Screams in the Dark (24 page)

‘Christ,’ she said aloud, as she saw the swelling round her cheekbone and eye. ‘How am I going to explain this in the office?’

She pulled on one of TJ’s shirts and went into the kitchen, where he stood at the cooker stirring scrambled eggs.

‘Hi, pal.’ She gave him a hug.

‘Look at you,’ he said, leaning back. ‘You look like a prizefighter.’

‘Feel like one too. Have I time for a quick shower? I’ve got to go into the office and talk to McGuire.’

‘Course. Make it a quick one though.’

*

Rosie was finishing breakfast when the phone rang. It was Don. She looked at TJ and he shrugged as though he could have predicted it.

‘Hi Don.’

‘Rosie. Listen. Very quickly. We’re moving on the slaughterhouse this morning. A team went up there at sparrow fart. No bastard in sight. So the forensic boys are going up now with a few of the lads battering down the door.’

‘Really? Brilliant. Thanks, Don.’

‘Listen. If you’re coming up, leave it for at least an hour or two, because this has been kept really tight.’

‘Will do. But, Don, how is Emir?’

‘Fine when I saw him last night. They’ve got him in a flat in the West End. Don’t worry. Look, I need to go.’ He hung up.

Rosie sensed TJ watching her and she resisted the urge to get up and start rushing around.

‘Cops are up at the slaughterhouse. They’ve already started. But there’s nobody there. They must have done a runner. Maybe they felt the heat was heading their way.’

‘Or maybe they got tipped off,’ TJ said.

‘Good thinking, Batman.’ The idea of a snitch inside the cops was nothing new. ‘You’re pretty on the ball for a sax player.’

TJ smiled. ‘So what you waiting for, Gilmour?’ He lifted her plate. ‘I know your arse is twitching to get in about it.’ He stood up and ruffled her hair. ‘Now bugger off to work and let me get on with my dishes.’

CHAPTER 24

The official version Rosie told about her black eye and fat lip was that she’d pranged her car and hit her face on the steering wheel. Anything else would have left too many unanswered questions. So she was prepared for the shocked expressions on the faces of reporters when she stepped onto the editorial floor of the
Post
. She put on a brave smile as one of them jokingly asked what the other guy looked like. She was tempted to tell the truth: that the last time she saw him he was writhing in agony on the floor, clutching his balls. She headed straight for McGuire’s office.

‘Bloody hell, Gilmour! What a state!’ McGuire quickly got off his chair and came round from his desk to greet her.

Rosie looked at him suspiciously. ‘You want a group hug?’ She said, attempting to smile through her puffy lip and shrugging him off.

‘Let me get a closer look, Rosie.’ He stood close to her, examining her face. ‘Hmmm … If his bollocks are as
bruised as your face, he’ll not be doing much damage this weekend. What a bastard.’ McGuire shook his head angrily. ‘What kind of man hits a woman like that? If I had my way, Rosie, I’d put these fuckers up against a wall and shoot them.’

He gently touched her shoulder and motioned her to sit down. ‘Want a coffee? Did you get some sleep last night?’

‘Yes, to both questions.’

McGuire buzzed Marion and asked for some coffee, then sat on the armchair opposite Rosie. He stretched his legs out and examined the perfect crease in his pinstriped trousers. ‘This is not good, Rosie. We can’t have you getting slapped around like that. We’ve sorted a place for you in the West End. Very secure, but I’m still thinking of putting a minder outside all the time. Or even in the flat.’

‘I told you, Mick,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘I’m not living with a minder. No way.’

‘Well, we’ll see how you get on. Play it by ear, no pun intended.’ He grinned.

Marion appeared with a tray of coffee and some biscuits and set it down on the table between them.

‘So,’ McGuire said. ‘We need to think where we go from here in terms of a story.’

She told him about her confrontation with Frank Paton, and about the slip-up he made about lawyers getting rid of refugees.

‘What a plonker,’ McGuire said. ‘Imagine an idiot like him defending anyone if he’s as stupid as that.’

‘Yeah. Just shows you how much pressure he’s under when he can’t think straight. He just about shat himself when he realised straight away what he’d said.’

‘I’m sure he did, but what can we do with it, Rosie? Is there a version we can write at the moment that will put more heat on him? I hope you’ve got it on tape.’

