Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 (30 page)

‘You’ll hear from my bloody lawyers, madam.’

‘I’m sure I will.’ Rosie took a couple of steps towards the gangster. As she passed him, she couldn’t resist the urge to slap his face, and she’d done it before she could stop herself. She heard Bertie and Matt gasp from twenty feet away. Larry looked at her and half smiled.

‘That’s for this morning,’ Rosie murmured. ‘He’s all yours.’ She walked past him, her legs like jelly.

‘What the fuck, Rosie!’ Matt said, as they went quickly across the foyer and out of the automatic doors.

‘Couldn’t help myself.’

‘You’re a fucking headcase!’ He laughed nervously. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here before he comes after us.’

‘He won’t.’

Chapter Thirty-Three

Larry
Sutton felt the sting on his cheek from the reporter’s slap, but it brought a smile to his lips. Ballsy little bitch. He could’ve got Ricky to grab her at the door and pull her fingers off one by one, but he had to admire her chutzpah. He’d let it go if she did her job. Right now he had a score to settle. Even before he sat down, he could smell the fear coming off Mervyn Bates. It was seeping out of his pores. But Bates was looking at him with his five-grand cosmetic smile, trying his best to be in control.

‘What the hell was that, Larry? You know that reporter bitch?’

Larry turned his mouth down, a little bored, and sighed. ‘I make it my business to know things, Merv. You should know that by now.’

‘So what brings you up here, man? Can I get you a drink?’

Bates
waved the waitress over, and Larry ordered tea. He sat back, staring, knowing the agent was waiting nervously for an answer as to why he was there.

‘You up checking on your boys?’ Bates asked.

‘Well, I was up to see what the fucking score is, Merv. They’ve taken about three fucking weeks to get this job done, and then they phone me yesterday to say Dan’s done a runner.’

The waitress brought a pot of tea, and Larry watched as Bates poured it with trembling hands.

‘You been at the drink, old son?’ Larry said playfully. ‘You’re shaking like a fucking leaf. What’s the matter? What about that reporter bird? Did she unnerve you?’

‘She’s a fucking nutter, Larry. Comes walking in here from nowhere and starts making all sorts of accusations.’

‘Yeah?’ Larry lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. ‘Like what?’

Bates gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Just crap. You know what it’s like with these fucking gutter tabloids. They’re always looking for a story.’ He took a breath. ‘But the thing is, Larry, she comes in here and tells me she has some woman who witnessed what happened on the hotel roof in Madrid.’

Larry screwed up his eyes, confused. ‘What? Not fucking possible, mate. She’s bluffing.’

‘But how do we know that for sure, Larry? I mean, your boys were the ones who did the recce and organized the
whole thing. Surely to Christ they did a sweep of the place to make sure nobody was out there?’

Larry rolled his eyes. Knowing Ricky and Pete, they probably hadn’t bothered their arses looking in every nook and cranny on the roof of a hotel. ‘Well, they would have done a search. But who’s going to be on the roof of a hotel at nearly midnight? I thought you said the party was inside a closed-off function room on the roof.’

‘It was.’

‘So who was on the roof? A guest at the party?’

‘How the fuck do I know? It might be a load of crap. Maybe this reporter’s just fishing to see what she can dig up. She said the witness is a woman and that she’s going to talk to the police.’

This was not good news, but Larry did his best to absorb it and keep his face impassive. He hadn’t come here expecting anything like this. He’d come to deal with Mervyn Bates – to ask him some questions and see if he squirmed. But this information might mean that, after a bit of digging, some bastard had been savvy enough to work out who was who in the hit that night. And, ultimately, that could lead all the way to his door. Fuck that for a game of soldiers.

‘Anyway,’ Larry played it down, ‘I’m not going to bust my tits worrying about some reporter’s bullshit. I’ve got some questions I want to ask you, Merv.’

‘Questions? What about? You got paid for the hit, didn’t
you? Expenses all covered? And, don’t worry, I’ll still weigh you in for the work you’ve done trying to find Dan Mason.’

‘Yeah.’ Larry nodded slowly. ‘I want to ask you about him, actually.’ He looked Bates in the eye. ‘And his sister.’

Bates shrugged. ‘Not much I can tell you. Other than the fact that they were a couple of snotty-nosed kids in a children’s home in Glasgow when I came across Bella. What a fucking beauty she was. Only thirteen, but you could see she was made for great things in the modelling world. So I saw to it that she got out of that place. Got her a new life. Made her a fucking star.’

