by Anna Smith
*
Rosie was running late for her meeting with Don in the coffee shop at the bottom of Great Western Road. Her sit-down interview with Laila and her mum and grandparents had been more of a human story than an explosive one. But she hoped it would quell a lot of the anger in the Pakistani community over this morning’s revelations. She was surprised when Laila’s grandfather, an orthopaedic surgeon at the city’s Western Infirmary, shook her hand and congratulated her for exposing what he called a ‘sham’ marriage when she’d arrived at their home. His own parents, he told her, had also come from the Swat Valley a generation ago and moved to Karachi before the family emigrated to the UK when he was six years old. He had been brought up at a time when Swat was a beautiful part of Pakistan and tourists flocked to it. Now, he said, it was a hotbed of Islamist fanatics. Much of the community in Glasgow had turned their backs on his part of the family long before Laila’s arranged marriage, and he was prepared to keep it that way. Plenty of other Muslims in Glasgow and Scotland felt the same way as him about throwing their children into a marriage they didn’t want. The interview had gone well, and with the other calls to the Post from women telling their own stories on both sides, Rosie was satisfied she had a balanced spread for tomorrow’s paper.
Don was already waiting for her at the cafe when she arrived. He looked up and smiled when she walked in.
‘Sorry I’m late. I had a big interview to write up, and it took longer than I expected.’
‘No problem. Great story today, pal. But you are definitely not popular. Remind me never to go for a curry with you again.’
Rosie chuckled as she sat down and slipped off her coat. The waitress came up and she ordered a decaff white coffee. Don ordered another black.
‘So how did it go?’
Don sat back and smiled broadly.
‘I’m about to make your day, sunshine.’
‘Really? I can’t wait. Did they buckle under the stiff questioning of Strathclyde’s finest detectives?’
‘Not quite. But we did we get lucky.’ He paused. ‘And I’m going to need your full cooperation on this – sooner rather than later.’
Rosie shot him a puzzled look.
‘Cooperation? What do you mean?’
‘I need you to make a formal complaint about the knife attack at your house.’
Rosie raised her eyebrows, still not sure.
‘How come?’
‘Well. Here’s the situation. We were at the Shah household and everyone was getting a little hot under the collar. But of course, as you know, we didn’t have a whole lot to go on – much the same as yourself, except we had more documentation. I could sense unease around the room – a few of the guys were beginning to argue amongst themselves and I got the feeling they were trying to blame each other. We didn’t get all that far, but I do know they’re beginning to feel the pressure. So, softly softly, as they say. We’re making our way to the door, telling them we’ll be back, when suddenly we spot some guy coming out of a car and up the path. His face is showing all the signs of having been recently battered to a pulp.’ A playful grin on his face. ‘You get my drift?’
‘I do.’ Rosie smiled.
‘So, me and the gaffer look at each other, and we’re both thinking the same thing. Then over our shoulder Mr Shah shouts something in Urdu, and the guy with the bashed face shits himself, and about turns, back to his car.’
‘Jesus. It must be him.’
‘Yep. So we had to fuck with the rules a bit. And this is the part where the old-fashioned police work takes precedence over protocol.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning that we went in hot pursuit of this bastard – as you know, all evidence is pointing to him being the main suspect in your knife attack. But, of course, as you also know, we don’t have an official complaint yet from the victim.’
Rosie nodded.
‘I see.’
‘So we shouldn’t have been chasing him. But that’s not how we do business. This had to be the suspect, so we chased him, all the way out of the Southside and into Rutherglen towards Whitlawburn, and forced him off the road.’
‘Oh Christ!’
‘Then my gaffer, who isn’t known for his political correctness, drags him out of the car by the scruff of the neck.’
‘So did he burst?’
‘I’m coming to it, Gilmour. Don’t waste my story!’
‘So what happened?’
‘The boss tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s nicked. That we have him on CCTV from your attack, which of course we don’t, but he doesn’t know that. And he gets told we’re taking him in for fingerprinting. We need to see if his prints match the knife.’
‘So you took him in your car?’
‘Yeah. He was screaming for a lawyer all the way in, but we told him he was looking at five years in the pokey as he was facing attempted murder and resisting arrest . . . Okay we gilded it a bit.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Anyway, we took him in. Got his prints. And, hey presto, they match the knife.’
‘Oh, you beauty!’
‘Thank you. But, therein lies the problem.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said nothing. Demanded a lawyer. We were in a bit of a sticky situation about that, so we had to let him go. We can’t have a lawyer coming in and asking to see the official complaint, because there isn’t one.’
Rosie let out a sigh.
‘I see. So what do we do now?’
‘We’ll find a way round it. We can say you couldn’t make the official complaint as you were leaving the country, but that you told me about it. A good lawyer will drive a horse and cart through it if it comes to court, but we’ve got to give it a try. Plus, even if it goes nowhere, it will give us the leverage we need just now, because the mob back at Shah’s house were clearly shitting themselves. And if they really did send him out to do you over, then they’ll all be worried that he grasses them up.’
Rosie nodded.
