Screams in the Dark

by Anna Smith

  Rosie’s stomach turned over.

  ‘Christ, Tanya,’ she sighed. ‘That’s serious.’

  ‘I know.’ She lifted her coffee mug, then put it back down without drinking. ‘You know I told you I was Tony Murphy’s lover. I was shocked, and also a bit angry that he left a note for her and for Frank, but nothing for me.’

  Rosie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘You mean you read the letters?’ Rosie chastised herself for hoping Tanya had a copy of them. But she knew if she even as much as touched the letters she was crossing the line. Her heart raced as Tanya told her the contents of the letters.

  ‘I send the letter to Tony’s wife,’ Tanya said. ‘I went to the funeral and I saw her with Tony’s children. I knew then that I was nothing. She deserve to have the letter. It is what Tony wanted.’

  Rosie said nothing. ‘But I kept the other letter, the one for Frank Paton. That is what Josef stole. It was in my bag.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Rosie said. ‘Josef has that letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Rosie sat silent, pondering the problem for a moment. There was only one thing a scumbag like Josef would do with that letter. ‘He will use it to blackmail Frank Paton, won’t he, Tanya?’

  Tanya nodded. Rosie rubbed a hand across her forehead and took a deep breath. ‘Tanya,’ she said, ‘this has made things very dangerous. You do know that.’ Tanya looked stricken but said nothing. ‘Why did you steal the letter to Frank?’ Rosie asked. ‘I mean, I can see why you took the one for Tony’s wife, because of the way you felt. But why Frank? Were you going to blackmail him?’

  Tanya shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Rosie. That is the truth. I think maybe I thought of it at the time, I don’t know. I just did it all very quickly, like I was shocked. Then after, I didn’t know what to do with that letter.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Yes, I thought about blackmail, but that was before I took the paper from his office with the names of the refugees. Then I knew that maybe Tony and Frank were doing something bad with refugees, that refugees were going missing.’ She looked at Rosie. ‘I wasn’t going to blackmail Frank, Rosie. I was going to give the letter to you to give to the police. It maybe help proving what they do to these people.’

  ‘It would have certainly helped incriminate Frank Paton, Tanya. That’s for sure. But it’s not there any more, so God knows what will happen to it.’

  They sat in silence, Tanya, sipping her coffee, touching her swollen cheek, Rosie watching her, her heart sinking.

  ‘I wish you’d told me before,’ Rosie said. ‘But right now, that’s not important. What’s important is that you may be in danger. I think we need to talk about going to the police and what you do from here. You need to be protected.’ She looked around the room. ‘I don’t know if you’re safe here. Does anyone else know you live here? Frank Paton?’

  ‘No. Only Josef.’

  ‘That’s dangerous enough.’

  Tanya lit another cigarette and looked directly at Rosie. ‘I have a copy of the letter to Frank,’ she said.

  Rosie hoped her face didn’t show the naked excitement of the reporter she couldn’t help being.

  Tanya got up and went to her bedroom. She returned moments later and handed Rosie the letter.

  Rosie read it, then she read it twice more, knowing she’d crossed the line yet, at the same time, not quite believing her luck.

  ‘But there is a problem, Rosie,’ Tanya said.

  Rosie looked up at her.

  ‘The letter Josef stole was folded up in my bag, but inside it was the business card you gave me.’

  Rosie stood up. ‘The card is gone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tanya said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Shit,’ Rosie said, and a shiver ran down her spine.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was a long time since Rosie had been this watchful as she drove into the car park behind her flat at St George’s Cross. For months, after the night she was dragged out of her house and bundled into the boot of a car by big Jake Cox’s hoodlums, she’d automatically paid close attention to anyone sitting in a car anywhere near the building. For the first few weeks, she’d been totally paranoid and seldom went into her flat at night by herself. If she worked late at the Post, McGuire had insisted that a taxi drive behind her to make sure she got into the building safely. But things moved so quickly in her job that the memory of one hellish night was often replaced by another. After returning from Spain and Morocco, safe only by the skin of her teeth, Rosie had almost forgotten the cold fear of that night they’d come to kill her. And with the memories of Kosovo still fresh in her mind, the terror in Glasgow seemed like a long time ago. But now, as she drove into the deserted car park, she looked over her shoulder as she jumped out of her car and trotted up to her front door.

