by Anna Smith
‘Yup. I’ve got it here, in black and white.’
Julie went into the kitchen and brought out a black leather folder. She produced a document and handed it over. Rosie sat studying it for a moment, but saw quickly that it was a legal contract on the headed notepaper of a leading Glasgow law firm. The document had some legal jargon, naming the club, and signing ownership to them as of yesterday’s date.
‘Christ almighty!’ Rosie said, placing the document on the table. ‘Where did he sign it? Not here, I hope?’
‘No. In the hospital. Yesterday morning. We told him Nikki was getting out today so he would disappear after it was signed. We wanted to make sure he wasn’t following us out here.’
‘And the lawyer was present?’
‘Yep. Some guy he uses. Bent as hell, no doubt.’
‘So when do you hand over the diamonds?’
‘We said we’d call him in a couple of days and make the handover. Might even do it here, then we can disappear.’
They sat in silence for a long moment, Rosie not quite knowing what to make of it all. She knew her detective pal Don would jump at the chance of bringing these women in. All sorts of promises would be made to keep them from prosecution and to protect them, but Rosie had been down that road before. It didn’t always work. A fleeting picture of Emir, the Kosovan refugee shot while in police protection, came to her mind.
‘So, what do you think, Rosie? Will you help us? Can you talk to the cops? If we go phoning them out of the blue, they’ll be all over us like a cheap suit, and we’ll be banged up in Cornton Vale before we know where we are. Will you help?’
Rosie spread her hands out.
‘Yes, of course. If that’s what you want, I’ll talk to them. Are you going to hand over the diamonds to the police?’
Julie and Nikki looked at each other and nodded, but said nothing. Rosie didn’t want to know, so she let the question hang there. She looked at her watch. Matt would be waiting in Stirling motorway services centre for the call to ask him to come and take photographs.
‘Okay. Well, if we’re going to go down that road and talk to the police, then if it’s okay with you, I’d like us to have a chat just now about how it all came to this.’ She looked from one to the other, hoping they were sure what they were getting into. ‘What we speak about now will be your own story, your interview for the paper, telling how long you’ve been friends, a bit about each of your lives and how you came to be involved in the escort agency. Okay? Also, if we could talk a little about your work. Just be honest with me. It’s important you do, because if this is going to appear in the newspaper, then you want to be able to get your side of things across. People sometimes judge women who work in prostitution, and unfairly in a lot of respects. I like to look at the other things, the women themselves, the reasons that drove them there. So this is your platform to talk frankly. Do you know what I mean?’
Julie and Nikki glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. So far, so good. Rosie switched to full-on reporter mode. This was her one and only shot and it had to be right, because once the police were involved, they were out of her control. And, realistically, they could be dead in a few days.
‘Oh, and I have Matt standing by . . .’ Rosie looked at Julie. ‘Remember the photographer who came and took pictures of the diamonds that day? Well, we need some more detailed pictures of the passports. We’re working on a line about where they came from and whom they belong to. It’s all criminal involvement, and if we can track them back then it’s useful. There’s a chance the people who belong to the passports are either dead or have had them stolen. So, is that alright?’
‘Yes,’ Julie got up and went into the kitchen. ‘I think we might have a glass of wine while we do this.’
‘Sure,’ Rosie said. ‘Relax. But not for me, I’m driving and it would only put me in the mood for more.’ She smiled, flipping her notebook open. She decided not to mention that Matt would want a picture of both of them together. Nikki’s story alone would be a splash any day of the week. She could feel the familiar tingling of excitement when a story was working out like this, and all the tiredness, guilt and thoughts of tomorrow vanished while she got ready for the first question. The pop of the wine cork from the white wine made it sound like it was a girl’s night in, but the reality was far from that. This was two women fighting for their lives, plotting to bring down a big shot who could wipe them out without turning a hair.
‘So, Julie, if you start by telling me how long you’ve been friends.’
Julie came in with two glasses of wine and handed one to Nikki.
