Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (34 page)

This was tricky, Rosie thought. They could go off now and never be seen again. A stash of rough diamonds would see them alright, maybe for the rest of their lives, if they ever found a place to shift them for the kind of money they were worth.

‘So what are you going to do?’

Julie seemed uneasy.

‘Well, what about the cops?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to get the cops?

‘I think I’m going to have to, Julie. At some stage. There’s
so much going on here, I’m just not sure yet where we take this. But if we’re going to write a story for the paper, I need to talk to the editor to see where he wants to go with it. There are four dead bodies at O’Neill’s farm and police will have to be involved eventually. The only witnesses to what happened, apart from him and his son, are you two, so you’ll be crucial to this investigation, once the cops get a hold of it.’

‘Might we end up in the jail?’

‘Why? You haven’t done anything. The police don’t want you for that dead guy from the hotel. You stole some crook’s diamonds, but they were the proceeds of a crime anyway. And you didn’t know there were smuggled diamonds in it when you took the case.’ Rosie paused, spread her hands. ‘Look . . . I think you need to talk to the cops. Not right now, and maybe not till you’re out of the country. But I think you do.’

‘What, and give you the case to give over to them?’

‘Well, it’s an option. But handing over the case and telling the full story to the cops involves me too, so I’m not sure how I’m fixed on that. I need to talk to people back at the office. But if you’re getting a plane out of here in the morning, then you don’t want to deal with a haul of smuggled diamonds. Where are you going to put them, for a start?’

‘Never really thought about that,’ Julie admitted.

‘You could put them somewhere . . . Like, in a safety locker or deposit box in the airport, and then we could tell
the cops – if that’s what’s decided. But I think to clear yourselves, you don’t want to be going out of the country with a stolen case. That in itself incriminates you. I mean, you could admit to the police you took the case from the hotel room, and they might think you look well dodgy. But leaving the country with the case actually confirms it.’

Julie nodded.

‘Okay. You might be right.’ Her mouth curled a little in a wry smile. ‘Of course, nobody actually knows how many diamonds were in each of these pouches . . .’

Rosie shook her head and put her hands over her ears.

‘I never heard that.’

Rosie and Matt finished their tea and she went up to the counter to pay the bill. Julie, Nikki and Matt were already heading for the door. She joined them as they walked towards Julie’s car. She opened the boot and alongside two holdalls was the aluminium attaché case. She clicked it open and Rosie could see the passports and pouches inside. They all stood staring at them in silence.

‘So,’ Julie eventually said. ‘That’s us ready to roll then. When will we know about the story?’

‘We have to talk to the editor first to see what we do. What about the case?’

‘I’d rather leave it with you.’

Rosie looked at Matt, who gave her an oh-shit! look. McGuire would go nuts, but having the actual case to hand
over the cops would be a major coup, even if she had to be economical with the truth.

‘Okay. I’ll take it.’ She’d work out what she would do later.

Matt rolled his eyes, and Rosie looked at him and shrugged. Julie pulled the case out and handed it to her.

‘We’d best get moving. Rosie, please don’t do anything till we’re on that flight tomorrow.’

‘Don’t worry. The editor has some decisions to make. Just let me know tonight how you are, and call me tomorrow from the airport. You need to keep in touch with me. I need to know where you are. Can I trust you on that?’ She gave the pair of them a stern look.

They nodded.

‘We’ve trusted you all along. So it goes both ways.’

‘Both ways,’ Rosie replied.

Julie stepped forward and hugged her and she hugged her back, feeling more emotional than she meant to. It had been a long day. Nikki hugged her too. She swallowed. Poor bastards. God knows where they would end up. The kind of company they had noised up, they could be hunted down and dead within a week. Rosie promised herself that before she handed over anything to anyone, she needed clarity from McGuire and from the cops. These girls weren’t gangsters – just half-daft, naive women who’d got in way too deep.

Julie and Nikki gave Matt a hug, then they got into their
car. Julie reversed out of the parking space and turned towards the exit.

She blew a kiss, and it brought a smile to Rosie’s face as she waved back. She watched as the car drove out and round the bend onto the motorway.

‘Come on,’ said Matt. ‘Let’s go.’

*

As Matt drove the car up towards the roundabout and onto the motorway, Rosie’s mobile rang. It would be McGuire again. She took it out of her jacket. It was Laila’s name that came up on the screen.