  Inside her flat, Emir was on his feet and looking terrified when she came through the door.

  ‘It’s okay, Emir.’ Rosie smiled at him. ‘It’s only me.’

  His face was pale, but he looked a lot better than he did last night.

  ‘You okay, Emir?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Rosie. I just wait for you. I did not touch anything.’ His dark eyes softened. ‘I sleep very long.’

  ‘Didn’t you eat anything?’

  Emir shook his head.

  ‘You must be starving,’ Rosie went into the kitchen. ‘Let me make you some lunch.’

  She took some eggs and switched them up in a bowl with milk. As usual, she had very little in her fridge, so she opened a tin of beans and emptied it into a pot. Then she stuck some bread into the toaster.

  ‘Scrambled eggs and beans all right for you?’

  ‘Yes please.’ He smiled. ‘I am hungry, but I did not want to touch anything.’ He looked around. ‘Is very beautiful house, Rosie.’ He walked into the kitchen and stood watching her. ‘You are very kind to let me stay here last night. But after I eat, I should go.’

  Rosie put the scrambled eggs into the microwave and turned to Emir, leaning against the worktop.

  ‘I’m glad to help you Emir, that’s no problem for me. But we have to work out what we are going to do with you. You are a very important witness, and if there are terrible things happening to refugees, then the police will want to talk to you.’

  Emir stiffened a little. ‘Yes. But I am afraid, Rosie.’

  ‘The police will give you protection, Emir. They will investigate your story of what happened to you and your friend, and they will make sure you are safe.’

  Emir shrugged. ‘But maybe they won’t protect me, then what I do?’

  ‘They will, Emir,’ Rosie said. ‘I will make sure they do. Because you’ll be brought to the police by my newspaper, so they will know they cannot put a foot wrong with you – because we’ll be watching. How do you feel about that?’

  He nodded. ‘I will do what you say, Rosie. You are kind. I know you care about people like me.’

  They stood looking at each other, saying nothing. In Emir’s hollow cheeks, Rosie saw a thousand young men just like him, displaced and bewildered. The microwave pinged.

  ‘Right. Now you must eat, Emir.’ She motioned him to the table. ‘And afterwards, I have go to the office and talk to my editor, then I’ll come back and see you. But you should just stay here and relax.’

  He was already sat at the table with a mouthful of scrambled egg. ‘Thank you. I will,’ he mumbled.

  *

  At her desk at the Post, Rosie was going through her emails, conscious that McGuire had just breezed past her without making eye contact.

  ‘Have you two had a lover’s tiff?’ Reynolds was his usual bitter and twisted self.

  ‘Piss off, Reynolds,’ Rosie said, without looking away from her screen.

  ‘What you up to, Rosie?’ He persisted.

  ‘Not much,’ Rosie shrugged, still not looking at him. ‘Bit of digging around.’

  ‘Still looking at the refugee stuff up in the Red Road?’

  Rosie knew she’d have to tal
k to him. She sat back and flicked through her notebook.

  ‘Yeah, I am. Might write a feature on this vigilante stuff. Don’t quite know yet,’ she lied.

  Reynolds rocked back and forth in his chair, and planted his feet up on the desk.

  ‘See that torso in the Clyde last week?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Word is that was a refugee.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye. But it’s taking it a bit far for vigilantes to be cutting arms and legs off, is it not? Apparently someone pulled the lungs out, and the heart. That’s what I heard, but the cops are saying nothing. Even my best detective contacts are keeping it tight as a duck’s arse.’

  Rosie tried to keep her face straight. The only contacts Reynolds had these days were brain-dead alcoholic cops who barely knew what day it was. His best contacts went when the crooked head of the CID, Gavin Fox, and two of his cohorts were brought down after Rosie’s corruption exposé last year. Reynolds had been sneaking around briefing the cops against her all during her investigation, and McGuire never forgave him. He would soon be out the door for good.

