To Tell the Truth (23 page)

‘Is possible, Rosie. Is all possible.’

‘So, Adrian,’ Rosie said, ‘would they really kidnap, maybe even kill, little Amy for sheer badness and revenge? She’s innocent. So are the Lennons.’

Adrian sighed. ‘Yes, they would, Rosie. They would. I don’t know what they did with the girl. All I know is that Daletsky said he got the call from Morocco and that the girl had been delivered. So she is in Morocco. Besmir, the Albanian, took her. Remember, I told you?’

‘But why? Delivered to who? What do you think, Adrian?’ Rosie felt sick, remembering her conversation with Frankie Nelson and how Vinny was making child porn movies in Morocco.

‘Who knows?’ Adrian said. ‘They would use a little girl to bargain with the Moroccans about anything – drugs, arms trade. That’s what they do with people.’

Almost on cue, Rosie’s mobile rang. It was Mickey Kavanagh, an ex-cop turned private eye who she’d known for more than a decade. He was more clued up than most working cops.

‘Hey, Mickey. Howsit going?’

‘Not bad, Rosie. Pissin’ down, but I’d rather be here than where you are. At least it’s safer.’

‘Ha!’ Rosie could picture Mickey’s cheeky grin. ‘What do you mean? Have you found any info on old Martin Lennon?’

‘I have. That stuff you said, about something happening in Russia? Well, it’s kosher. He was involved with some hooker he picked up.’

‘And?’ Rosie knew Mickey liked a bit of drama. ‘Come on Mickey, I’m on the edge of my seat here.’

Mickey confirmed the story Rosie had heard from Adrian.

‘Are you serious, Mickey?’

‘As serious as a Moscow lift operator. Have you ever seen the torn faces on these guys? In fact all of the Russians?’

‘Come on, Mickey. This is important.’

‘Apparently randy old Martin Lennon got off his mark after the kinky legover situation went tits-up, so to speak. He got the first flight out of Moscow, which was to Paris – not his original destination – but he wanted out of Russia smartish. Understandably. Then he’s back to the UK as if nothing happened. A few months later he snuffs it of a heart attack in Amsterdam while on business. That was straight up though, nothing dodgy on his death.’

‘So how come the cops in Russia didn’t follow up on the dead girl? How come they didn’t contact Interpol or cops in the UK? He must have at least merited a bit of questioning, a bit of getting his collar felt.’

‘That I’m not sure of, Rosie. What I can tell you is that Lennon was over in Moscow on business. He was going to be branching out his estate agent business to Spain, and he was seeing some property developer who was going to show him properties off-plan they were building in Spain.’

‘You mean he was meeting with a gangster?’

‘They’re all gangsters in Russia. There are no businessmen, only hoods.’

‘Are you saying Martin Lennon was a gangster? That just doesn’t ring true.’

‘No. That’s the thing, Rosie. He wasn’t. He was quite innocent really, in a lot of ways. He’d met this developer in Spain at one of these estate agent conferences they have down on the Costa, and they’d struck up a kind of friendship. They’d kept in touch, but the Russian’s property agency was just a money-laundering scam. Lennon appears to have known nothing about that. He’d be getting a using to launder their dirty money. Or if he did know, he was turning a blind eye in order to do the property deal.’

Rosie was still confused. ‘But that doesn’t explain how he didn’t get questioned by Russian police, or even UK police,’ she said.

‘Well, for starters, Rosie, I don’t think anyone in Russia – cops or otherwise – gives a toss about a dead hooker. Plenty more where they came from, so nobody busts a gut to investigate it. The hotel don’t want to make a fuss because it’s bad for business. Plus, it only takes a few quid greasing some official palms and the whole incident gets buried. That’s the end of that.’

Rosie had heard enough. That
was
the end of that, until Lennon’s grand-daughter got stolen from a beach in Spain under the nose of her parents. Someone wanted revenge – badly. The conversation Adrian had overheard was now sounding blindingly possible, and Rosie’s heart was picking up the pace.

‘Okay, Mickey. That’s all fascinating stuff. Thanks a lot.’

She didn’t need to ask where his info came from. Mickey had contacts everywhere, from the streets to the murky corners of MI6.

‘Aye, no worries, Rosie. That’s a big dinner you owe me.’ He paused. ‘But a word in your shell-like darlin’: just watch your back. I’ve an idea why you want this info, but be careful what cages you’re rattling over there. These people make big Jake Cox look like the Widow Twanky.’

