by Anna Smith
It was late afternoon by the time they rose to say their goodbyes, and Rosie meant it when she said she could easily have stayed on and enjoyed a few more hours in their company. It had been a glimpse at survival, and made her think of war-torn Kosovo she’d left a few months back, where the stricken refugees left homeless had been trying to pick up what was left of their lives. Here was a family who were testament to the fact that you could move on, rebuild and be strong and happy again.
‘Thank you for bringing us to meet your mother and sister, Adrian,’ Rosie said as they drove off. ‘They are lovely people. You are so lucky.’
Adrian nodded. ‘You can see how much it means to my mother to have Fiorina back. I cannot think how she would be if I couldn’t find her in Spain. Now everything is much better for them.’
‘And you, Adrian?’
He shrugged and said nothing as he yanked the car into reverse and turned back onto the road.
CHAPTER 29
Rosie heard her mobile ringing as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. It was McGuire. She glanced at her watch on the bedside table. It wasn’t even 9.30 in Glasgow, so at this time of the morning it could only be trouble.
‘Mick! Howsit going?’ Rosie opened the wooden shutters on her window and sunlight flooded the drab bedroom.
‘You might well ask, Gilmour,’ Mick said. ‘Has Interpol tracked you down yet?’
McGuire sounded chipper. Rosie was confused.
‘Interpol? Why?’
McGuire chuckled. ‘You’re a wanted woman, Rosie. Cops are going nuts about today’s paper. I blasted your interview with Emir all over the front page and inside, plus we ran the list of missing refugees with a big “where are they?” headline. We also made it clear that Paton and Murphy were up to their necks in something. Belter of a paper! I had the head of the CID on the phone before I even got my arse on my chair this morning. They’re more or less demanding to talk to you, said our story has compromised the investigation … demanding to know where we got the list … all that stuff.’
‘Shit,’ Rosie said, bracing herself to be summoned back to Glasgow.
‘I told him to piss off – in the nicest possible way of course – but they’re jumping on their hats, accusing us of withholding information. Especially you, Gilmour. You’re for the jail,’ he chortled. ‘But on the bright side, we’re number one on Sky News and we’ve twisted the nipples of every other paper chasing our story. As days go, it’s shaping up to be a good one.’
‘Sounds crazy, Mick.’ Rosie was glad she was far enough away from the flak – especially flak from angry cops.
‘Yeah, you’re well out of it. I told them you were out of town on an investigation. I said you were incommunicado and would be for a week at least.’
‘Oh, they’d love that.’
‘I think they’re gearing up to make a lot of trouble. I’ve got Hanlon coming in here this morning so we can circle the wagons. I hope I don’t end up in the pokey.’ McGuire was clearly relishing the moment.
‘So what happens now?’ Rosie asked. ‘I mean they don’t know where I am, so I just keep on going, right?’
‘Yep. Just carry on. Are you in Belgrade yet?’
‘No. Going up there today, but it could take a few days before we get anywhere close to this guy. It’s going to be a bit dodgy. But when we get what we want, it will be in and out. We won’t be hanging about.’
There was a pause, and Rosie knew what was coming next.
‘Rosie, listen. I want us to get this Raznatovic bastard. Get a live picture of him, and the other guy if possible – but not at any cost. Am I making myself crystal clear?’ McGuire’s tone changed.
‘Yes, I know, Mick. I won’t do anything daft. My friend Adrian and his people are looking after us. I’ll be safe enough.’
Another pause. ‘Fine. But any sign of big problems, I want you out of there pronto. Understood? Plus at some stage you need to sit down and write everything you have about this PD Pharmaceuticals, and that side of the story. I want to be ready to go with the pictures Matt took inside the slaughterhouse, linking them to the illegal tissue trade – just in case we have to run it before you get back.’
‘You mean in case you have to run it and I’m not there because I’ve been shot.’ Rosie joked.