  ‘Well, I’m sure if anyone can find out what the cops are hiding, it’s you, Bob.’ As she went back to her screen, the phone on her desk rang. It was Marion.

  ‘You’ve to come through, Rosie.’

  ‘What kind of mood is he in?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Not good.’ Marion whispered. ‘He’s been biting heads off all morning.’

  ‘Oh dear … I’m on my way.’

  *

  Rosie knocked on McGuire’s half-open door and walked in.

  ‘Hi Mick, I’m here,’ she said, feeling a little sheepish.

  He was studying some piece of paper on his desk and didn’t look up. The body language wasn’t encouraging.

  ‘So you are. Sit down, Rosie,’ he said, his eyes still fixed on the paper.

  Rosie sat on the leather chesterfield a few feet away from his desk and fiddled with a pencil. Part of her was braced for a bollocking, but the bigger part of her, the part that always got her into trouble, was ready for a punch-up.

  McGuire took his reading glasses off, sat back and clasped his hands across his stomach. He gave Rosie a look that was trying to be angry, but not quite succeeding. Then he shook his head and sighed.

  ‘Fuck sake, Rosie! What am I going to do with you?’

  ‘Listen, Mick.’ Rosie sat forward. ‘I know what you’re saying. But …’

  He put his hand up to interrupt her. ‘No, Rosie.’ His dark eyebrows knitted together. ‘You listen to me. Just shut that mouth of yours for a minute.’

  Rosie opened her mouth to speak, but swallowed her words, slumping back on the sofa.

  ‘I cannot believe, after everything that’s happened to you, after all the shit you went through last year with these tossers of Jake Cox’s, plus the risks you took in Spain and Morocco, that after all that, you’re still prepared to take fucking stupid decisions.’ He slammed his fist on the desk. ‘And not just stupid, by the way, but decisions that could get you killed. Are you off your fucking nut, woman?’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Mick. But I … I just felt for the guy after what he’d been through. I wanted to get him somewhere he could eat something and get cleaned up after his ordeal – Somewhere safe. I mean, we don’t want to lose this Emir do we? He’s the key to this.’

  ‘No,’ McGuire said, ‘but we don’t want to lose you either, Rosie.’ He looked her in the eye and there was a little pregnant pause before he looked away, shaking his head. ‘Why the hell, if you wanted to get him somewhere safe did you not just book him into a hotel? Why not just phone me and ask me what I think.’ He stood up and came from behind his desk. ‘I am actually the editor, Rosie. I make the decisions around here – not you.’

  ‘You don’t need to say that, Mick. You know I have huge respect for you.’ She folded her arms and turned to him. ‘But I didn’t want to stick him in a hotel in case he’d freak at the first noise in the corridor and run away. The guy’s jangling, Mick. I knew I could keep him safe in my house.’

  ‘And what about the lowlifes who are looking for him? What about the guys who kidnapped him and were about to chop him up and sell his knees and his fingers in the open market? Do you think they’ve just gone back to big Al Howie and said he’s done a runner?’ He shook his head. ‘They’ll be more determined than ever to get him. And what if they had a stroke of luck and traced him back to your flat? Did you think about that, Rosie? You’re not going to get a second chance with these fuckers. You had your chance that night on the Clydeside when your big Bosnian mate rescued you. That ain’t gonna happen again.’ He raised his hands in despair. ‘Can you not see sense? Can you not see the danger signs all over the place?’

  Rosie took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks. ‘Yes, Mick. I see the danger. I’ve got scars to remind me. I’m not fucking stupid. I don’t do this job for a laugh.’

  Silence. McGuire watched her for too long, and Rosie bit her lip to keep back tears that were a mixture of frustration, anger and cold fear – given what Tanya had just told her about her business card being stolen by Josef.

  McGuire seemed to soften. He went back behind his desk put his feet up.

  ‘Right. Okay, Rosie. That’s your bollocking over.’ He looked at her and half raised an eyebrow. ‘I care what happens to you, all right?’

  Rosie smiled, pushing back her hair. She was forgiven.

  ‘Yeah. I love you too.’