‘And you raped her, when she was still a kid.’

Larry watched as his accusation hung in the air like nuclear fallout.

Bates looked almost dizzy with shock. ‘What?’

‘You heard me. You raped the girl when she was only thirteen or fourteen. That’s the real reason you took her away.’

Bates’ mouth dropped open and his bottom lip twitched. ‘What a monstrous allegation, Larry! What the fuck are you saying that for?’

‘Yeah,’ Larry said, leaning forward. ‘Monstrous. Good word that, to describe what you did to her.’

‘I – I—’

Merv tried to protest, but Larry interrupted, putting his hand up. He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a loud whisper. ‘Listen, you pervy paedo cunt, don’t fucking insult my intelligence, or I’ll get Ricky to take you outside and cut
your fucking balls off.’ Rage rose in his chest. ‘You think I’m just some fucking lowlife gangster who lets the fucking world wash over him? How do you think I got this far in my life if I didn’t make it my business to know what was going on?’

‘B-but—’

‘Shut it. One thing I’m very cross with myself about is that I didn’t know what you were. I’ve done jobs for you over the years. Some of them I didn’t particularly like doing, but business is business. And all that time, I didn’t realize you were a fucking paedo. Little girls you lured into your web with talk of money and fame. You did that, and I didn’t even have a fucking clue. That makes me very angry.’

‘I didn’t, Larry! It’s not true. I don’t know who’s telling you this.’

‘Well, one of the people who’s saying it is Dan fucking Mason. And while he was here, laying all his cards on the table as you sat there shitting your pants, he was taping the whole conversation.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘Yeah, mate. Done up like a fucking kipper you are.’

‘How do you even know this? He came in here and did a runner. He’s a lowlife junkie.’

‘Shut it. You don’t get to ask questions. You don’t need to know how I know this, but I’ve heard the fucking tape.’

Bates was silent for a moment. Then he glared at Larry. ‘So where’s the fucking tape? Show me. Name your fucking price, if that’s what this is about.’

Quick
as a flash, Larry leaned across and grabbed him by the throat. ‘Don’t you
ever
talk to me like that, or I’ll squeeze the fucking life out of you.’

Bates managed to squeak, ‘Sorry,’ and Larry released him.

They sat in silence, Larry trying to compose himself. He was going to deal with this, but not right here in the middle of the hotel.

‘So,’ Bates said, ‘what do you want, Larry? Just tell me.’

Larry looked at him with contempt. ‘I want you to tell me the truth. That’s all. The truth. Did you rape Bella Mason when she was a kid?’

Bates looked down at his hands and Larry watched as he picked at his fingernails. When he looked up again, tears were filling his eyes. ‘Larry. I swear to God—’

‘The fucking truth!’

He took a breath and let it out slowly, beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘I didn’t rape her, Larry. You have to understand . . . Please let me explain. Bella was fourteen, going on bloody twenty. She was already doing well in the modelling game. I was looking after her, but she was a feisty little bugger and I know she was a handful for her foster parents. She was already going out with boys and coming home late and stuff. What I’m trying to say here, is, yes, okay, we did have sex. But it wasn’t like she was a kid.’

‘She was fourteen. She
was
a kid.’

‘She wanted it.’

Larry
had to bite his lip to stop himself upturning the table, as an image of Spider came to him, of the night when he’d confessed about the rapes, saying that his attackers had told him he wanted it.

‘She wanted sex with a . . . What age would you have been then, Merv? Forty-five? A fourteen-year-old beautiful little girl wanted sex with a poncy, hairy-faced cunt, pushing fifty?’

‘It wasn’t like that. Bella and me were close. We had become so close. I loved her, Larry. I really loved her.’

Larry rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, fuck me, Merv! Bring out the fucking violins. You loved her? You paid me fucking seventy grand to get her thrown off a fucking roof! You
loved
her!’

‘She turned, Larry. She became toxic. She was a fucking cokehead, wasted half the time, out of control. All the other birds knew it. It was only a matter of time before she self-destructed. She’d have lost her looks before she was thirty, and she’d be history.’

Larry shook his head slowly. He’d been supplying this bastard with coke for all of his model birds for the past ten years, and now he was sitting there saying that. ‘She was a fucking cokehead because you supplied her.’

‘That’s not true. She was already into it before I found out. I thought if she was going to do it, I’d better manage it. That way she wouldn’t get photographed in the tabloids up some fucking alley in Hackney.’