‘God . . .’ She gazed down at Nikki affectionately. ‘Like forever, I suppose. Since we both used to get sent to the back of French class in secondary school for carrying on. We hit it off then and have been pals since.’
Rosie switched on the tape recorder and listened as Julie reeled off her story of them growing up, Nikki chiming in. She looked sad as she talked of their Glasgow youth growing up in the housing schemes, with drunken fathers and gang fights, watching as the schemes became ravaged by drugs, and families who had just been poor were now torn apart. Teenager after teenager in their streets became hooked on heroin, and how they escaped it, Julie said, was a miracle. But both got married reasonably young and stayed in the same block of flats, hoping that one day they’d have enough money to move on. Julie had a succession of dead-end jobs, and her marriage fell apart after four years when her husband left her for another woman. Years later, Nikki’s teenage sweetheart, Paul, had ruined their lives by gambling away everything they had. Rosie listened, thinking that they were just a couple of years younger than her, and all of their lives were blighted by hardship and shit thrown at them. She identified with everything they spoke about: the drunkenness and the shame of poverty. She was lucky she got out early, did a runner and upped sticks to London with nothing but hope. She was more than lucky.
Matt arrived after her interview was over, and Julie brought out the attaché case. This time, Julie emptied a few of the diamonds on to the coffee table, and they all gazed at them, Matt snapping away. Rosie and Matt knew there would be all sorts of trouble over what they were doing, but they’d let the lawyers deal with it. The important thing was to have the pictures. The diamonds were white, like small, misshapen sugar cubes, but there were a lot of them. From what Rosie had gleaned from her contact, the white ones were the most valuable when cut down and polished. Who knew how much there was here in terms of cash? She wouldn’t have a clue, but she could take the pictures to a contact. She considered asking to take one of the diamonds to have it assessed, but that was just too reckless, even for her.
Then they looked at the passports, and Matt took detailed pictures of each page. Rosie checked each of them to see if they were stamped, but some of the ink was blurred. She could see the dates on others, though, and they’d been presented to Customs in recent months. Three of the names of the places visited definitely looked like Sierra Leone and although she couldn’t make out the rest, the stamp and crest on their pages looked the same. Whoever they belonged to, they were being used for smuggling. This was dynamite if she got lucky enough to nail this side of it down. She took a note of passport numbers, names and dates of birth, and would get them checked through her private eye contact, Mickey Kavanagh.
‘So what do you think the police will do, Rosie? Will they come and see us here?’
‘Yes. I think so. Once they talk to you – and it won’t be tomorrow, because they will have to talk to the bosses to see how they play this – if they decide to go along with it. So you have to hold big Gordy off until we get everything set up.’
Rosie was already thinking that if there was to be a set-up and she was the one who had passed the information to the police, then she wanted ringside seats for her and Matt. It would be the usual banging of heels on the floor, because the cops wouldn’t want her near it. She’d see how the information went down with Don first. Matt looked at Rosie inquiringly, signalling
for her to ask about the pictures.
‘Girls, we’ll need a picture of both of you and one of each of you on your own. Obviously, Nikki, your ordeal and the way you’ve described it is truly harrowing. But we need a picture to go with it. Same for you, Julie. You okay with that?’
They looked at each other and grimaced.
‘It’s getting scarier by the minute,’ Nikki said.
‘I doubt it can get much scarier than what happened to you that night, Nikki,’ Julie said.
Rosie nodded in agreement.
‘If you’re going to do this, really get these guys nailed, then you have to put yourself on the line. Before it comes out in the newspaper, we’ll make sure you’re well out of the way. Abroad, possibly, if that’s what you want. Then you just lie low for a while.’
They exchanged glances and both nodded.
‘Okay. Let’s do it,’ Julie said.
Matt didn’t wait for a second invitation, and started re-arranging furniture and getting the girls to pose together, then afterwards took pictures of Nikki. As usual, he took too many for Rosie’s liking and she could see the girls beginning to feel uneasy. Eventually, Matt was done.