‘It’s brilliant, Don. Just getting his prints to match . . . I’m sure you’ll be able to build a case.’ Rosie smiled. ‘It won’t be the first time I’ve interviewed a crook who claims he was fitted up by the cops!’
‘We would never do that, Miss Gilmour.’
‘Of course not.’
‘So I’ll talk to my boss and we’ll work out a way to get the complaint done. But you need to come along today as soon as possible and make it official. Can you do that?’
‘Sure. I’ll come this afternoon.’
‘Rosie. I’m glad it’s given us leverage, but I really want this bastard done for attacking you. I felt like doing him myself when I saw his wee rat face. I gave him a few more bruises about his face for good measure.’
Rosie laughed.
‘Of course, he’ll scream self-defence when you hit him with the knife charge.’
‘Sure he will. But by the time we’re finished with him, I’m hoping he’ll have grassed everyone up and there’s more than him in the shit.’
Rosie grinned.
‘Got to love a bit of make-it-up-as-you-go-along police work.’
‘Has to be done sometimes.’ Don stood up. ‘Right, I’d better move. Give me a buzz later on when you’re coming in and I’ll walk you through it.’
Rosie watched as he left the cafe, buttoning her coat up as a gust of icy wind blasted in when he opened the door.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was almost dark by the time Rosie left the police station and stepped into Matt’s car.
‘You’d been in there so long, I was half expecting you to come out with sergeant’s stripes on your arm.’ He switched on the engine and drove towards the motorway.
‘I know. I thought the questions were never going to end. But that’s it done now, so the cops can pick this bastard up and charge him.’
Let’s keep it simple, Rosie told herself. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d just made a statement to police that could
get her into all sorts of trouble if the case went to trial. It wasn’t that she’d had lied – not really. Only a small white lie about a minor detail. She and Don had agreed that she would say in her statement that she didn’t make an official complaint at the time of the attack, but had told him as a friend. She had pleaded with him not to report it officially at that stage. Most of that was true, but when it got to the nitty-gritty of details of the second attack and how she came about having the knife in her possession, the waters began to muddy. She told them that a friend of hers had saved her, but when they asked who it was, she couldn’t tell them it was Adrian. The officer taking the notes kept looking up, from Don to his boss. The DCI asked for the friend’s name. Rosie told him she couldn’t say. He was just a contact. The DCI told her in no uncertain terms that a defence lawyer would piss all over that if she were in the witness box. Why couldn’t she name him, he asked again? She just couldn’t, she told them. Don and his boss both knew that she had some mysterious Bosnian contact who’d been responsible for the two dead bodies in the Glasgow flat in her last brush with the cops. But if they dragged that up, all sorts of shit would hit the fan. Let sleeping dogs lie, she told them. Her attacker wouldn’t go to trial, she assured them. He’d be off his head. What if he pleads self-defence, claiming your friend was going to kill him? the DCI insisted. Rosie knew he was playing devil’s advocate. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, she’d told them, with more bravado than she actually felt.
*
The cottage appeared to be in darkness as they drove up the single-track road and into the courtyard. The farmer’s house looked dark too, but smoke swirled from the chimney. Rosie was relieved when she saw Julie’s car parked outside. They got out of the car and knocked on the door. No answer. She looked at Matt, as she tried again. Still no answer.
‘Maybe they’ve done a runner.’
‘Don’t think so,’ Rosie said, more in hope than conviction.
‘Who is it?’ said Julie’s voice.
Rosie shot Matt a relieved glance.
‘It’s me, Rosie.’
‘Right. Hold on.’
The door was unlocked and opened and Julie stood there, looking a bit paler and more tired than she had before.
‘Come in.’
Rosie stepped inside, followed by Matt.
‘Anything wrong, Julie? You look worried.’
Julie puffed her cheeks out and her confident look reappeared.
‘What could possibly go wrong, Rosie? We’re holed up in the middle of nowhere with a dead man’s stash of smuggled diamonds, a load of passports and a few grand. All going great here.’ She went into the kitchen. ‘We’ve just eaten. You want some tea or coffee?’
‘Tea would be great,’ Rosie said. ‘Black. No sugar.’
‘Tea for me. The same,’ Matt said.
Rosie glanced at Nikki on the sofa, who turned the TV down with the remote. She looked exhausted.
‘You okay, Nikki?’
‘Aye, well . . . Just a bit worried and stuff.’ She brushed her hand over her bandaged stump. ‘I’m shitting myself, to be honest. About tomorrow . . . I . . . I wish we could just bugger off before big Gordy comes. I don’t think we can trust him.’
‘We can’t do a runner. He’d hunt us down for the rest of our lives.’ Julie came in carrying a tray. ‘We can’t, Nikki. We’ve got to go through with it now. If we do it this way, he’ll be in the pokey before tomorrow night and we’ll be long gone.’ Julie looked at Rosie. ‘Is that still all on for us, Rosie. The car. The hotel and stuff?’
‘Sure,’ Rosie said. ‘You just drive down to Manchester and stay over for a couple of nights, then get on a plane to Malaga. I’ve squared it all with my boss.’