Rose chuckled, even if it was a nervous chuckle.

‘Right. I’ll be careful. Big dinner is on when I get back to Glasgow. Thanks, pal.’ She had no sooner hung up when her mobile rang again.

‘Hola, Javier. I was just about to call you.’

‘I’m on my way to your hotel. What room are you in?’

‘Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.’

Rosie looked at Adrian. She knew she could trust Javier with her life, but it was only fair to Adrian that no other person saw him with her. She’d told Javier about his sister and that the big Bosnian was crucial to the investigation, but Adrian preferred to be in the background for the moment. He stood up, sensing her unease.

‘I will go now, Rosie. You can phone me.’ Adrian’s mobile rang and he took it out of his pocket. ‘It is Leka.’ He put the phone to his ear and walked past Rosie. She heard him say ‘hello’ as he was going out of the bedroom door.

‘So has your lover gone?’ Javier kissed Rosie fleetingly and walked past her into the room.

‘Come in,’ Rosie smiled, sarcastic. ‘He’s having a shower.’
She turned away from him and walked out onto the terrace. ‘We can talk out here, Javier – let my lover slip away quietly.’

‘Of course.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘Discretion is everything.’

He gave her all the information he’d dug up linking one of the offshoots of Daletsky’s complex business empire to people-trafficking. It was checked out and solid from his best Guarda Civil contact. Rosie could see that, as ever, Javier had done a meticulous job.

With the interview already done in Sarajevo with Katya, the rescued friend of Adrian’s sister, Rosie was ready to write the next big exclusive, linking Carter-Smith to Daletsky’s empire. She would have dinner in her room and write it tonight. McGuire would be well pleased.

But Rosie’s thoughts were already running to Morocco: Frankie Nelson’s ‘find Vinny’ words were still ringing in her ears.

‘Javier, do you have any contacts in Morocco?’

‘I don’t, but I know a few people who do. What do you need?’

She told him about the interview with Frankie Nelson and what he had said about Vinny and the child porn movie trade in Morocco.

‘Sick bastard. I’d kill the
coño
with my bare hands.’

‘I’d be in the queue behind you, Javier, believe me, but what do you think the chances are of tracking him down?’

Javier stretched out his long legs.

‘I will speak to my people. A Brit paedo in Morocco should be easy to find.’ He looked at Rosie as though
reading her mind. ‘You think the kid is definitely in Morocco?’

‘Yep. My friend, Adrian, the Bosnian who’s just been here. He told me.’

Javier grinned.

‘So that’s who was here when I called you, Rosita. Thought you were a bit cagey.’

‘Don’t be daft, Javier. He’s my friend – has been for a while back in Glasgow.’ Then the smile went from her face. ‘I owe him my life. Quite literally.’ She saw Javier’s surprise. ‘I’ll tell you about it some time, when we’re drunk. Not now.’

She told him about the conversation Adrian had overheard about Daletsky’s connection to Lennon’s late father, and watched his eyes widen at the possibility that this had all been set up for revenge.

‘I want to go to Morocco, Javier.’

Javier gave a little laugh and rolled his eyes upwards.

‘I knew you were going to say that.’

Rosie wasn’t smiling. ‘I’m serious, Javier. I want to go there, find that Vinny bastard and get him done. I want to go there and maybe, just maybe, we can track Amy down. We have to try.’

Javier shook his head.

‘Don’t you think the police should know about this latest information? It changes everything, Rosie. Have you told your editor this?’

She wanted to tell him to stop thinking like a cop but didn’t want to risk a punch-up this early.

‘I’ve only just been told about it in the last half hour, Javier. I’m still taking it in.’

‘Bullshit, Rosie. I know you too well. You’re thinking you can just waltz into Morocco and hunt down Amy’s kidnappers. Go for glory.’

‘It’s not like that, Javier.’

She didn’t want to snap, but she was running the show here. She leaned her back on the railing and looked at him.

‘If we tell the police, or my paper publishes the story, then the people who have got Amy will feel cornered and could do anything, even kill her to get rid of her.’

‘How do you know they’ve not already done that?’

‘I don’t. But I want a chance to run at this myself before everyone wades in – police, media, etcetera. If we can track down this Vinny, maybe get Adrian to lean on him, you never know where that might lead us.’

Javier let out a long sigh.

‘I worry when you’re like this, Rosie. It’s dangerous. For all of us.’

‘Not for you, Javier. You just have to set us up with the contacts. Get us a minder.’ She pushed her hair back and folded her arms.