Larry sat back.
He’d heard just about enough, but he wanted to put one last thing to him. ‘Merv. There were others, weren’t they? Other kids. You went to parties and stuff in London, organized by nonces like you, showbiz pals, politicians, all sorts of bastards.’

He said nothing. Larry let him squirm.

‘Just tell me. This is the day you get it all off your chest.’

Larry watched as Bates crumpled, first his lips and his cheeks twitching, then the tears in his eyes. He put his head in his hands.

‘I’m just . . . I’m weak. Maybe I’m sick, Larry. I don’t like who I am.’

Larry nodded. He stood up. ‘Neither do I, mate. I don’t like who you are, either.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Out of here. I need to get some fresh air, away from the stench that surrounds you, you filthy, stinking pervert. I’m going back to London. But that reporter bitch, believe me, she’s onto you, so if I was you, I’d fuck off somewhere far away before the cops start looking for you. You’re finished.’

Larry stood for a few seconds and watched in disgust as Bates folded into his hands and wept. He walked outside into the fresh, crisp air, where Ricky was standing at the entrance smoking a cigarette. ‘All right, boss?’

‘Yeah.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Deal with that piece of shit before the night’s out, then head back down the road. I hate this fucking place.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rosie
picked up one of the last copies of the
Post
from the stand at Glasgow Airport, as she and Matt headed for their flight to London. The splash headline with the ‘World Exclusive’ banner said it all: AGONY OF BELLA AND HER SECRET BROTHER. The picture of Dan and Bella, smiling, arms round each other’s shoulders, was probably making its way to media outlets around the world by now, if the
Post
’s lucrative syndication arm was doing its job. There was a strapline at the foot of the page, directing readers to pages four and five: MODEL RAPED AS A CHILD. By the time she’d left the office last night, McGuire had the kind of triumphant swagger that you only saw at times like this. Rosie had seen the make-up of the front page and inside spread before she left, and as she walked through the front door of the building, she’d stood on the steps and allowed herself a moment. This was what she lived for. It shouldn’t be, but it was.

‘Some
front page, Rosie! I reckon today’s paper will be the biggest circulation the paper has seen in a long time. It’s flying off the shelves. Couldn’t even get one in my local shop this morning.’

Rosie flicked to the spread as they stood in the newsagent’s queue.

‘You can’t fail, really, if you’ve got the face of one of the world’s top models on your splash and a story to take your breath away. I’m well pleased with it.’

‘How was Dan when you saw him last night?’ Matt asked, as they made their way to security.

‘He was on good form. The most relaxed he’s been in a few days. Mitch is getting out of the hospital today and Declan is picking him up and taking him to the flat. I think they’ll be okay on their own.’

‘Did you search the house for tenner bags?’ Matt joked.

Rosie smiled. ‘No. I think he just feels like there’s a load off his back. He’s had to live with this secret all his life, and now he can shout who he is from the rooftops. I really hope he gets on now and makes his life better.’

‘He’ll be in for a fortune once it all gets sorted.’

‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘That’ll be the real test. Whether he uses it to change his life or blows it in a year. But he’s a good kid. I think he’ll do all right.’

But, right now, the story had moved on. She was looking forward to a showdown with Colin Chambers. It wouldn’t be a warm reception. She hoped the flowers she’d sent to
Millie at the clinic would get to her. Given that her husband had had her locked away, all phone calls and mail would be monitored, so she couldn’t risk a call. But a bouquet would seem innocuous enough. She’d asked the local florist to put a simple message on the card. She hoped that ‘Thinking of you’ would be enough for Millie to understand she hadn’t been abandoned. She simply put ‘R’ as the sender.

*

As she sat in the splendour of the Garrick Club, Rosie was more than impressed that Mickey Kavanagh had come up trumps. He’d been sniffing around for the past week and found that Colin Chambers was a creature of habit. He lunched at White’s every Monday afternoon, and on Fridays he could be found in the Garrick, relaxing with his mistress, an actress who was currently starring in one of the West End theatres. Kavanagh had also established that Chambers would visit the actress’s flat on a Thursday, late afternoon, and wouldn’t emerge until mid-evening. Rosie didn’t ask how Kavanagh had sourced the information – she didn’t want to know. She’d laughed when he told her he was buying her lunch at his club, assuming it was some pub used by his ex-copper pals in the city. But here she was, sitting in the members’ dining room, the walls adorned with portraits of theatrical legends going back a hundred years.