Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (20 page)

A taxi from the
Post
picked them up outside and drove them to Laila’s grandparents in Maryhill. They were waiting at the door of their big sandstone villa. Seeing the delight on their faces made Rosie suddenly realise that whatever she had witnessed in the name of religion in the lawless, brutal backwater of the Swat valley, this was a family who cared about each other first and foremost. No politics, no dogma. Just glad to have their granddaughter back home. Rosie smiled to herself as she told the taxi to head to the office.

*

‘There’s going to be all sorts of political shit flying around once our story hits the streets, Gilmour. But it won’t half
leave the rest of the papers with their mouths dropping open. I do love it when that happens.’

McGuire was in bullish mood as Rosie graphically spilled out the drama of the last few days.

‘I want to use all of that, every cough and spit. The stoning of that poor bloody woman will rock the world. We hear about that kind of thing, but when do we actually ever see it? I hope Matt’s pics are good.’

‘They’re great. Graphic – to say the least,’ Rosie replied, thinking how some things never changed. No matter how gory, how shocking or cruel, McGuire’s priority was what it would look like on the front page. He was right – she was too much of a bleeding heart to ever fill an editor’s chair. Not that she ever wanted to.

‘Perfect.’ He drew imaginary layouts with a felt pen on the pages in front of him. ‘The stoning of the woman will be a separate breakout. We’ll have all the narrative of the journey in one long spread, let it run and run. We’ll do it over two or three days. This is about the
Post’s
bold journey into some hellhole in Pakistan to bring our Glasgow girl back home.’ He linked his fingers in front of him on the desk, as though he was giving a party political broadcast. ‘And we’ll make it clear: we’re not going to take any view on this – political or religious. We’ll tell the story of a young girl’s plight, taken against her will. Taken to a place where women are stoned to death, for fuck’s sake! Once we do that as graphic as I know you’ll write it, Rosie, we don’t
need to make a comment. People will make their minds up how barbaric this is. This is a kid from Glasgow!’

Rosie knew McGuire was right in everything he said, but the flak would still fly.

‘But it will still upset a lot of Pakistanis here, who arrange marriages like this on a regular basis. Plenty of them seem to work fine.’

‘Then we’ll see how it pans out. See how many Pakistani people want to talk about it. You never know how many women or families might come out of the woodwork saying how their lives have been ruined. Who knows? Perhaps it’s time for a UK law against children being taken out of the country to wed.’ He smiled as though a light had gone off in his head. ‘Now there’s a campaign, Gilmour.’

‘It will isolate some readers.’

‘Fuck it! Whose side are you on?’

‘I’m playing devil’s advocate.’

‘Well, forget it. Look. We can’t please all of the people all of the time. We don’t make this shit happen. We just write it as it unfolds. I mean, this is a big thing for us, to go out there and save one of our own kids from a hell of a life. I love this! And, hey – hats off to you and Matt for digging it out. You can treat yourselves to a Ruby Murray at my expense.’ He stood up. The meeting was over. ‘Now go and get it written up and get it over to me this afternoon.’

‘I’ve got it half written. I did it on the plane. I kind of knew how you’d want to play it.’ Rosie grinned.

‘Aye, don’t mind me.’ He handed her the news schedule. ‘Do you want to take the morning conference, smartarse?’

‘No, I’ve got better things to do.’

As she turned towards the door, McGuire shouted after her.

‘Oh. And any news on the diamond story? What about those girls?’

‘I’ve been out of it for a few days, but I need to talk to them. Remember about the passports? I need to see them again. Laila was repeating the story about the passports being used by diamond smugglers. But it was just something she’s overheard in conversation and I’m not sure if she has any hard evidence or much detail on the connection, but if I can get my hands on these passports, then we can check whom they belong to and see what’s what.’

‘You mean get your hands on the
stolen
passports,’ McGuire frowned. ‘Listen. I don’t want to know what you’re doing . . . so I won’t have to perjure myself in court.’ He waved her away. ‘Now clear off.’

*

Rosie was putting the finishing touches on the main story when her mobile rang. It was Julie.

‘Julie. I was going to call you in a little while. How’re things?’

‘It depends on where you’re sitting, Rosie,’ Julie said. ‘If you’re sitting where me and Nikki are, your arse is
twitching. But tell you what, things are going to get better.’ She paused. ‘We need to talk to you.’

