A Cold Killing (Rosie Gilmour)

by Smith, Anna

  Her mind drifted to Adrian and Bosnia, and she scrolled down her contacts list on her mobile and stopped on his name. She’d love to phone him right now and tell him what had happened with the nutcase who ran her off the road. She knew if she asked for his help he’d be over in a heartbeat. But she held back. She hadn’t heard from him in over a week, and it niggled – even though she’d convinced herself she wasn’t involved with him. Adrian was different. Emails and phone calls weren’t his style. But things had changed between them now, because of the reckless moment in Sarajevo when a simple brush of each other’s arms on the way back to her hotel room had unleashed a fire. They had fallen into the night together. She sighed, shaking her head. And as she did she saw a striking woman come through the swing doors and stand confidently, scanning the room. This could be her. Rosie made eye contact as the woman looked in her direction, and she strode across to her table.

  ‘Rosie?’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

  ‘Yep.’ Rosie motioned her to sit down and called a waitress.

  ‘Gin and tonic,’ the woman said, giving the waitress a sideways glance.

  ‘Two.’ Rosie handed over the empty glass of lime and soda she’d been drinking. She had the feeling this encounter would call for a couple of drinks.

  The woman tossed her hair back and took a cigarette out of a packet, offering one to Rosie, who declined. She watched as she lit up. Roddy Thompson wasn’t wrong when he said that Ruby was her mother’s double and that her mother had looked like screen goddess. She was all razor-sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes that darted around the room, part trapped animal, part disdain. Then she looked straight at Rosie as though waiting for her to speak.

  ‘I know who you are.’ Rosie held her stare.

  It was risky to barge right in, but this blade had an air about her that if you didn’t get in first you’d be forever on the back foot.

  Silence. She took another drag of her cigarette and blew it upwards out of the side of her mouth.

  ‘Yeah?’

  The look was defiant, but Rosie caught just a glint of fear somewhere behind the eyes.

  ‘Ruby . . . You’re Ruby Reilly.’ Rosie didn’t take her eyes off her.

  Silence. The mask wasn’t exactly slipping, but it had moved a little. She blinked, glanced down at the table.

  ‘Fuck’s sake!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘Don’t worry. Nobody else knows. Nobody will know.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Rosie reached across and put her hand out. ‘Pleased to meet you, Ruby.’

  ‘Aye.’ Ruby shook her hand. A reluctant smile, somewhere between disbelief and defeat, spread across her face. ‘Tell me now. How did you know?’

  The waitress arrived at Ruby’s shoulder and put the drinks down in front of them. She lifted her glass, swirled the ice around and nodded a cheers before taking a huge gulp. Rosie felt like doing the same but kept herself to a sip. She ignored Ruby’s question and let the silence last three beats.

  ‘What were you doing in that café in King’s Cross that day?’

  Ruby glared at Rosie.

  ‘I sure as fuck wasn’t there to kill anybody, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘I’m not. But I’m curious. Well, actually, everyone’s curious to know why you bailed out before the cops came.’ Rosie leaned across, her elbows on the table, so their heads were close. ‘What were you running from?’

  Ruby took another swig of her drink and put the glass down.

  ‘The cops,’ she said, deadpan. ‘But I’m sure you’ve worked that out for yourself.’ She took another puff of her cigarette. ‘But listen to me, Rosie. I’ve got nothing to do with that fucking shooting, and those big Russian bastards who blew that old guy’s brains all over the wall. If you have any suspicions in that direction then say it now and I’m straight out of here. Right fucking now.’

  ‘That’s not what I think.’

  ‘Well, your paper, and that other bloody one, the Sun, are printing all this shite about the mystery fucking Scots bird who may be involved. I mean, fuck me! That fuckwit waitress giving interviews, just making things up as she goes along. I should have punched her over the table while I was in there at the time. Arrogant wee bitch. I even read somewhere that she said she twigged I was with the guys earlier on . . . that I was giving them a signal. What a load of fucking shite!’ She snorted, full, soft lips and a dimple on one cheek as she almost smiled. ‘It’d be laughable, if it wasn’t so serious.’

  Rosie couldn’t help smiling. She put her hand up.

  ‘I know, Ruby. That was in the Daily Star. We didn’t print it, though we had the story from some freelancer. But to be fair, we haven’t said anything about your involvement, or even hinted at it.’ Rosie paused to make sure Ruby had registered that. ‘I don’t think that’s why you were in the café. But where were you coming from?’

  Ruby looked over Rosie’s shoulder, her eyes hard as she bit the inside of her jaw. She was edgy, angry and definitely scared. But there was a whiff of danger about her, and she would fight like a man if she had to. Rosie liked that.

  ‘I was on the Eurostar. I came from France. Well, Spain, actually.’ She stopped and sat back. ‘But before I say any more, what’s your angle with me? What do you want from me? Why did you want to meet me?’

  ‘You called me, Ruby. Remember?’ Rosie threw it right back at her.

  ‘I know I did.’ She fiddled nervously with her cigarette packet, opening and closing it, tapping it on the table. ‘Because the more crap that goes into the papers about this mystery fucking Scot who may be at the centre of the murder, the more the cops are going to look for me.’ She raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. ‘And that, I don’t need. Believe me. I felt sorry for that poor guy lying there that morning, and his pal in a right state. Weeping all over the place. And now he’s dead, too. I mean, what the fuck’s going on? That’s why I phoned you earlier . . . when I saw that in the news. Something’s going on.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Yeah. You’re right. Something is going on.’ She put a hand up. ‘And maybe we can talk about that . . . But tell me this first . . . Where in Spain were you coming from?’