‘Don’t even talk that way, Gilmour. No, listen. Even if we can’t say PD were part of it, we just have to say what we saw in the place and the stuff going to Manchester, then link back to the earlier stuff in Germany. We can be vague about it. That’s going to take a bit of legalling, but I want to do it. Especially now, because the cops are so raging they might take some legal action to try and stop us using anything. I want to be ready.’
‘Do you think there’s political pressure being put on the police because of that ex-Environment Secretary’s involvement – and they just want to close the investigation down?’
‘Oh, yeah, they’ll certainly want to close the investigation down, but that ain’t gonna happen any time soon. Trust me on that.’ He paused. ‘Now get to Belgrade and keep your head down.’
‘I will, Mick.’
*
Rosie sat sipping tea in the pavement cafe, close to the small hotel in the ancient town of Olovo where they’d stayed last night. It would be another hour before Adrian and his friend Risto would arrive to drive them to Belgrade. She opened her notebook and went over the information the German reporter had given her on the phone about PD Pharmaceuticals before she left. She’d write the piece when she got to her hotel in Belgrade later tonight, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her head kept drifting back to last night, and the dinner with Adrian and Risto.
It seemed that Adrian knew everyone in the town, and wherever he went he was greeted with handshakes or a friendly slap on the back. He introduced Rosie and Matt as friends he’d met when he was in Scotland, so they were made even more welcome. Rosie was struck by the openness of the locals and could hardly get her head around their resilience after everything they’d been through in the war. Olovo had been one of the main targets of relentless bombardment by the Serbs and now, nearly five years on, some of the buildings still lay in rubble, while others carried pockmarks from the shelling during the march of the Serbian army towards Tuzla in the north.
Before dinner they were joined by Adrian’s friend Risto, a thin, softly spoken man who looked to be in his early thirties, with the same pale and world-weary look that Adrian had. He’d been a teacher before the war, he told them in perfect English, but by the time it was over so much had happened that he had lost the heart to go back to it.
They all drank a lot of wine at the table, and on top of the beers at the start of the night, Rosie was beginning to feel more relaxed than she’d been all week.
‘Once we get to Belgrade,’ Adrian said, ‘Risto will be your bodyguard any time I have to go to see people in the city. So you won’t be on your own. He will be outside your hotel all the time and will keep in touch with you by phone.’ He patted Risto’s arm. ‘We are old comrades, from our schooldays, until we had to carry a rifle here in this village.’
Risto did his best to smile.
‘You will be safe with us.’ Risto looked at Rosie and Matt. ‘I know what you are trying to do here, and we will help you every way we can to find the Serb.’ His expression grew dark. ‘I wish I could get close enough to him myself. I would kill him with my bare hands.’ He made a wringing gesture with his hands.
Adrian went to the bar and brought back a bottle of what looked like vodka and some shot-glasses. ‘Now we drink,’ he said, filling each glass. ‘To justice.’
Everyone raised a glass. Rosie and Matt sniffed the drink suspiciously, but refusal wasn’t an option. They knocked it back in one and Rosie felt it burn all the way down to her stomach.
‘Strong stuff.’ She blew her cheeks out.
‘Is very pure vodka. Is better than the coffee, Matt, no?’ Adrian clinked his empty glass with Matt, whose eyes were watering.
&n
bsp; They had one more, and then sat smoking while Risto told his story.
‘It was just over one year after the war began,’ he said. ‘Most of us were still in shock. All of a sudden, neighbours, friends – people we had worked with and known for years – were our enemies.’ He glanced at Adrian, who nodded back in agreement.
Risto went on. ‘Even now, when we look back, we can still hardly believe what happened to our country. We were being attacked by people we used to know. Terrible … So, like every other young man, we take up arms and fight to defend our villages and our families. We are all fighting together – Adrian, me, my brothers, all of the people we grew up with all along this area.’
He looked down at the table, reliving the nightmare.