Rosie nodded, sipping her coffee, then said, ‘We could look at doing a piece on the names of those refugees we know who have already gone missing. Just ask the question where are they, and say that we put it to Paton and he refused to answer. But once we do that, the whole thing will start to open up.’ She paused. ‘I’m also thinking we should go to Bosnia. Check some things out on this Milosh – or Raznatovic, to use his real name. The cops are up at the slaughterhouse and there’s nobody there, so that could maybe mean they’ve shut it down and he’s done a runner back to where he came from.’

Rosie was keen to push the Bosnia trip, after Adrian’s call. On her way to the office, Adrian had called with information he’d dug up on Raznatovic and Boscovac.

‘You know this other guy I told you about – the one from Belgrade who’s on the board at PD Pharmaceuticals?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, my contact over in Bosnia has told me that Boskovac and Raznatovic go way back. They grew up together and both were involved in the political scene when they were at medical school. These two men are the key to this whole thing, and we’ve got to go over there and at least see if we can get a hold of them.’

‘I wouldn’t fancy your chances of tea and a sit-down
interview with any of them. You might come out without your fingers.’ He gave her a cautious look.

‘Yeah, but I’d still like to go. We’re the only ones who have this much information, and we need to be in the right place if it kicks off.’

McGuire nodded slowly, looking thoughtful and steepling his fingers under his chin.

Rosie’s mobile rang.

‘Hey Don. How’s it going?’

‘Rosie, Listen. Frank Paton’s car has just been pulled out of Loch Lomond.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Nope. And he was in it.’

‘Christ almighty! Seriously? Suicide?’

Rosie turned to McGuire and mouthed the name Frank Paton, drawing her hand across her throat. He mouthed back ‘oh fuck’, and punched the air. Rosie shook her head and rolled her eyes upwards.

‘I can’t talk long,’ Don said. ‘It’s not looking like suicide, given that there wasn’t much left of his head. His wife reported him missing late last night when he didn’t come home and she couldn’t get in touch with him, but it was all kept hush-hush. The alarm bells only rang when a couple of amateur divers were in Loch Lomond this morning and saw the car. They saw a body in it, took the number plate and got the cops.’

‘My God,’ Rosie said. ‘He was under huge pressure, Don.’ As she said it, she felt a pang of guilt about their recent encounter.

‘Yeah, well not any more he isn’t. Looks like he’s been
bumped off and the car driven into the loch. I need to go.’

The line went dead.

Rosie sat back and made a whistling noise.

‘I think we’ve got tomorrow’s splash taken care of, Mick.’

‘What the hell happened?’

Rosie told him what Don had said.

‘So they’ve done him in,’ Mick said. ‘Maybe they thought he was a loose cannon. Too edgy and nervous.’

‘I think so,’ Rosie said. ‘They wouldn’t take any chances of him buckling if the cops got to him. Bad move on their part – because the cops will be all over it now.’

‘And now they’ve got your man Emir.’ McGuire stood up, rubbing his hands as he went back behind his desk. ‘This is beginning to open up big time. I do love it when this happens, Gilmour.’

Rosie stood up. ‘I need to talk to the cops. They’ll be issuing some kind of statement shortly. It’s not as if they can keep Paton’s death a secret.’

‘Right,’ McGuire said. ‘Once the cops tell us what’s what, you can start writing your version. Let’s have a bit of intrigue about two lawyers dead, and connect the refugees going missing. Nobody else will have that.’

‘It will open up the story though, Mick.’

‘I know, but I don’t think we have an option any more. It’s already wide open now, so let’s get something in about it – not the stuff we’ve got from Matt at the slaughterhouse, of course. Let’s keep our powder dry on that. We’ll
drip the intrigue and mystery first, then see what comes out.’

‘Okay.’ Rosie headed for the door. ‘I’ll start putting something together shortly.’

McGuire didn’t answer, just sat looking at the blank pages on his desk. He was already thinking headlines.

*

By the time Rosie had finished her story, Frank Paton’s death was already the number one item on the six o’clock news. Police had confirmed it was a murder inquiry, and the word coming to Reynolds was that Paton had been shot in the head. Rosie watched the TV coverage from the office where she was working, away from the main editorial floor. There was footage of the area in Loch Lomond taped off as a crime scene, and of the car being loaded onto a lorry to be taken for forensic examination. Paton’s body was already in the morgue. They showed library pictures of Paton leaving the High Court in Glasgow with one of his clients who had just got off on an armed robbery charge. There were also holiday snapshots of him with his wife and kids on some cruise liner a couple of years ago. Rosie pictured the misery and shock of the family right now and she felt sorry for them, but her own sense of self-preservation also made her glad he hadn’t committed suicide – especially since she was one of the last people to see him and heap pressure on him. At least she couldn’t blame herself. She remembered his face just before he left the pub, a mask of shock and fear. She told herself he got what was coming to him. Look what he did to the poor people who had come to him
for help. People like Paton deserved no mercy – and it looked like he’d been shown none.