‘Okay. So we’ll go and let you relax for the night. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, by phone, once I’ve talked to my police contact. I’ll get a fair idea of how they’re likely to view the situation from him.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The rain had stopped, but the pea-soup fog on the motorway slowed the traffic to a snail’s pace. This was the last thing Rosie needed. The past few days had been so pumped up that even an adrenalin junkie like her was beginning to feel the strain. Exhaustion washed over her now that she was beginning to relax, and she had to keep opening her window to make sure she didn’t drop off. She was glad when eventually the fog lifted and she could see the city lights of Glasgow twinkling in the distance as she picked up speed. Soon, she’d be home and asleep before her head hit the pillow. Her mobile rang and flashed on the passenger seat. She glanced across and her gut did a little flip. It was Adrian. She pulled into the deserted inside lane and put the phone to her ear.
‘Rosie.’
Adrian. His rich, deep voice as though he was lying next to her.
‘Adrian! What a surprise! How are you?’
She cursed herself. Was that the best she could come up with? ‘How are you?’ It would have been more accurate, if a little basic, to say, ‘I’m dying here, Adrian, at the sound of your voice.’ But she couldn’t. Not with him.
‘I am good, Rosie, thank you. I have not called you since I left – you know . . . I thought it was best after that bad business in the apartment in Glasgow that day.’
‘No problem, I understand,’ she lied. ‘Where are you?’
‘I am here. In Glasgow.’
‘Really?’ She felt a little catch in her voice.
‘Yes. I come with a friend. She wants to find work here.’
Something resembling jealousy lashed across Rosie’s insides. She had heard right – he definitely said ‘she’.
‘Oh,’ was all Rosie could muster, as she swallowed her naked disappointment.
‘Not my girlfriend, only a friend,’ he said quickly.
‘Oh.’ Rosie cursed herself again for her being so tongue-tied. What the hell was happening to her here?
‘She did not want to travel from Sarajevo by herself . . . you know. Sometimes it is dangerous these days. She is the sister of a good friend of mine. I remember you met him one time in Sarajevo? I have friends here who can give her a room for a few weeks. Maybe she will find a job. I hope so.’
‘Okay. I understand. That was good of you to travel with her.’
‘I’m here only for a few days.’ He paused. ‘I . . . I hope I can see you. Are you free tonight? I arrived just four hours ago.’
Rosie hesitated. She knew she was too tired to cope with Adrian on any level tonight. He would understand. But that’s not what came out when she spoke.
‘Yeah. Well, I’ve been away, Adrian, and I’m on my way home from an interview now. I’m dog tired . . . Er, but sure, I’d love to see you too. You want to come to the flat for a little while? I’ll be there shortly.’
‘Thank you, Rosie. I will wait for you.’ He hung up.
Well done, Rosie, she muttered to herself as she reached the outskirts of the city. You could have played a little hard to get. She felt her face smile.
A few minutes later Rosie was about to turn off the motorway at Charing Cross, when Adrian called again.
‘I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,’ she said.
‘Rosie. One moment. There are two men in a car in your car park. You know who it is? I’m thinking of the other time a couple of years ago. Maybe someone is looking for you? I don’t want to worry you, but it’s cold here, and I think it’s strange maybe people sitting in the car park.’
Rosie felt a little stab of panic.
‘What do they look like? Can you see them?’
‘They are like Indian or something. Not white. Maybe Pakistanis.’
‘Shit.’
‘Is it a problem?’
‘Maybe. I was attacked outside my flat last week. I’m working on an investigation.’
‘Oh.’ Adrian paused. ‘Don’t worry. Listen to me. Just drive into the car park as normal. Trust me.’
‘Jesus, Adrian. Now I am worried.’
‘Nobody can see me. I’m at the edge of the car park, in the shadows. I can see everything. I’ll be here.’