‘We hear stories of brutality, of murder and rape by Serb soldiers. And of massacres. But we almost don’t believe them. Then in June it comes to our own door.’ He sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. ‘The Serb soldiers were transporting buses with people from villages around Visegrad, not very far from here. They were just beating and removing them from their homes and declaring it a Serb area. My brother was one of those people forced on the bus. They were bringing them here, to Olovo.’
Rosie watched him, his pale blue-eyes looking straight back at her.
‘But before they got here, they stopped nearby to the area of Paklenik. They took around fifty men from the buses and put them on one bus. And everyone spent the night in a local town. But the next morning, they took the bus filled with the men and drove them to Paklenik. It is a place with a huge, deep gorge. At the edge there is a path leading to a big ravine in the mountains. So deep, you cannot imagine. It is a famous place here, and is known now as Hell.’
Risto paused, swallowed hard and bit his lip. He looked at Adrian, who reached across the table and squeezed his arm.
‘Every one of the men, including my own brother, was executed and thrown into the ravine. We never …’
He stopped to compose himself, rubbing his hand across his trembling mouth. The rawness of his pain filled the room. Eventually he spoke again.
‘We never got the chance to bury our dead brothers, or our fathers and sons. They took them from us and we never saw them again. Their bodies still lie there.’ He slammed his fist on the table. ‘Raznatovic was one of those soldiers. He was a captain, who commanded a section of the soldiers who took part in this atrocity.’
Rosie gave Adrian a look of surprise.
‘We know this for sure, Rosie,’ Adrian said. ‘We have looked at Raznatovic and all the men responsible. There are several others and the Serb government knows their names, but nobody knows where they are. None of the soldiers who were part of this massacre have ever been found. They are all disappeared. But now, Raznatovic is back. That is his mistake.’ He paused. ‘And we know how to find him.’
They sat quietly for a while. Rosie felt anything she could say would be trite, so she said nothing. Eventually, it was Adrian who spoke.
‘On our way to Belgrade tomorrow, we will take you there, so you can see this Paklenik hell for yourself, Rosie.’
*
Now, as she waited at the cafe for Matt and Adrian, Rosie looked around at the bustling town all these years on. She wondered just how many of the people were carrying around the same inner agonies and pain as Risto did every day. Yet it hadn’t broken them. She thought of Emir and swallowed back the tears. He was just like these people. He had asked for nothing and harmed no one.
A rush of nerves tweaked Rosie’s gut as the reality of what lay ahead of her in the next few days sank in. She was more scared than she’d been in a very long time. And she was ashamed to admit to herself that a significant part of her wanted to run away, back to the safety of Glasgow, and just write what she already had. Make do with it. Raznatovic was only one of the many Serb brutes who had taken part in those heinous atrocities. Why risk her life for one man? But the stronger voice inside her would not be silenced: to help bring one of these beasts to justice would make at least some amends to the poor innocent souls whose bodies lay rotting at the bottom of Paklenik gorge.
CHAPTER 30
Rosie waited for Gerhard Hoffman at the cafe closest to their hotel in the heart of Belgrade’s Old Town. She looked intently at the faces of the people strolling in the busy main square, hoping she would recognise him from his old byline picture in the German newspaper.
The call had come soon after she’d arrived in the city and was about to go for dinner. She’d been taken aback to find that Gerhard was also in Belgrade, and Adrian had been immediately suspicious, suggesting he may be double-crossing her, but Rosie trusted her instinct. She told Adrian that Gerhard had said the reason he’d come to Belgrade was because one of his contacts had crucial information for him – information, he’d said, that she would want. That was enough for her.
‘Rosie?’
The voice from behind made her jump. She turned around to face the short, stocky figure standing looking down at her.
‘Rosie Gilmour? Gerhard Hoffman.’ Piercing blue eyes flicked across her face. ‘I recognise you from the picture in your newspaper. I was across the street watching.’
‘Gerhard!’ Rosie pushed her chair back. ‘How are you?’ She smiled. ‘How amazing we’re both in Belgrade at the same time.’