‘Christ,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m still freaking out a bit, though.’
‘What’s changed?’ Rosie had a sense that things might be slipping away from her. ‘Has something happened?’
‘We’ve been a bit nervy the last couple of days. We thought we heard someone outside last night. A bit of noise.’
‘Really?’ Rosie asked. ‘A car?’
‘No. Not a car. Like someone was prowling around.’
‘That could have been the farmer,’ Matt said, lifting a mug of tea. ‘You know what these guys are like – always checking on animals and stuff before they turn in for the night. Or even a fox.’
‘Did you actually see anything?’ Rosie asked.
‘No,’ Nikki said. ‘We were scared to open the curtains.’
‘It was probably the farmer,’ Rosie said. ‘Nobody knows you’re here apart from Gordy.’
‘Aye. He’s a right prick, him,’ Julie said. ‘He came up here yesterday to make arrangements to come tomorrow and pick up the diamonds. He took one with him. Said he was going to some dodgy jeweller he knows to get a value on it. But he just can’t keep his big mouth shut. The farmer’s son, Euan, is in a wheelchair. He’s a nice guy and he’s been over for a coffee a couple of times. But big Gordy insulted the poor bloke, so the farmer was raging. He came over here after Gordy went away and was asking a few questions of us.’
‘What kind of questions?’
‘Just who the guy was in the big motor, and he told us Gordy insulted his son. But I get a niggly feeling he’s a bit suspicious. I think he knows something. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s talked to the cops. Maybe that’s what the noise was last night.’ There was a note of panic in Nikki’s voice.
‘But why would he phone the cops? He doesn’t know anything,’ Rosie said.
‘She thinks maybe he remembered the story about the girl with the arm hacked off that was in the papers, and has put two and two together. The cops will still be looking for us, because we just fucked off out of the hospital without leaving any details.’
‘But you said you told them what you knew.’ Rosie turned to Nikki.
‘Yeah, but they didn’t believe me. They’ll be looking for me. I know it.’
Rosie knew the cops were looking for them, big time. But she couldn’t say or they’d be out of here before she was. Part of her wanted to tell them, but it wasn’t just the story that she would lose if the women went. Gordy would hunt them down and kill both of them, and if not Gordy, then this Vanner guy. The only way to get anything out of this was to do it her way. Get them on tape and away from the scene, and then pass the tape to the police. That way they’d get time to be long gone. They all sat for a few moments, the room silent except for the log fire crackling and the low murmur of the television.
‘It’s entirely up to you, girls.’ Rosie eventually looked from one to the other. If she was going to lose the story, then so be it. She wasn’t about to tell them any fairy story of how perfect it would be, but her gut told her they’d be dead meat within a week if they didn’t do it her way. ‘Look.’ She put her mug of tea on the table. ‘If you really feel this is too much for you, then I swear, we can just forget it and let you do whatever you think is best. No hard feelings. Honest. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to be on your own, and I’m not just saying it for the story. I’m thinking of where you go next. You can’t just keep on running. Sooner or later they’ll catch up with you. But if it all goes to my plan, then the cops will be on them in the next couple of days, and you’ll be well away from it by then. Of course, that’s not without its risks. But it’s less risky than just buggering off with a case full of diamonds.’
‘But are you sure you can organise this with the police?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said. She’d talked to Don about it on the phone last night, and he was hooked in. ‘I have some good contacts in the cops. They trust me and I trust them. When I give them the story and the tapes – if you get wired up and we tape it all tomorrow – you two will be the last people they want to make trouble for. You might have to be available at some stage to make a statement, but you can do that from anywhere. The police can come to you.’
She didn’t want to tell them that Don had already sounded out the DCI and he was u
p for the plan.
‘I don’t trust cops,’ Julie said.
‘I know how you feel, Julie. Believe me.’ Rosie remembered Emir, the Kosovan refugee who was murdered while under police protection. ‘But sometimes you don’t have an alternative. I honestly think your options are limited.’
Julie pushed out a long sigh and looked at Nikki.
‘Okay. Well, let’s get this underway. Go ahead and show us how this tech stuff works, then we can get the hell out of here tomorrow. For good.’
Matt opened his case and unpacked the box of tricks for surveillance. It had improved over the years and was now more discreet than ever before, after Rosie had convinced McGuire they had to invest in some decent equipment.
*
‘Do you think they’ll still be there tomorrow when we turn up?’ Matt glanced back at the farm from the corner of his eye as they drove out of the farm’s lane and onto the road towards the motorway.
‘Well, if they’re not, we can’t do much about it,’ Rosie replied. ‘But my gut instinct tells me they’ll go through with it. Bloody hope so or there’ll be hell to pay from Don.’
‘Yeah, well my gut instinct hopes that if they do bugger off, they leave my surveillance equipment, or I’ll get my arse kicked.’
‘You and me both, pal.’
Rosie’s mobile rang and she could see Adrian’s name on the screen.
‘Rosie.’
‘How you doing, Adrian?’ Rosie could sense Matt’s eyebrows going up, even though she wasn’t looking at him.
‘Can I see you?’