Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 (28 page)

Rosie smiled for the first time that day, as she reflected on her conversation with Bertie at the hotel when she’d confided in him who the guests were and the dangers they brought with them. He was up for a bit of action: he was glad to have put his police career behind him, but he sometimes missed the buzz.

‘He’s straight as a die and was a great copper in his day. He was part of the Royal Protection Squad at one time so he always had a gun in his jacket, just in case. Believe me, he’s the kind of guy you’d want on your side when your back’s to the wall. He says he’ll stay in now till we get our story in the paper.’

‘Good stuff. As long as we’re not paying him an arm and a leg.’

‘I’ll just put it on my hotel expenses,’ Rosie said, only half joking.

McGuire gave her a look, and changed the subject. ‘Anyway, this Merv bastard. What do we do with him now? Where is he?’

‘He’s staying at the Holiday Inn. My concierge contact called me half an hour ago. Said he’s booked in at least for the night. His boys will still be hunting for Dan, so he might be here for another day.’

McGuire sat back and narrowed his eyes. ‘I think it’s time we monstered the fucker.’

‘I
was hoping you’d say that. I think we really need to move on him.’

‘What about the tape Dan was wearing? Where is it? Has he still got it?’

‘Sadly, no.’

Rosie had hoped McGuire wouldn’t ask about it until she’d at least tried to find it.

‘Fuck’s sake! Where is it?’

‘Dan said he had it when he went into that house, but he didn’t have it when we took him away. I didn’t look for it at the time because we thought he was dying, and it didn’t occur to me to see where the tape was. Bertie was giving him mouth-to-mouth.’

‘You’re not as heartless as you need to be, Gilmour. The tape is a priority. What you going to do?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

‘I don’t want to know what you’re thinking, Rosie. But I don’t want you wading back in there and upturning the sofas in search of it. Are we clear on that?’

‘Sure,’ Rosie said. She didn’t tell him that Bertie was already planning to go back and look for it. ‘So let’s give it till tomorrow. Then we’ll go up to the Holiday Inn and see how we go with big Merv. You okay with that?’

‘Right. I want you to go home now. I need to think where my next story is going. Also, we have to see what we can do about Millie Chambers. The nurse Bridget says she got a call – that right? She’s back in the same place?’

‘Yeah,’
Rosie had almost forgotten she’d told him about Bridget’s call, she was so wrapped up in the pace of the last few hours. She’d tried Bridget’s mobile several times but got no answer.

‘Okay. Go home. Relax. Build a jigsaw or have a drink with that JT bloke.’

‘It’s TJ.’

‘Aye. Well, what kind of name is that anyway?’ McGuire stood up. ‘I want you relaxed, not staring into space. You looked a mess when you walked in here.’

‘Cheers, Mick.’

‘You know what I mean. I don’t want you overdoing it with all the crap that’s happened. We’ve a lot to do yet, so rest tonight. Tomorrow we’ll be ramping things up a bit. And I want to rattle Colin Chambers’ cage very soon too.’

*

Rosie called Bridget’s number, but there was still no answer. Her landline was ringing out too, and at six in the evening she’d have expected her to be at home. She’d said she was a creature of habit: after work it was always dinner, TV soaps, then an early night with a book. It bothered Rosie as she drove into the car park off Woodlands Road, on the way to her flat in St George’s Cross, and took out her notebook. She was looking forward to dinner with TJ. But she had to reassure herself before she could take a night off. She scanned the pages until she found the phone number
for the Eastbourne District General Hospital, punched it in and asked for Ward Seven. A woman answered.

‘Hello. Is it possible to speak to Bridget Casey?’

Silence.

‘Hello?’ Rosie said. ‘Sorry to trouble you. I’m looking to speak to Bridget Casey. Is she still on duty?’

There was a long pause and a chill ran through Rosie.

‘Who is this, please? Are you a relative?’

‘No. Actually, I’m a friend.’

Another silence.

‘I’m sorry. But I’m afraid I have bad news for you. Bridget . . . er . . . Bridget was involved in a car accident yesterday.’

Rosie pressed the phone to her ear. ‘Oh, my God! I didn’t know. Is she all right?’

Another thumping silence.

‘I’m sorry. But . . . I’m really sorry to tell you that Bridget is dead.’

‘Jesus!’ Rosie murmured. ‘What happened?’