‘That’s why I was going to call you. I’ve been away in Pakistan for a few days. Just got back this morning.’

‘Pakistan?’

‘Yeah. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. I’m working on the basis that it’s all connected to your situation, but I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. How’s Nikki? Do you want me to come up to the hospital?’

‘No. She’s out. The doctors let her out yesterday morning. They’ve done all they can do at the moment, so it’s a healing process.’

‘So where are you?’

‘We’re holed up in a wee place outside Stirling, I took a rental – a farmhouse. We can’t go too far away as Nikki’s still got to get things checked every few days, but we didn’t want to hang about Glasgow. Can you come over?’

‘Of course,’ Rosie said quickly, pushing away the thought of a long hot bath and the early night that she was planning. ‘You mean now?’

‘Yeah. Is that okay with you?’

‘Sure.’ Rosie knocked back the last mouthful of black coffee. She’d be needing more of that to keep her awake. ‘Just give me the address. I’ll leave here in about ten minutes. Is it easy to find?’

‘It’s on a farm. A cottage in the grounds. Close to Bannockburn. You got a pen?’

‘I’m a reporter,’ Rosie joked. ‘I’ve always got a pen.’

She scribbled down the address and instructions in her notebook and shoved it into her handbag. She sank back in her chair and puffed out an exhausted sigh, massaging the back of her neck while re-reading all her copy. It was as good as it gets, every paragraph bursting with colour – the shocking scenes of the woman being stoned making her shudder all over again. For a moment, Rosie allowed herself to bask in the warm feeling of having nailed it, and living to tell the tale. Stuff like this is what got her out of bed in the morning. Without it, she had nowhere to go. But right now, she’d have loved to put it all on hold to sink into a long sleep and wake up to see her byline all over the front page. Chance would be a fine thing, she mumbled, as she hit the key on her laptop and sent the stories to McGuire’s private email address. She briefly considered calling him to say where she was going, but decided the less he knew the better.

*

It was dark by the time she got close to Bannockburn. It had been raining all afternoon and the country road off the motorway was now glistening with evening frost. Rosie slowed down, careful of black ice. She glanced at her notebook on the passenger seat, reading the instructions and watching for the sign to turn into Whitlock Farm. After
driving up and down the Bannockburn road twice, she finally saw it – the name painted onto a lump of wood, half hidden in a hedgerow. She turned into the pitch-black, single-track road and negotiated the potholes for half a mile. Eventually, she could see the lights of what looked like a two-storey farmhouse at the end of the road, and close by, a smaller cottage. She seemed to be in the right place, as Julie had told her it was a working farm, and the big house was where the farmer lived with his wife and son. Julie had rented the cottage after seeing it advertised in the local paper. Rosie drove up and parked outside the old cottage. It looked as though it had been white at some stage, but it was now patchy and tired-looking under her headlights. There was a glow in a crack in the curtains. She took out her mobile and rang Julie.

‘I’m outside, Julie.’

‘Great. That was quick.’

Rosie got out of the car and shivered as she glanced around the darkness. One thing’s for sure, nobody would think to look for them in a place like this, in the middle of nowhere. She heard bolts being slid back and the door half opened, then fully, and Julie stood in the doorway, a smile on her face. She looked different. From their last meeting, she’d got the impression that Julie wasn’t big on smiles.

‘Could you not have picked a place a bit more secluded?’ Rosie joked as she stepped inside.

Julie laughed.

‘I did think about finding a flat in the centre of Stirling, but you never know who you might bump into. Nobody will find us here, I hope.’

Rosie was struck at the warmth and comfort the living room had, with a glowing gas fire in the hearth and the soft light from the kitchen. A woman lying back on the sofa sat upright and looked at her.

‘This is Nikki,’ Julie said.

Rosie’s glance flicked to the bandaged stump, and a little punch of fear ran through her. Christ! How screwed up did your life get, when you found yourself on the run in the middle of nowhere with half your arm hacked to bits? She stepped across to her and shook her good hand.

‘Hi, Nikki. Glad to meet you. Sorry it’s such awful circumstances.’ She shook her head as Nikki looked up. ‘What a terrible thing to happen to you. How are you coping?’