The waiter appeared and Gerhard ordered a coffee for himself, and Rosie asked for more tea. He sat down and pulled his chair close to the table.
‘You are not alone here, I trust?’ He was watchful, eyes everywhere.
‘No,’ Rosie said. ‘A couple of tables behind you is the photographer I’m working with, as well as two other contacts who are looking after me here.’
‘They are not Serbian, I hope?’ He almost smiled, but not quite.
‘No.’ Rosie didn’t see the need to tell him who they were.
He turned his head around in the direction of where Matt, Risto and Adrian sat sipping beers.
‘I see them.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I hope they are on the ball and taking good care of you, Rosie. This city is very beautiful, but these days can also be dangerous.’
‘Especially for someone who’s doing what we are doing, Gerhard,’ Rosie replied.
The waiter arrived and put the cups down on the table. There was a little awkward moment when Rosie wondered if she should take the lead or let Gerhard talk. He stirred his coffee as though he were deep in thought. Finally it was he who spoke.
‘I think what you and your newspaper are doing is very brave. I will help as much as I can.’ He paused, drank a mouthful of coffee. ‘These people are monsters.’
Rosie noticed the cup trembled a little. She was anxious to hear what information he had for her, but something in his demeanour told her he was troubled. She would have to let him talk.
He had a kind of crumpled, unkempt look, a raw, pink complexion with broken veins on his cheeks and heavy bags under the striking eyes. She couldn’t put an exact age on him because what little hair he had was grey, but Rosie figured he wasn’t as old as he looked. He’d been a boozer in his day, that much she was sure of, and she hoped the tremor in his hand wasn’t for the want of a drink. The last thing she needed right now was a careless lush with a grudge.
‘Not only are they monsters, Gerhard, but they are monsters who should have been in jail by now, after your incredible investigation,’ Rosie said. She wasn’t just buttering him up – she meant it. ‘I was totally fascinated when I read your story about the company attached to PD Pharmaceuticals, then when I looked through the cuttings and saw the apology it was such a disappointment.’ She shook her head and looked him in the eye. ‘It’s shocking that the paper didn’t have the courage to pursue them.’
Gerhard nodded. ‘They got away with it because they are powerful.’ He looked at Rosie, then at the table. ‘And, of course, they ruined my reputation as a journalist. Nobody trusts me fully any more. I am more or less finished in newspapers.’ He clenched his fist in front of him. ‘But I know I wa
s right. One hundred per cent – as I told you on the phone.’
The awkward silence again. He took a deep breath.
‘But I will be honest with you, Rosie.’ He ran a hand nervously across his mouth. ‘I had a drink problem back then. Well, I suppose as an alcoholic, I will always have a drink problem. But I haven’t had a drink for four years.’
Rosie felt a little deflated. She sympathised with him, but he wasn’t saying the right things to fill her with confidence.
‘When I began the investigation,’ he continued, ‘I had just returned to work after being off – being in rehab. I was grateful to the newspaper for sticking with me. Then within a few weeks, this story came along and it just became massive, the deeper my investigation went. Suddenly we are exposing a major pharmaceutical giant for being involved in the illegal tissue trade worldwide.’
‘So what happened?’ Rosie asked.
‘Well, once we published, the denials came thick and fast. There were the legal threats, and then the smear campaign by PD’s lawyers, who were delving into my history and came up with the alcohol problem. They were intending to drag that into court, saying I wasn’t credible as a journalist, but the drink problem should not have been a factor. It hasn’t been a factor in my life for years, but it was used against me.’
‘So the paper just buckled?’
‘Yes. They didn’t believe they could win it. Our paper’s lawyers advised them to settle, and they did. That was when I left, as a matter of principle. But I have never stopped hunting them down.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Since my story, other people came forward with information about the illegal trade in tissue, and how widespread it is – from Ukraine to Latvia and beyond, all across Eastern Europe, it is a web of corruption. But it is also huge all over the world.’ He looked at Rosie. ‘And also, these days, organised criminals are heavily involved.’