Rosie gripped the steering wheel as she drove along Woodlands Road, glancing up at her flat on the third floor where the timed lights were already on, so that the place would look lived in. She drove slowly towards the car park, scanning the streets for any sign of Adrian. There was none. She prayed he was somewhere. As she drove into the car park, she recognised the cars of all of her five neighbours – except one at the far side. And now it was reversing, facing the exit. She parked her car and switched the engine off, her heart pounding. She didn’t look in the direction of the car, but walked the few steps towards the stairs to her entrance briskly. Then she heard a car door clunk open. Too terrified to look back, she quickly fumbled in her pocket for her key, but dropped it. Shit! She could hear heavy footsteps sprinting across the car park, and she stumbled as she got to the top step, dropping her bag.
‘Bitch!’ A voice behind her spat.
Rosie tried to straighten up, but her legs were like lead. Then, suddenly, she heard the sound of a grunt and a body hitting the ground. She turned her head to see Adrian on top of someone, punching the back of his head, then grabbing his hair and thumping his forehead against the step. Every time his head came up, Rosie saw the shocked look in the Pakistani man’s eyes; his nose had burst open and face was bloodied. Rosie watched, a little horrified, at Adrian’s cold concentration as he bashed the man’s head four or five times against the step.
‘Adrian!’ Rosie said.
He didn’t look at her, but let the man slump down on to the stairs. Then he pulled him to his feet and dragged him towards the other man’s moving car, its engine revving and main beams on. The wheels spun and the car raced towards him. Adrian lifted a brick from the ground and hurled it through the windscreen. The car screeched to a halt and Adrian yanked the passenger door open and threw the man in. Rosie got to her feet and strained her eyes against the blinding light from the headlights. Adrian reached in and took a swipe at the driver – she thought she saw the glint of a knife – then the driver put his hand to his face. He must have cut him. She could hear Adrian’s voice, angry, emphatic.
‘You come here again, you are dead. Both of you.’ Adrian slammed the door and the car sped off, swerving and skidding as it smashed against the low brick wall on the way out.
Rosie opened the door and went inside, her back against the wall, her whole body shaking. Adrian came in behind her, and his arms went around her. He held her tight and she could feel the hard muscles in his shoulders as he pressed her
head to his chest. Then the tears came.
‘Ssssh,’ he said. ‘Is okay now, Rosie. Come. You must get in the house.’ He supported her up the stairs to her door.
Rosie hit the hall light and walked unsteadily down to the living room. Once inside, she slung her bag on the sofa and turned to see Adrian in the doorway. All six foot two of him, his face paler than the last time, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.
‘Oh my God, Adrian!’ Rosie was safe now, and somewhere between hysteria and weeping. ‘Welcome back to Glasgow. He could have killed me.’
‘No. If he was going to kill you, he would have done. It was to frighten you.’ He took a knife out of his pocket, holding it by the blade. ‘This was on the steps. He must have had it in his hand. You should give it to the police for fingerprints.’
Rosie nodded.
‘I thought you were going to kill him . . .’
Adrian shrugged in that way that he did that looked as though he was a little bored.
‘No. Just teach him a lesson. I think he has it now. They won’t come back here, but you should go to the police with the knife.’
‘Yes, maybe I will. You certainly scared the pair of them. Did you do something to the driver?’
Adrian shrugged but said nothing.
‘Christ! I need a drink.’ Rosie shook her head.
She went into the kitchen with Adrian behind her and picked up a half-full bottle of red wine. She tried to pull the cork out, but her hands were still shaking.
‘Let me.’ Adrian took the bottle and popped the cork, as Rosie brought out two glasses.
He poured a little wine into each of them, and handed one to Rosie.
‘I’m so glad to see you, my friend.’ He clinked his glass to hers.
‘Not as glad as I am to see you, pal.’ She knocked back a huge gulp of wine.
‘So. Tell me. Who are these people? You have made them angry enough to come to your house.’
Rosie shook her head as she crossed the room to the sofa and threw herself down.