‘Rosie . . .’ Laila’s voice trailed off.

‘Laila! You alright? Something wrong?’

‘Oh, Rosie . . .’ she sobbed. ‘It’s Sabiha.’

‘Sabiha? What’s happened?’

‘She’s dead, Rosie. Burned to death in her house this morning.’

‘Oh Christ, Laila! Jesus! What . . . What happened?’

‘They . . . they said it was a fire in the house . . . But it wasn’t. Rosie, I know it wasn’t. Sabiha was found in the living room. She . . . she was on fire.’

‘Who’s told you this?’

‘The police. They told my grandfather. They are saying it might have been suicide. That she set herself on fire.’

‘Aw Jesus, Laila!’ Rosie choked, recalling the first day her eyes met Sabiha’s and the angry welts on her wrists.

‘I . . . I know Sabiha wouldn’t do that. She has three children, Rosie. They did it. I know they did.’

‘Laila. Listen. I’m not in Glasgow at the moment, but I’ll be there by tonight. I’ll come and see you.’

‘Okay. Thanks . . . But they did it, Rosie, I know.’

‘I’ll see you later. Just . . . Just talk to your mum and grandparents. Stay with them . . . Take care. Don’t go out of the house.’

The line went dead.

McGuire was working with his executives on the
Post
’s first edition when Rosie appeared at the top of the stairs. There were only a couple of late-shift reporters around, both on the phone, and the hub of activity that was normal around the area was eerily quiet. Rosie dumped her bag on her desk and sat down for a moment, a polystyrene cup of tea in her hand. She was done in with exhaustion, and she still had McGuire to face. He happened to look over his shoulder and clocked her at her desk. It took all of two minutes before he was striding her way, his expression a mix of concentration and frustration.

‘In you come, Gilmour.’

Rosie got up and trotted behind him, bracing herself for a row, not in the mood to take any shit.

As he passed Marion’s empty desk, he picked up a piece of paper, crushed it into a ball and drop-kicked it.

‘What the fuck, Rosie? It’s half seven. Not even a phone call. Fuck all!’

‘I know, Mick. But listen . . . Let me speak. I’ve got a lot to tell you.’

‘The last time I talked to you, I had this feeling there were dead bodies at the farm. So then I don’t hear from you, and I’m wondering who’s shot who, if maybe someone’s followed these daft birds on the motorway and you’ve been shot.’ He shook his head and stared at the ceiling. ‘What do I have to do to stress the fucking word “communication” to you? I mean how hard can it fucking be?’

‘Everything happened so fast. Honestly, it was just crazy. I met the girls in the cafe at Abbington and then got caught up in the interview with them, then it was a case of trying to hammer up the road in the fog. I couldn’t get a phone signal on the motorway.’

He pushed out a beleaguered sigh.

‘Oh, forget it. Sit down and talk to me.’ He pointed a finger. ‘Everything.’

Rosie began with the moment she and Matt were confronted by the farmer brandishing a loaded shotgun as they sat in the layby. She told him everything that had happened, and relayed what Julie and Nikki had told her.

‘The farmer shot two people? Christ!’

‘I know. I haven’t seen the bodies with my own eyes, because we didn’t go up to the farm. It wasn’t safe. But Julie
told us what’d happened to Vanner and his minder. Then as big Gordy was getting away, he got it too, from the farmer. He was doing it to save his son, because Gordy looked like he was going to take him hostage. The guy’s in a wheelchair.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Julie said that the lad – Euan’s his name – told her it was some brutal kicking he got four years ago in Glasgow. Brain damage. He was a promising rugby star, apparently. Doesn’t ring a bell with me, though.’

‘Get it checked out. Might be interesting.’ He loosened his tie. ‘So . . . two things. First, what about the cops? And two, what about the case with the diamonds? Where is it?’

‘Well. As you know, Julie and Nikki are flying out to Malaga from Manchester in the morning. So they couldn’t take it with them.’

McGuire closed his eyes for a second, then opened them.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve got it.’

Rosie put her hands up in surrender.

‘What else could I do, Mick? We couldn’t just leave it in the boot of the car. And we couldn’t get the cops – I didn’t want to do anything till I talked to you. Until we work out how we’re going to play this.’

