Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (8 page)

‘I did already tell her who you were a couple of days ago. We have talked about you.’

Something was beginning to give. Rosie’s gut did a little flip. She was nearly in. She took a breath, stepped a little closer.

‘What’s the matter with your cousin? Look, I don’t know her name, or anything else about the two of you, so I promise, I’m not here to write a story or say anything to your family or anything else that would get you into trouble. I am just trying to get to the bottom of something that all of my instincts tell me is wrong. About Rabia’s death. Can you understand that?’

The younger girl looked up through tear-stained eyes, and Rosie saw the dark under-eye circles of someone who hadn’t slept in a while. Her skin was blotchy from crying,
and she pushed back her headscarf, exposing lush, black hair. She turned to Sabiha and sniffed, wiping her nose with a tissue. Then, to Rosie’s surprise, she spoke in a broad Glasgow accent.

‘Maybe we can talk to her, Sabiha,’ she said, her eyes pleading. ‘Maybe we can find someone to trust. I don’t want to go to Pakistan. I can’t. I’ll kill myself if they make me go.’

For a long moment, nobody spoke and Rosie held her breath. She was in. She glanced over her shoulder. The park was almost deserted.

‘Can we talk for a few minutes?’ Rosie asked. ‘May I sit down?’

The two girls shuffled up together to make room for her on the bench. She looked straight at Sabiha.

‘What’s wrong, Sabiha? Why don’t you just start at the beginning? I think your cousin is right. You need to talk to someone, and I may be able to help.’

Sabiha sat for a moment in silence, then glanced at her cousin, who reached out and squeezed her hand. Rosie looked at both of them, desperation and helplessness written all over their faces. It brought a lump to her throat.

‘My sister.’ Sabiha began. ‘I know my sister didn’t kill herself.’ She swallowed. ‘We will never know the truth – if she jumped from the window or was pushed. But all I know is that her husband and his father were in the room with her at the time, so if they saw her about to jump, then why
didn’t they stop her? They drove her to her death. They locked her in the room. Punished her.’

‘Have you told this to the police?’

‘No . . . No way. I haven’t even been interviewed by the police.’

‘But wasn’t everyone in the house interviewed? Everyone who lives there?’

‘No. They must have told the police that I don’t live there. Maybe I’m not registered as living there. I don’t even know. I can’t ask questions. If I ask any questions they . . . they . . .’ She broke down. ‘They beat me, the way they beat my sister.’

She held out her arms and pulled back her sleeve to expose the red welts on both wrists.

Rosie looked at them and her heart sank.

‘What happened?’

‘It was after Rabia died. The day after. I was crying and screaming that it was their fault, and I said I was going to run away and take my children with me. They dragged me to the bedroom and beat me up, then tied me to the table so I couldn’t move for hours.’

‘Who did this?’ Rosie asked.

‘Farooq’s uncle. And my mother-in-law.’

‘They beat you like that?’

Sabiha nodded, wiping her tears.

‘It’s what happens if you disobey. It’s normal. But I was so upset at my sister’s death. I know in my heart she did not
kill herself. She was very unhappy. She just wanted to be back home, but it wasn’t allowed. She was here now and that was the agreement between the families. Nothing we could do about it.’

Rosie watched as the younger girl linked her fingers through Sabiha’s.

‘So, who are you married to?’

‘I am married to the cousin of Farooq, but he is not here a lot of the time.’ She dropped her eyes to the ground. ‘He has another wife in Bradford, and he spends time there. For business as well. I cannot ask. Is not my place.’

‘I understand,’ Rosie said, even though she didn’t. She didn’t understand any of it – not the multiple nor the arranged marriages or the culture of fear – where young women had no say in their lives or their future, even within their own families. But you couldn’t say that out loud in Glasgow or anywhere else without being accused of racism. The truth was that in most people’s everyday lives you just let everyone else get on with it, as it was none of your business how anyone lived. But these girls were miserable, terrified and vulnerable.

‘So,’ Rosie turned to the other girl, ‘why are you crying? Why do you not want to go to Pakistan?’

‘Why do you think?’ the girl answered.

‘I can make a guess,’ Rosie said. ‘Are you to be married over there?’

The girl nodded.