Nikki tightened her lips into a grimace.

‘Well. I’ve had to give up the juggling career, but apart from that . . .’

Rosie smiled.

‘Yeah. Well. Important to keep your humour up, despite all the crap flying around.’

‘Coffee?’ Julie said, heading for the kitchen.

‘Yes. Please. I definitely need that. It’s been a long day.’

‘Sorry to ask you to come at such short notice, Rosie, but there’s been developments.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Big time. You want anything to eat? I can make you a sandwich.’

‘No thanks. Coffee will be fine.’ Rosie had grabbed a sandwich in the canteen as she left, and wolfed it down on the motorway. Nerves always made her hungry.

Julie came in with mugs of coffee and sat them on the low table in front of the fire. Rosie sat on a chair and Julie plonked herself down on a sofa opposite Nikki.

‘So,’ Rosie said, slipping off her jacket. ‘What’s happening?’

‘We got a visit,’ Julie said. ‘Big Gordy.’

Rosie almost spluttered her coffee everywhere at an image of him kicking the door in.

‘Christ! Here?’

‘No. At the hospital.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Nope. Bastard came waltzing in like the hospital chaplain, all concerned about Nikki.’

‘Aye. My arse!’ Nikki piped up.

‘So . . . what . . . he just came in to visit? You must have just about died when he appeared.’

‘Actually, Rosie, the opposite. The sight of that big bastard made my blood boil, and it was all I could do not to jump across Nikki’s bed and choke the life out of him.’

‘You should have seen her, Rosie. I think Gordy got such a fright, it was
him
who shat it.’ Nikki chortled.

‘I nearly lost it,’ Julie said. ‘Something came over
me – call it attack is the best form of defence? I don’t know. But I found all this courage and rage, and I kind of snapped. I stood up to him. I know, if he wants to he could cut my throat for that, and maybe he will one day. But right at that moment, I wanted to show him that he was dealing with the wrong people.’

Rosie said nothing, wondering for a moment if they’d been at the drink. Because she didn’t look like the kind of woman who could take on a bastard like Gordy MacLean, who had slashed his way across Glasgow most of his adult life. But she’d have to listen politely, see where they went with this. She wanted a look at the passports, and a chance to interview both of them, so she really needed them onside.

‘So, what did you do?’

‘Well, he’s obviously been getting his arse kicked by this big shot, Johnny Vanner, down in Manchester. You know him?’ Julie asked.

‘Can’t say I do.’

‘He runs just about everything out of Manchester. Heroin, coke, women, the lot. Has done for years.’

‘Right.’

‘Well, Gordy came to see us and make peace, he said. Put his cards on the table. All apologies and covered in shame over what happened to Nikki. Said it wasn’t supposed to happen and if he’d known they were going to do what they did, he’d never have allowed it.’

‘Pure shite,’ Nikki said. ‘But we let him talk.’

‘Then he drops the bombshell,’ Julie said. ‘He says he knows we’ve got the diamonds. Christ knows how he can prove that, but he definitely knows, so there was no point in keeping up the pretence. He didn’t even wait for us to confirm we have them. Suddenly he says that if we give him the diamonds, then he’ll stiff Vanner for them and split the money three ways – once he can move them on to a fence.’

The deal had double-cross stamped all over it. All Rosie could see was blood on the walls, and it wasn’t going to be Gordy’s.

‘That’s never going to happen.’ She looked at both of them. ‘Surely you must know not to trust him.’

Julie and Nikki exchanged glances.

‘Rosie, we’re not buttoned up at the back. Of course we know he’ll double-cross us and bump us off. That’s the problem we have. I mean we can fuck right off in a few days out of here with the diamonds. Take a flight far away and hide for the rest of our lives. But we don’t want to do that.’

‘But surely you haven’t agreed on a deal with him.’

Silence, as they looked at each other again. Rosie ran her hands through her hair and shook her head.

‘You have? You’ve done a deal with Gordy MacLean? Christ, girls! That’s like signing your own death warrant. You must know that.’

‘No it’s not, Rosie. Because any double-crossing that’s
going to be done, it’ll be
us
who’ll be doing it. That big bastard is going to get done up like a kipper.’ She paused. ‘After what he did to Nikki, setting her up like that, he’s finished, and we’ll make sure of it.’