He laughed.

‘Temper, Rosita! You think I would let you go there without me?’ He stretched out and touched her arm.

‘I hoped you’d say that.’

Javier stood up and leaned on the railing, looking at her. ‘Do you want to have dinner, Rosie? We can talk more, make some plans?’

She looked out to sea, knowing he was watching her. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening. She sighed.

‘Sorry, Javier,’ she spread her hands as though she was typing on a keyboard. ‘Got to work. I have to write the guts of the story you just told me about Daletsky’s sordid little empire. I need to get it written tonight and talk to the editor. Why don’t you go ahead and start making some discreet enquiries with your connections and we can gear ourselves up for Morocco. I’ll tell Matt to get himself organised. And I’ll tell McGuire what I know. He’ll agree that I should go and pursue the line a bit on my own to see the strength of it. He won’t have a problem with it.’

‘Okay, I’ll see what I can dig up, but it’s dangerous, Rosie. I must be crazy, allowing myself to get involved in this.’

‘You won’t be saying that if we can find Amy.’

He brushed his lips against her cheek and left.

Rosie felt a mixture of desolation and relief after he’d gone and she was alone on the terrace. Her mind flashed back to the prison visit with Frankie Nelson and the mention of a lowlife called Vinny. She figured that was the moment when this all became much more than just a story.

CHAPTER 30

‘Shit, Rosie. This is fraught with all sorts of problems, and only one of them is the possibility you might end up with your throat cut in some back street in Tangiers,’ McGuire said. ‘And by the way, why are you only telling me now about this Vinny connection of Frankie Nelson’s? I don’t like being kept in the dark, Rosie.’

Rosie knew she’d pushed her luck by not keeping McGuire briefed about what Nelson had told her.

‘I would have told you, Mick, you know I would,’ she said. ‘But to be honest, I had put it on the back burner. I knew the priority when I got back here was to nail this Daletsky story about people-smuggling, and the Carter-Smith friendship.’

Rosie lied. She would only have told him about Vinny once Javier was closer to finding out where they could track him down in Morocco. If she had that, she knew McGuire wouldn’t be able to resist sending her there to have a run at.

‘But listen, Mick, there’s an even bigger development. You should sit down for this one.’

‘I am, Gilmour. Tell me.’

‘Martin Lennon may actually have unwittingly met Amy’s kidnappers.’

She told him everything Adrian had told her.

‘Holy fuck, Rosie! What are we supposed to do with this bombshell?’

‘Well,’ Rosie said. ‘I don’t think we should go blasting it on the front page yet, much as I’d like to. I think we should hang fire for a bit.’

‘We should be telling the cops about this. That’s my gut feeling, Rosie. Convince me why not.’

Rosie sighed. She knew he would react like this, and of course he was right. But she’d seen too many bungled police operations in her time, and who knew what would happen once you got the police forces of Spain and Morocco working together.

‘Right, Mick. Think about it this way’ – she made sure the terrace doors were closed tight – ‘there are a couple of things we could do. We could fire a huge story onto the front page about what we already know: Martin Lennon’s dad and the hooker, the Vinny connection, the fact that we’ve been told Amy’s somewhere in Morocco – even that the Lennons may have met the kidnappers. And we could trumpet that we have now passed our explosive dossier to the cops. But what would that achieve? The cops for a start would go nuts, claiming the information being made public would jeopardise their investigation. We’d be in all sorts of trouble. If Amy – who
we’re hoping is still alive – died as a result of it, they’d blame us. And apart from all that, if we did a story, the rest of the media would invade Morocco and the people who are holding Amy might panic. Those bastards might just kill the kid and dump her somewhere.’

‘Yeah, fine, Rosie. I get that,’ McGuire said. ‘But a part of me feels duty bound to simply pass the information onto the police and play along with them. Maybe get a promise that we’ll be in pole position when the big exclusive comes.’

‘Christ, Mick, are you serious?!’ Rosie paced the floor. ‘There’s more chance of Carter-Smith going on
Blind Date
to find a woman than Spanish or Moroccan cops keeping us informed in a kidnapping case. If we make a decision to give them the information, then that’s all we do, and don’t expect us to get anything back from them because we won’t. But ask yourself this: why don’t they have the same information we have about the Martin Lennon connection? They’re the cops, after all. Or do they have the info and they’re not telling us? And if the cops are not as well informed as we are, then you have to ask yourself, did they ever have a chance of finding Amy if they haven’t discovered that the kid is already in Morocco?’