side. You know that, don’t you.’

His father shook his head and looked down at the deck.

‘Aw, Jimmy, son. I miss her so much. You’ve no idea.’ He wiped his tears. ‘She was too good for me, your mother. Too fine a woman.’ He ran the back of his hand across his nose. ‘I didn’t treat her well enough.’

‘Aye you did.’ Jimmy knew he was lying. ‘Don’t be daft, man. My ma thought the sun shone out your arse.’ He smiled, trying to make light. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this.

For a few seconds they said nothing, then his father sighed, seeming to compose himself.

‘All the same. I didn’t give her everything she deserved.’ He turned to Jimmy. ‘Don’t you ever make the same mistake, son.’

Jimmy said nothing.

‘You see that wee lassie you were going out with,’ his father said.

‘Wendy?’ Jimmy said, surprised. He’d only brought her to the house twice.

‘Aye. She seemed all right. What did she disappear for? That was weird.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought she might have been the lassie for you. The pair of you looked good together. What made her up sticks and go like that?’

Jimmy felt his throat tighten as he swallowed, and for a few seconds he said nothing. But his chest was bursting.

‘Eddie raped her.’ It was out before he could stop himself, and just saying it brought back a sickening image of Eddie climbing all over her.

The words hung in the air, and they stood looking at each other, silent but for the drone of the engine and the swish of the waves against the boat.

‘What?’

‘Eddie. He raped her.’

‘You’re fucking joking, son.’

Suddenly the tired pallor was gone, and his father’s eyes blazed.

‘Tell me.’

Jimmy ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

‘Da …’

‘Tell me, Jimmy. Tell me right now.’

His tone was calm but firm. Jimmy had heard it before, and he knew he had to answer.

‘Da. Listen. I shouldn’t have said it. I … I’ve been keeping it to myself for weeks. You see the night of the do?’ His stomach fluttered, recalling the moment. ‘Well, after I put you to bed I fell asleep. Then my phone went and woke me up.
It was Wendy, and she was sobbing. I couldn’t get any sense out of her for a minute. Then she said to me that Eddie’d raped her in his car.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Fuck! I jumped in a taxi and went right over to her house … But she wasn’t there.’ He swallowed and shook his head. ‘She was gone. Totally disappeared. And hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Fuck me, son. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because … Well. What’s the point? You can’t go accusing big Eddie because Wendy’s not here to back it up.’

‘You should have told me. I’d have taken it to the provost marshal in Belfast. We’d have pulled that bastard over for questioning.’

‘I know you would have, Da. Then maybe lost face. Look, there’s nothing anybody can do about it. I don’t even know where Wendy is or what’s happened. I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Did you ask big Eddie? I don’t mean about what she said, but did you mention anything at all to him?’

‘Yeah. Just asked how Wendy was when he dropped her off, but he said he’d no idea. All he did was drop her off. He wasn’t pleased at me even asking. There’s no way I could pursue it any more.’

‘Do you believe her? Would she make something like that up?’

‘No. No way. I believe her.’ He paused. ‘Da. Don’t say anything.’

His father folded his arms and muttered under his breath, looking out across the horizon, his mouth tight with defiance.

‘He’s a manky bastard,’ he said.

CHAPTER TEN

‘Hello, Adrian,’ Rosie smiled as Adrian looked up from the table in the busy pavement cafe outside their hotel in Eindhoven.

If he was pleased to see her, it wasn’t written all over his face. But that was Adrian. The Bosnian wasn’t big on expressive emotions. He stood up, his face as impassive as ever, and stretched out his arms in front of him.

‘Rosie.’ He took both her hands in his. ‘My friend.’ He scanned her face. Then he hugged her tight.

‘So great to see you, Adrian. Thanks for coming.’ She felt comfortable pressed against his muscular frame.

‘But of course I come. Always, I am very glad to see you too, Rosie.’ He pulled away then turned to Matt. ‘Hello again, Matt. Good to see you.’ They shook hands.

‘You too, big man,’ Matt grinned. ‘Seems like yesterday we were traipsing around chasing all these bad boys over in Belgrade.’

Adrian shrugged. ‘Well. They get what they deserve … in the end.’

An image of the Serb war criminal hanging over Paklenik gorge in Bosnia with his throat cut flashed across Rosie’s mind, and not for the first time she was fascinated by how clinical Adrian was when it came to right and wrong. She’d seen him shoot and stab people with no compunction. His survival philosophy was basic – them or us. In all the years she had known him, since the day of their chance meeting in a cafe in Glasgow when he was a poor refugee in trouble, Rosie had never glimpsed behind Adrian’s detached exterior. Until two months ago, in Bosnia. For the first time, he’d opened up his life to her and Matt, and she could finally see the scars that made him the haunted figure he was.