Authors: Anna Smith

Screams in the Dark (37 page)

BOOK: Screams in the Dark

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‘Fine, Mick, but you already phoned me this morning. What’s up?’

‘Have you seen the news?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Rosie flicked on the telly and went to Sky News as she spoke.

‘The Raznatovic bastard has gone missing. Can you fucking believe that?’

‘You’re kidding me, Mick. Missing? I thought he was being taken to a jail in The Hague to await trial. Christ almighty, how can he be missing?’

‘That’s what everyone thought. The news is sketchy. It just came up on Sky saying that he escaped on his way to hospital for some heart scare. Must have been an organised job.’

‘Bloody Serbs. They probably fixed it. There’ll be so many of them among guards and the military who were supposed to be watching him, maybe some of them were from his old command or something. What a bastard. They’ll never get him now.’

‘Exactly. I’ve just been saying as much in an interview with Sky News and the BBC. They wanted to talk to you as the reporter who blew the lid off this whole story and tracked him down to Belgrade, but I told them you
weren’t fit. Hope that’s okay. I just thought you’d want to know.’ He paused. ‘Has your man gone yet?’

‘That’s okay about the interview. I don’t want to do that. TJ’s going shortly.’

‘Right. Well, I’ll get Marion to phone you, see if you need anything, and she’ll get some grub in for you. And on Friday, if you’re up to it, I’ll take you out for lunch. I’ll get you picked up.’ He paused. ‘But I’ll be having the whole restaurant checked out for bombs and hit men before we go. Take care.’ He hung up.

‘What’s up?’ TJ asked, leaning forward.

Rosie shook her head. ‘The Serb, Raznatovic. He’s escaped. Christ! It’s unbelievable. After everything we’ve done.’

‘Inside job. It has to be.’

She nodded. ‘That’s what McGuire said. Have to agree.’

Rosie thought of Adrian and wondered how he’d be reacting to the news. She was itching to phone him, but she wanted to give TJ her undivided attention for his final few minutes.

They watched the item come up on Sky News and saw McGuire ranting about the ineptitude of the Serb authorities and floating various conspiracy theories.

‘You’re dying to get back into this, aren’t you, Rosie?’ TJ turned towards her.

‘No. I’m not,’ Rosie said, and most of her meant it. ‘I mean, what’s the point of knocking my pan in nearly getting killed in Belgrade if the bloody authorities let the bastard go? Makes a mockery of the whole thing. All seems suddenly pointless.’ She let out a sigh of frustration.

TJ sighed and gently massaged the back of her neck. ‘That’s how it is, Rosie. It’s not worth getting yourself killed over. How many times have I told you that?’

‘I know.’ Rosie felt deflated, but she didn’t want to hear that. ‘I know.’

TJ looked at his watch. ‘Right. I’d better get moving. Taxi will be here in a second.’

On cue, the buzzer on the intercom went and he answered it, saying he’d be right down.

Rosie got to her feet very gingerly, trying not to stretch.

‘Well.’ She looked up at TJ. ‘Should I say, ‘so long’ or something suitably American?’

TJ put his arms around her and held her close, her face pressed against the warm softness of his neck. Rosie felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.

‘Don’t do that, TJ.’ She sighed.

‘What?’

‘Make me want you so much, then leave me.’ She felt a little catch in her throat.

‘Not for long though.’ He kissed her face and her neck. ‘When you’re fit in a couple of weeks you can come over, and we’ll have the best time of our lives. You know you’ll be able to take a few weeks off after everything that’s happened to you.’ His eyes scrutinised her face. ‘You just have to want to.’

‘I do want to,’ Rosie said. ‘I really want to, TJ.’ She opened her mouth to say something else. She wanted to ask if he would still feel this way in five weeks’ time when he was up to his eyes in work and New York bars
and surrounded by women, especially Kat. But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. He kissed her again.

‘Then make sure it happens.’ He hugged her one last time as she walked him to the door. Then he picked up his sax case and pushed his suitcase into the hallway. She watched as he walked downstairs.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Once I get into the digs and get some kind of phone sorted out.’

‘I’ll miss you, TJ. I will. I really will,’ she called after him, as though trying to convince him.

‘Sure you will, sweetheart. See you soon. I love you. Remember that.’ He blew her a kiss from the bottom of the stairs, then turned and left.

Rosie went back into the flat and stood for a moment with her back to the door, the emptiness instantly oppressive. She missed him already. The television blared with the Sky News update on the Serb war criminal, and she went across to the sofa and turned the volume up loud, glad of the distraction.

For three days after TJ left, Rosie had been mooching around the flat, reading, watching videos, talking to old friends on the phone for hours at a time. She’d also talked to TJ, who sounded happy and full of excitement about the jazz club. He had lots of plans for them when she came over, he told her. She was even beginning to look forward to the trip, and over lunch when she’d ventured into town, McGuire told her the paper would pay for her flight and throw in some expenses as part of her convalescence. It
was all positive, but none of it felt right, just sitting around doing nothing.