‘I’ll tell you how we’re going to play this, sweetheart. We’re going to phone the cops right now and tell them chapter and verse. I’m not sitting here on a fucking case
full of smuggled diamonds stolen from some stiff in the Albany Hotel. Enough of that shite. And as for the farmer? I mean, who does he think he is? Charles fucking Bronson?’

Rosie stifled a laugh. McGuire was funny when he was bordering on hysterical.

‘I know. Of course we’ll have to get the cops. But I think we need to sleep on it tonight and decide what we do. I don’t want to get suddenly banged up by some earnest detective because I’ve got this suitcase. Plus, I want to go and see the farmer myself.’

‘What? Charles Bronson? Listen, if he’s in that kind of mood again, you might be next on his hit list.’

‘No. Julie gets the impression he’s a good man.’

‘Yeah. And Julie’s a bright spark. Was it not her who talked her pal into all this that night at the hotel?’

‘Yes. But she is pretty smart. They were wired up with our recording gear during all this.’

Rosie knew it would do the trick, and McGuire’s eyes widened.

‘What? You’ve got the shooting on camera?’

‘Well. Not quite. But we’ve got clear, identifiable images of Vanner when he appeared in the house, and Gordy coming in. Then the girls were tied up, so they were too low down to capture any proper images, but you hear the shotgun going off. It’s good stuff.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Matt’s got it. He’s in the canteen.’

‘Get him up here. I want to see it.’ He phoned the picture editor. ‘Bob. Can you pop in?’

Rosie phoned Matt and told him to come upstairs.

‘Something else, Mick. Before we start going over all these tapes.’ Rosie swallowed. ‘I got a phone call from Laila. She was hysterical. Her cousin Sabiha is dead. Burned to death in her house.’

‘Oh Christ! Where?’

‘Somewhere out in the Paisley direction. She was living with the in-laws. Laila swears they set fire to her.’

‘Christ!’ He shook his head, genuinely upset. ‘Poor bastard. What . . . they set fire to her for speaking out?’

‘For talking to me. Maybe some kind of honour killing – by speaking to us, she’s brought shame on the family.’ She paused, feeling a lump in her throat. ‘I feel like shit, Mick. I . . . I . . .’

‘Listen! There’s no such fucking thing as honour killing! What a pile of shite that is. If they’ve done this to her, in the name of honour, then we’ll hound the fuck out of them, I promise you that.’ He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Listen. I know how you must be feeling. I know how you get involved. But it’s not your fault, Rosie.’

‘I know . . . But it feels like it is.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘We’ll discuss this more in the morning. Come in, lads.’

*

It was almost nine by the time Rosie arrived at Laila’s grandparents’ house. She’d phoned them first to make sure they would see her this late. She didn’t want to impose. As if she hadn’t imposed enough, she chastised herself, guilt twisting her gut as she climbed the stairs to their house and rang the bell.

Laila opened the door, her face flushed and eyes swollen from crying. She burst into tears and threw herself into Rosie’s arms. She held the girl, sobbing, on her shoulder. Her mother and grandparents appeared in the hallway, their faces grim and pale.

‘Come in,’ the mother said, and she eased Laila out of Rosie’s arms.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Rosie choked. ‘I . . . I just don’t know what to say.’

‘Come inside,’ the grandfather said. ‘We will have some tea.’

In the living room Rosie sat in the armchair next to the glowing gas fire, opposite Laila and her mother on the sofa, who were clutching each other’s hands. Laila’s grandmother disappeared into the kitchen. In the heavy silence, Rosie didn’t quite know where to start. But she had to start somewhere.

‘So . . . So, what happened? When did you find out?’

‘We only heard today – I phoned you immediately. I think it happened last night, around teatime. We still don’t know the details.’

‘A lot of people in our community are not talking to us Because of . . . Well, because we went against their wishes, and protected our granddaughter.’

‘I was so close to Sabiha,’ Laila said. ‘I was with her all the time with the children, before all this happened. I used to go to the house with Rabia and listen to them both talking about their lives. That’s why I know so much . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she glanced at her grandfather.

He took a breath and let it out slowly.

‘Rosie.’ His voice was soft. ‘Laila wants to talk to the police. I . . . I’m worried about it. But I think it is the right thing to do. She has heard things about Rabia, and she didn’t even tell us until she came home from Pakistan.’