‘Yes. To a man I have not even met. I am fourteen years old and he is forty-eight. Old enough to be my grandfather.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m to go with my uncle to Peshawar later in the month, the wedding will take place immediately and then our families will be linked in marriage and in business.’

Rosie didn’t know what to say.

‘Do you want to tell me your name?’

‘My name is Laila. I’ve been here all my life. I go to school here. I’m studying to go to university and I want to be a doctor.’

‘Do you want to get married? I mean, in the traditional Pakistani way?’

The girl shrugged and stared into the middle distance.

‘Who knows? I’m fourteen. I don’t even think about things like that. I just know I don’t want to go there and be married to some old man right now.’ She bit her lips tight.

‘It’s not just about the marriage,’ Sabiha suddenly said. ‘It’s the whole criminal thing.’ She paused, glancing at the younger girl. ‘They are part of . . . of something dodgy. People go missing and their passports are used by criminals.’

‘What do you mean? What criminals?’ Rosie screwed up her eyes.

‘I have heard they use people for smuggling and then they kill them over there. But they keep their passports, then they use them and doctor them so they are fakes
for other people. But I have only heard it, so I don’t know any more.’

‘That’s unbelievable,’ Rosie said. ‘How do you know this?’

‘I don’t know for sure. But I overheard them talking.’

‘But is it organised? Who is in charge?’

Sabiha shook her head.

‘I don’t know who does this and that, but I know that my husband is part of it and that is one of the reasons he is down south a lot of the time. They are all criminals.’

‘Smuggling what?’

Sabiha looked at her cousin, who seemed to give her the slightest nod of her head. Then Sabiha glanced up at Rosie.

‘Diamonds.’

Rosie looked straight at both of them for any sign that they were lying in their eyes. There was none.

Rosie got into her car and sat back, shaking her head, still aghast at what Sabiha had said and wondering how McGuire would react. As she switched on the engine, her mobile rang in her bag. It was Don.

‘Hey, Rosie. What you up to?’

‘Actually, I’ve just been walking in the park.’

‘Must be nice to be idle, strolling around all day, listening to the birds.’

‘Yeah, sure. I was meeting someone.’

‘I didn’t know you were into dogging.’

‘I’d bet that you know more about dogging than me, pet.’

She could hear him chuckling.

‘Tell you what . . . I’m going to make your day.’

‘That would be great. I’m all ears.’

‘You see the dead Pakistani in the Albany? Remember I told you we were looking at CCTV from the foyer?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, wait till you hear this . . . We’ve homed in on two girls coming out of the hotel, one of them carrying a case. The place was really busy with some kind of function, but these girls kind of stood out. And guess what . . .’

‘Oh, come on, Don. I’m dying of curiosity here.’

‘The bird who’s along with the one carrying the case is the same bird who’s lying in the Royal Infirmary, minus part of her arm.’

‘You have to be kidding me.’

‘I’m not. We still know very little about her, but she bears an uncanny resemblance to the girl in the hotel. And the other one – we don’t know who she is yet. But I’d say they’re both hookers, and taking the theory further, maybe they’d just been with the Asian guy.’

‘Why lump them together? If they were hookers at the hotel, they could have been to anyone’s room, couldn’t they? What’s the link?’

‘The case.’

‘What case?’

‘The attaché case the bird was carrying. Are you not listening?’

‘Sorry. I forgot about that. My head’s all over the place.’

‘The word on the street is that this Malik punter had a case full of money and whatever other shit he was dealing with – he was up here on a drop. We think he had diamonds, but we’re not sure. And the case was definitely not with him when the cops went to the room.’

‘So you’re thinking the girls, who you believe are hookers, went into the room, bumped him off and took his case? It’s a bit far-fetched, is it not? They wouldn’t even know what was in the case, would they?’

‘Nobody is saying they bumped him off. Maybe he died during a sex game. The pathologist is looking at that too.’

‘So during the sex game he croaks and the birds steal his case? That about it?’

‘Well, it’s certainly a credible theory. Especially if one of them ends up with her arm cut off and the other disappears.’

‘And the case?’

‘The case is nowhere to be seen.’

‘I like the sound of this,’ Rosie said. ‘When are you talking to the girl in hospital?’

‘We’re hoping, this afternoon.’

‘So, when she wakes up and realises she’s lost her arm, she’s going to see your face and discover she’s in a shitload of trouble?’