Rosie was on the landline phone to McGuire, who wanted to know how long before he got her story, when Don called her on her mobile. She told McGuire she’d call him back.

‘Don. How are you?’ she asked, but he didn’t answer. After a moment’s silence, Rosie spoke again. ‘You there, Don?’

‘Yeah. Where are you, Rosie?’

‘In the office, doing up the Frank Paton murder for the splash tomorrow. Some story.’

‘Uh … Listen, Rosie …’ He sounded nervous, even perhaps shocked.

‘What’s up, Don?’

She could hear him breathing heavily. He was struggling to talk.

‘Rosie … There’s been an almighty fuck-up.’ He paused. ‘It’s Emir. He’s been shot.’

Rosie slumped in her chair.

‘
What
? How can he be shot, Don? He was under police protection, for God’s sake! He … um …What … I …’ Rosie couldn’t think straight. All she saw was the look on Emir’s face as he hugged her before going off with the cops. ‘Oh, Christ, Don. Tell me this isn’t true.’

‘I’m sorry, Rosie,’ he said. ‘He’s in the hospital. It was a couple of hours ago. There’s a huge rammy going on to find out how the fuck it happened. Unbelievable fuck-up.’

‘Which hospital? Can I see him? Is he going to die?’

‘The Western Infirmary. It’s not looking good, Rosie. Shot in the stomach. Lost so much blood.’

Rosie was on her feet.

‘Will I get in if I come up?’ Rosie paused. She had to get in. ‘Don. You need to get me in to see him.’

‘I don’t know, Rosie. I need to speak to the DI.’

‘Don, you
have
to.’ Rosie’s throat was tight. ‘I’m all he’s got. The poor guy’s got nobody. Do you hear me Don? You guys owe me that. I brought him to you, and you fucking let him get murdered.’ She bit her lip, fighting back tears of anger and frustration. ‘Sorry, Don. Sorry.’

‘Just head up there, Rosie, and I’ll talk to the DI. I’ll meet you outside.’ He hung up.

Rosie sat back down, sent her story to McGuire, then dialled his number.

‘Mick. Story’s in your desk. Listen. I just got a phone call.’ She swallowed back tears.

‘What’s up, Gilmour? What’s wrong?’

‘Emir,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘They’ve shot Emir.’

‘Oh fuck. But how? He was under police protection.’

‘I know, Mick. Don’t know the details, just that it’s really bad. He’s in hospital, but he’s not going to make it. Listen. I’m going up to the Western Infirmary now. That okay? You’ve got the story. I …’ She paused. ‘I don’t want him to die on his own, Mick. He trusted me. Oh shit, Mick, he was just a poor innocent guy.’

‘Christ, Rosie,’ McGuire’s tone softened. ‘I’m so sorry. Just go up and be with him.’ He paused. ‘But Rosie? I want to know how the fuck this happened. It stinks. Call me if you need anything.’

‘Thanks, Mick.’ She grabbed her bag, and dashed out of the office.

*

Rosie blinked back tears as she drove to the Western as fast as the rush-hour traffic would allow. Her mind was a blur, veering from rage to shock to an overwhelming, choking sadness. Emir, a helpless, innocent young man who came here seeking help, had been picked off by these scum of the earth bastards who never did a day’s honest work in their lives, who plundered and murdered and destroyed everything in their wake that ever had a chance of being decent. She gripped the steering wheel. Something was rotten at the heart of this investigation, and she made a silent vow that, no matter what it took, she would bury every single one of them.

She saw Don standing on the steps as she parked her car, and she walked briskly towards him.

‘What a fucking mess this is,’ Don said. Then he saw her face. ‘Jesus, Rosie. What the hell happened to you?’

Rosie had almost forgotten about her bruised face.

‘Oh,’ she touched her cheek. ‘Pranged the car. Hit the steering wheel.’ They went up the steps. ‘Never mind that. What in the name of Christ happened, Don? Any ideas? Talk to me.’

‘Someone must have tipped them off, Rosie. One of our guys.’ He puffed his cigarette nervously and shook his head. ‘I don’t know who or how, but only an insider could have told them where he was. It was as tight as a fucking drum.’