  ‘So,’ McGuire said. ‘Give me the full bhoona on what’s going on.’ He raised his index finger. ‘And I mean every cough, spit and fart.’

  Rosie began by telling him Emir’s story of being kidnapped and everything he had seen at the slaughterhouse. She filled him in on the trip to Manchester and what she’d learned about PD Pharmaceuticals. Then she told him about Tanya calling her earlier and everything that had happened in her house.

  ‘Christ, Rosie,’ McGuire said. ‘First things first. This Josef bastard sounds like a right nice guy. You know exactly what he’s going to do with that letter, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course. Blackmail Frank Paton.’

  ‘Yep. Or maybe even try to sell it to a newspaper. Hey, maybe even us.’ McGuire said.

  ‘I wouldn’t hold my breath.’

  ‘Do you think he’s got the wit to go through with the blackmail, if that’s what he’s going to do?’

  ‘Don’t know, Mick. But he’s a bad bastard. He’s been beating Tanya up for a while, and she left him a few weeks ago because he raped her after a drunken beating. That’s the kind of guy he is. Who knows what he’s capable of.’

  Rosie stood up and handed the letter Tanya had given her. ‘Tanya took a copy of Murphy’s letter to Frank Paton,’ Rosie said. ‘She said she had initially thought of blackmailing Paton herself, but after the stuff she’d found in his office about the refugees going missing, she was going to give it to me to try and nail the story down. I think she’s being honest about that.’

  McGuire took the letter and held it away from his body.

  ‘Fuck sake. It’s burning my fingers. This is stolen property.’

  ‘Well. It’s a copy of stolen property.’

  ‘Yeah. Tell that to the High Court judge,’ he said, and read the letter.

  ‘It’s not exactly damning him on any specifics, but at the very least it would make the cops want to ask questions about what Murphy was getting at – the bit telling him they should stop, and see you in hell. You could read anything into that, but you can bet your ass Frank Paton won’t want that letter going anywhere but in the ashtray.’

  ‘Exactly. So we just have to wait to see what happens with that. We have no way of knowing.’

  ‘We could doorstep this Josef bastard. But I don’t know there’s much point.’

  They sat in silence, both trying to work out their next move.

  ‘Mick,’ Rosie said, knowing she was about to light the blue touchpaper. ‘There’s another
problem.’

  ‘Oh Christ, no!’

  ‘Well … When I first talked to Tanya, I gave her my business card so she could get back to me. It was in her bag, inside the letter.’

  ‘Oh, fuck!’ McGuire put his hands to his head. ‘So he’s got that as well?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  McGuire shook his head.

  ‘This is not good, Rosie. Not good at all. This links you into just about everything.’

  ‘I know,’ Rosie said. ‘If the cops get a hold of it, then they know I’ve been trampling around on what should have been their investigation. If anyone else gets a hold of it … well, I’d rather not think about that.’

  McGuire put his pen in his mouth and drew on it as though it were a cigarette.

  ‘I wish I had a fag.’

  ‘You don’t smoke any more.’

  ‘I know, but I want one right now.’

  ‘What about Emir?’ Rosie asked. ‘Is it time to get the cops in? I think it is, and soon. Obviously he can’t stay at my flat for long, but I think I should call my cop mate Don and get them to see Emir. And we have to make sure that he gets protected.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mick said. ‘I don’t think we’ve got an option any more, Rosie. This Emir is too hot to hold onto. Just being around him is a danger for you.’ He paused. ‘But handing him to the cops is going to cause all sorts of shit. They’re going to wonder why we haven’t done it before.’

  ‘We’ll just be economical with the truth,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Hmm …’ McGuire nodded. ‘We also have to think about a story. How we’re going to take it forward without alerting everyone. We need to start thinking about that, Rosie.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I already have. Why don’t I do a general piece on refugees being unaccounted for – given that the Refugee Council told me so many of them just disappear. We can say that in Glasgow alone in the past twelve months several have disappeared. Make it look like they’ve vanished into the black economy, but it might be enough to put the wind up Frank Paton. Maybe do that and see what it flushes out. Plus I’m also digging up as much as I can on this PD Pharmaceuticals mob. There’s loads of cuts in them.’