‘Something like that. But hey – I don’t make these things happen, Rosie. I just catch the bad guys.’

‘Sure. I wish I could talk to the girl.’

‘Yeah. I know you do, but unless you’re dressed as a doctor, I’d say that’s highly unlikely.’

‘But she’s not a suspect, is she?’

‘Not on paper. But she’s a suspect alright, until we establish more on Malik’s death.’

Rosie had to keep quiet about her conversation with Sabiha and Laila.

‘Okay. If you get a word with her, it would be great to get a line, Don. One line would do it – nothing that would screw up your investigation, but just a line to keep it in the paper. This is beginning to sound like it’s all irresistibly linked.’

‘I like it when you’re excited, Gilmour.’

‘Yeah. Talk later.’ Rosie hung up.

Somewhere in Nikki’s head, a voice was softly saying her name. Then it would fade, echoing as it drifted away before she could answer. Was she dreaming? She didn’t know. She could feel the sun, warm on her body. She would open her eyes, she thought, to see the bright blue sky. She could sense her eyelids flickering, but they wouldn’t open. She was so tired. Then she was gone again, sleeping to the sound of the sea and the voice whispering her name. For a moment she thought she heard someone say ‘Julie’. Who’s Julie? Nikki’s mind drifted again. The heat was rising on the beach, and she could feel her chest getting hot. She could see a face behind her eyes as she heard the name. ‘Julie.’ She tried to move her lips but they were stuck together, and her tongue was dry like paper on the roof of her mouth. Then she tried again to repeat the name. ‘Julie.’ Her lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear the sound. Someone’s soft fingers were on her forehead. It felt
good and cool in the heat. ‘Nikki. Nikki,’ the voice said. She prised her eyes open, trying to focus. She could see a ceiling with tiles. She closed her eyes again. No beach. No sky. Where was she? She rolled her head to the side and saw what looked like a machine, with lights green and luminous. And wires. ‘Nikki.’ The voice again. ‘It’s me, Julie.’ She opened her eyes and now someone was standing over her. She struggled to focus on the blur in front of her. Julie. She felt a smile on her lips. But where were they? Where was she? Julie was smiling. They must be on holiday.

‘Nikki, it’s me, Julie. Can you hear me?’

‘Julie.’ Nikki’s lips moved but the sound didn’t come out.

‘It’s okay, Nikki. Everything’s going to be fine.’

Nikki’s mind drifted. Fine. Why fine? Then she turned her head and saw the wires more sharply. She was in a hospital, but why? As she opened her eyes a fear ran through her and she focused on Julie.

‘What’s happ . . . Am I in a hospital or something? Am I sick? What’s happened?’

She felt Julie stroke her forehead.

‘You’re fine, Nikki. It’s going to be fine.’

Nikki was afraid, and her body began to feel cold. She closed her eyes to blink away a sudden picture. Dark night. Blackness. Snow and slush on the ground. Then the sound of hacking, and suddenly she saw herself lying on the ground. What kind of nightmare was this? Her eyes opened
wide and she looked at Julie, who must have been able to see the fear in her eyes, because now
she
was crying. Nikki glanced down and could see a bandage. A heavy, thick, white bandage. Where was her hand? Her wrist? She couldn’t feel it. Where were her fingers? She glanced at her other hand, hooked up to the machine, needles and drips and a bag of stuff on a tall steel trolley. Where were her fingers?

‘My hand, Julie. Where’s my hand?’

Julie was crying now, tears running down her face and streaming off her chin.

‘Oh, Nikki, I’m sorry. Listen, It’s going to be okay. You’re alive. You pulled through. They didn’t think you would make it. I . . . I thought I’d lost you, pal.’

‘Make it? Where’s my hand, Julie? My arm.’

‘Ssshh, Nikki. They cut it. You lost it. I’m so sorry. But you’re going to be alright, Nikki. I’m going to look after you. I’m here for you. Right here.’

She was sobbing now, and Nikki looked at her, confused. Her arm wasn’t there. She couldn’t feel her fingers. They cut it. Who cut it? Then she remembered again. The snow, the blood. The blind fear. She could feel her heart beating fast and the machine at her side was making buzzing noises. She saw the man’s crazed face and the glint of the blade. She saw Julie through blurred eyes, then she drifted away again.

*