‘It was yesterday afternoon. She had finished her shift and was heading up the high street in the town. She seemed to step out in front of a car. Police are investigating. It was a hit-and-run. Imagine not stopping when a woman is so badly injured . . .’

Rosie was hearing the words, but all she could think of was Bridget hugging her the morning she’d left.

‘Hello? Are you still there? Do you want to speak to the ward sister on duty?’

‘No.
I’m sorry, I have to go.’

‘If you want to leave a number, we can keep you informed of funeral arrangements.’

‘Thanks. I won’t leave a number. I must go.’ Rosie hung up.

She punched in McGuire’s private number, still in disbelief.

‘Rosie.’

‘Mick. It’s Bridget. She’s dead. I just called the hospital ward she works in and they told me. Knocked down by a car last night. Hit-and-run.’

‘Fuck me!’

‘Somebody did that deliberately, Mick.’

‘I know. Poor woman.’ He paused. ‘Look, Gilmour. I’m sorry you’ve had this news on top of everything, but try to get some rest tonight. We really need to take the gloves off tomorrow.’ He hung up.

She sat in the car and switched off the engine, numb with shock as she stared out at the rain bouncing off the street. Poor Bridget. All she’d wanted to do was the right thing.

*

Rosie lay in a hot bath with a glass of red wine, as TJ sat with his feet up on a chair in the corner, listening as she described the past few hours.

‘These people are bad bastards, Rosie. I hope you get to nail them.’ He sipped his wine.

She was surprised. No lecture? It wouldn’t be the first
time she’d fallen into TJ’s arms when she was traumatized, depressed, or scared in the middle of an investigation, but almost every time, while he was there with an understanding hug, there was always the lecture on how she had to live her own life and that her job was dragging her down.

‘What? You’re not going to tell me to throw in the towel? That I can’t go on living like this, through other people’s misery?’

TJ got off his chair and knelt beside her. He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, and stroked her face. ‘Nope. No more lectures, Rosie. There were a lot of long days and nights in New York when I wondered if I’d ever see you again. And if I did, on what terms.’

Rosie looked at him, wondering what was he going to say? Was this the point where he would say that he’d he come to the conclusion that they could never be together like normal people, but that he would always be there for her as a friend?

‘So I made the decision. If I came back here and we hooked up again, I’d have to take a step back. We’re never going to be normal, you and me.’ He smiled. ‘Because you’re not normal, you crazy woman. You’re not happy unless you’re up to your knees in someone’s misery. And I decided that rather than whinge about it or try to change you, I’d just accept what you are. If I’m honest, I’m not even sure I’d want to be around you if you chucked the job. You wouldn’t be you without it. So, we are what we are.’ He paused. ‘I love
you, Rosie. Whatever happens to you or to us, just know that. Nobody else will ever love you the way I do.’

Rosie swallowed the lump in her throat, but the tears still spilled out of her eyes, and she gave way to them. ‘Christ, look at me. I haven’t cried for ages, and now you’ve got me blubbing.’

‘You did cry,’ TJ said playfully. ‘A few nights ago – again. In your sleep. I just didn’t feel the need to wake you and tell you.’

Rosie smiled through her tears. ‘I don’t remember it.’

TJ stood up, unfolded a towel and held it out. ‘Come on. I’m starving.’

She stood up, and he wrapped her in his arms.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rosie
looked at her watch as she waited in the cafe on Woodlands Road for Don. It was only nine, but she was already feeling the tension of the day ahead. On top of that, she was knackered after a restless night. To her surprise, she’d dropped off as soon as her head had hit the pillow, probably due to the couple of large glasses of wine she’d had with TJ. But she’d woken up in his arms, with him murmuring words of comfort. Another nightmare – vivid pictures of Millie, Bridget and Dan flying through the air from a high building. But it was her mother who lay on the ground when Rosie ran down the stairwell, pushing doors open until she was outside. Her face was wet with tears, and she couldn’t get back to sleep afterwards.

She was glad to see Don coming in the doorway.

‘You’re on the go early this morning, Rosie.’ He slipped into the booth.

‘I know. Listen, thanks for coming. I’ve been meaning to
see you for days to explain some things to you, but everything’s happening so quickly.’

‘You look like you’ve been up all night. What’s up? What the fuck happened to your face?’

‘I got punched by some thug. I’ll come to that in a minute. I’m a bit frazzled, chasing down a very big story, and I feel as though the walls are closing in on me.’