Now, she came out of the shower and flicked onto Sky News. Football and sport dominated as it always did on a Saturday morning. She was in the kitchen when the news bulletin came on, and her ears pricked up when she thought she heard the name Raznatovic. She came back in quickly.

‘Serbian war criminal Boris Raznatovic, who escaped while in custody has been found dead,’ the news reader said. She turned up the volume on her remote control.

‘The body of the 45-year-old feared commander, also wanted in the UK in connection with missing refugees being sold as part of the illegal international trade in body tissue, was found in an area in the north of Bosnia known as Paklenik Gorge.’

Rosie watched open-mouthed as the pictures moved to the mountain gorge, with the voiceover describing that this was the notorious spot where Serb soldiers massacred more than fifty Bosnians during the brutal ethnic cleansing that was one of the most lasting images of the war. She listened as the story continued.

‘Raznatovic, believed to have played a central role in the atrocity, was found hanging by his feet over the mouth of the 400-foot gorge, where the bodies of the dead Bosnians still lie. His throat had been cut.’

For the next two hours Rosie watched the footage over and over again as it came up on every Sky bulletin. She kept trying to phone Adrian, but his number rang out.

Then, early in the evening, as she was cooking dinner, her mobile rang. It was Adrian.

‘Adrian! Have you heard the news?’

‘Of course I have, my friend.’

‘Raznatovic. They found his body. He was hanging by his ankles or something. Swaying over the gorge, they said. I saw it on television. They had pictures of Paklenik.’

‘Yes. I know.’

Silence. She knew Adrian didn’t burst with excitement about anything, but she’d expected a bit more than this.

Finally, he spoke, his Slavic tones rich and thick, as he seemed to choose his words carefully.

‘It was important before he died that he feel the fear that my people felt when he and his men executed them. I know for sure that he felt it.’ He paused. ‘Risto and me could see it in his face.’ He paused again, and Rosie held her breath. ‘We wanted him to die looking down at the people he murdered.’

‘Christ, Adrian!’ Rosie couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But how? I mean how did you find him?’

In the pause that followed, Rosie could picture Adrian’s understated expression.

‘Remember, Rosie …’ His tone was measured. ‘Remember we told you that before the war, we are one people, Serbs and Bosnians – we are Yugoslavs, all friends, before all this happen? Well, some friendships last forever. I have friends who are Serbs, who are sickened by what Raznatovic and his men did to our people. Raznatovic’s own people organise his escape on the way to the hospital,
but my friend who is with the guards knows about this, and he tells me where I can find him.’

‘My God!’

She heard Adrian take a deep breath and waited for him to speak.

‘Now, whatever happens to me in my life, Rosie, I did one good thing. For my people. For my country. For my Marija and Adrijane.’ The line went dead.

‘Adrian? You there?’ But there was nothing.

Rosie stood for a moment trying to take it all in. Her mind was flooded with images of their journey across Bosnia to Belgrade and back through Kosovo to Macedonia. She thought of Emir and of Gerhard. She went across to her window and opened the balcony doors and stood outside watching the afternoon traffic. Just another Saturday.

Her mobile rang. It was McGuire.

‘Have you heard the news, Rosie?’

‘Yes, Mick. I heard.’

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Much of what I’ve written in this novel is based on the many tragic souls I enountered in refugee camps in war torn countries from the Balkans to Somalia to Rwanda. I was humbled by the resilience of the masses of innocent men, women and children scattered to the four winds because of the brutality of others. I often wonder if they ever made it back home, or if their lives are still filled with the same uncertainty of those dark days. I hope this is an honest tribute to them.

I want thank the following people: My sister Sadie for her rock solid support every day, as well as my brothers Arthur, Hugh and Desmond. My talented nephews and nieces who keep me young and make me laugh. Great friends Mags, Anne Frances, Mary, Phil, Helen, Donna, Louise, Jan and Barbara. In Kerry, everyone in Mhurioch and Ballydavid who make me feel at home, especially Paud and Mary Kavanagh. Friends, Simon and Lynn, Thomas, Annie, Mark, Keith and Maureen, for the many
shared happy hours and problems solved over Glasgow dinners and copious amounts of wine. On the Costa del Sol, thanks to Rosalind McCabe, who is a great support at book launches. And Franco Rey, for being there for me since this adventure began. My agent Ali Gunn who helps make dreams come true. Jane Wood, my fantastic editor at Quercus for her guidance and continued support, and her assistant Katie Gordon. Lucy Ramsey, Director of Publicity, and all the brilliant team at Quercus. Also thanks to Dr Bernadette Higgins for her expert medical background, and George Parsonage junior at the Glasgow Humane Society for giving me the benefit of his knowledge and experience.

quercusbooks.co.uk/anna-smith

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