‘Is it to do with that wee junkie Mitch getting a going-over?’

‘Yeah. I’d hoped to talk to you about it before now.’

Don raised his eyebrows. ‘But you wanted your story in the bag first.’ He put his hands up. ‘Perfectly understandable.’

‘I’d have told you because, believe me, you’ll want to know about this, but it’s only between us for the moment. You okay with that?’

‘Sure.’

The waitress came over and he ordered an espresso. Rosie asked for a mineral water – she was already two coffees down and another would leave her jangling.

‘So, what’s happening? I don’t think anyone’s interviewed Mitch yet. To be honest, nobody seems to be that bothered about it. Junkies get beaten up for all sorts of reasons – debts, thieving.’

Rosie puffed out her cheeks. ‘I’m sure the city’s junkies will sleep easy in their cardboard boxes knowing that Strathclyde’s finest have them high on their list of priorities.’

Don
chuckled. ‘You know what I mean. They’ll never tell us anything we can act on anyway. Guy probably doesn’t have a clue who did him over. Have any of our guys been in touch with you yet for a statement, given that your number was on Mitch’s mobile?’

‘Not so far, thankfully,’ Rosie said. ‘I don’t want to talk to the cops yet. Well, apart from you.’ She changed the subject. ‘Anyway, Mitch was helping me track down the brother of Bella Mason – the model? We’ve been working on the tip that she didn’t kill herself, that somebody threw her off that roof.’

‘So why are you involved? She’s from London.’

‘No. She was born here and brought up in a children’s home after being abandoned by her mother. She was taken to live in London when she was thirteen. Got fostered by some couple. Some model impresario saw her and the rest is history.’

‘So what’s the big story there?’

‘Several things. She has a secret brother, a junkie, living rough in Glasgow. Amazing story, Don. We tracked him down.’

‘Ah. So that’s why Mitch was involved.’

‘Yes. But that’s not all. You know Colin Chambers – remember? The former Tory Home Secretary.’

‘Yeah. I remember him.’

‘Well. You won’t believe this, but his wife was on the roof of the hotel that night in Madrid.’

He
was incredulous. ‘What? You kidding me?’

‘No. She was going to commit suicide.’

He half smiled. ‘So was it a suicide convention? Are you sure you’ve not been drinking?’

‘Seriously, Don. She was on that roof. She came to Spain to kill herself, but then she witnessed what happened.’

‘Really witnessed it?’ His face turned serious. ‘You’re not kidding me, are you?’

‘No. She told me herself. I’ve got it all.’ Rosie put her hand up. ‘Look, it’s a long story, but she didn’t go to the police and kind of freaked out after what she saw. I can’t go into all that right now. All you need to know is that she saw it. I don’t want you to do anything official about this, not right now. But she will talk to the police when the time is right. And she can identify the guys who did it.’

‘Rosie, you really can’t sit on this kind of information.’

‘I know. It’s already proving too hot to handle.’ She pointed to her swollen eye. ‘I know we’ll have to involve the police, but the problem is whether we can trust them.’

‘Christ! What are you talking about? Can you trust us!’

Rosie explained to him about the child abuse, and about Dan, what he’d said had happened to them in the home. He listened, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘I see what you mean.’ He drained his coffee cup. ‘You need to talk to your editor. I’m not even going to mention our discussion to anyone because I know what will happen.
They’ll be down at the
Post
before lunchtime, beating the soles of your feet with rubber hoses.’

Rosie smiled. ‘Thanks. I just wanted to alert you. I’m going to the office now, so we’ll be making a decision later. But that Mervyn Bates character – you’ve seen him in the papers, some kind of agent for models. He’s a pervert, and we’re going to nail him to the wall. Then the cops can have him.’

Don stood up. ‘Okay. I’m fine with that. I need to go. I’ve got to meet the procurator fiscal about a court case. Give me a shout as soon as you can. Just don’t leave it too late, Rosie. If there’s any truth in all these things you’re telling me, all sorts of people will be trying to smother the story.’ He leaned down and kissed her head, then was gone.

A few minutes later, Rosie left the cafe and walked quickly to where her car was parked in a side street. By the time she noticed she was hemmed in by the black Mercedes parked across her, it was too late. Someone was behind her, poking what felt like a gun into her back. She stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face, as the rear door of the Merc opened.