  She knew she was pushing her luck. Ruby could blow up and storm out of the bar if she’d something to hide, or if she even suspected that Rosie knew about her history. But there was something about her look, plus the fact that it was Ruby who was the one doing all the phoning. She didn’t sense badness in her. Just a wild, primal survival instinct and, somewhere, a vulnerability that she was trying her best to conceal. Rosie was a past master at that.

  A blush rose on Ruby’s cheekbones. Her lips tightened and she touched her neck, pulling her scarf up a little as though she felt exposed.

  ‘Why are you asking that?’

  ‘Gut instinct.’ Rosie took a breath and waited a second. ‘Ruby, I know what happened to your mother . . . Jackie. I know what Rab Jackson did to her. And Malky Cameron. I know what they did to your sis—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’ Ruby’s eyes hardened and she swallowed. ‘Don’t go there. Right?’

  ‘Okay.’ Rosie nodded. ‘Were you working in Spain?’

  ‘Look, Rosie, cut the crap. You obviously know more about me than I do, so what’s going on?’

  ‘Okay,’ Rosie said. ‘I have information that you were working with Rab Jackson.’

  Silence.

  ‘What information?’

  ‘Well, not working, that’s not quite accurate. But you were seen with him. On the Costa del Sol.’

  ‘Who by?’

  ‘Cops.’

  ‘Fuck me, fucking gently!’

  ‘It’s okay. You were only seen in his company. It was part of an international covert operation around eighteen months ago, and your face came up in the picture. A snitch ID’d you as Ruby Reilly. But that was all. Nothing else. Then, in King’s Cross, when you left the restaurant, you were se
en on CCTV.’

  ‘Fuck! So they know who I am?’

  ‘They’re not sure. Somebody spotted the CCTV and, when they fed it in, you came up on the earlier operation. They tracked you going onto the Eurostar, but not as Ruby Reilly.’

  Ruby tensed up.

  ‘Christ! So tell me one thing. Are they closing in on me? Look. I know you don’t owe me anything, but you could tell me that. If you do, you can use my story as “the woman in the café” telling what I saw, but I want to remain anonymous.’ Rosie could sense her panic.

  ‘I’m not here to do deals like that. But no. They’re not closing in. I don’t think you’re that important to them, actually. But I’m interested in you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m also working on the story of the murder of those two vicious bastards Jackson and Cameron.’ She paused, studying Ruby for her reaction. ‘Only somebody with a thirst for retribution and real balls could do it. I was looking into the story and your name came up.’

  ‘Christ almighty! Now you’re saying I’m a killer? Any amount of people could have cause to do them in.’

  ‘Yeah. But they wouldn’t. Cops say people would be too scared to touch them. They’re still protected by their lowlife cronies here and abroad.’

  ‘So you think I did it?’ She snorted. ‘How many murders do you think I’ve been involved in? The King’s Cross murder, his pal Hawkins, Jackson and Cameron? Hey. How about the Bible fucking John murders? They never got anyone for that.’ She shook her head, incredulous.

  ‘Before your time, Bible John,’ Rosie joked, hoping to lighten things up. ‘Calm down, Ruby. I’m not talking to anyone about you. There are no cops about to march through the door and huckle you. I’m just looking to work on the story of Cameron and Jackson. And anything else you can help with.’

  Silence.

  ‘Okay.’ Ruby swallowed. ‘I do know something about that murder in London. At least I think I do. I’ve only just found out. That name I gave you when I first called – J B Solutions? That was from a piece of paper I found on the table after the big Russian guys left. I picked it up. Don’t ask me why. Curiosity. Instinct. I’ve been funny that way all my life. But I couldn’t believe it when I checked them out. I know who they are. I know them. I know who the owner is.’

  Rosie felt a little dam burst in her head. At last. A breakthrough.

  ‘Yeah? Jesus, Ruby! It took you long enough to come out with that.’

  ‘Aye, well, I just wanted to see what you knew.’ She leaned forward. ‘I don’t want to talk about Cameron and Jackson. They’re history. End of. So don’t go there. Or about my sister. But I can help you with that stuff, about the company.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘And other things, too. But I need some guarantees.’

  ‘What guarantees?’

  ‘I’m not working with the cops. I don’t trust them.’

  ‘Roddy Thompson.’ Rosie threw in the name just to see what happened.

  Nothing.

  ‘Who?’

  She was either a good liar or had no idea who he was.

  ‘Never mind,’ Rosie said. ‘Look, I won’t be working with cops, but I’d like to nail this J B Solutions company. I have information. You’ll see the paper tomorrow. Tom Mahoney was about to blow the whistle on a lot of things. He was a spy.’

  ‘A spy? Christ!’

  ‘And he knew things about J B Solutions and their dealings. They supplied arms to UK cops and to the army.’

  ‘I know. And to half the fucking villains from here to London and Spain.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘I need to know how. I mean, how would you know that?’

  ‘Because I’m a fucking accountant. All right?’

  Rosie looked at her. Ruby Reilly. The frightened little girl she was on a desperate night a lifetime ago is not who she is now. She was a class act.

  The second drink arrived and Ruby took a long slug.

  ‘I’ll help you, Rosie. Okay? I’ll put my trust in you. Because the truth is, I don’t have a lot of options in my life right now. But I’ve been places in my head you won’t believe. I’m not normal. I was brought up in a children’s home, with all the shite that involves. I’ve looked after my sister for the last five years while I’ve moved around the world doing what I do.’

  ‘And what exactly is it that you do?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. But I had to find a safe place for my sister. Every fucker thinks she’s dead, and that’s how I wanted it to stay. Except today I found out that’s not the case, and it’s a problem for me. I have to take action. My sister is my biggest secret – the most important one. I’d have given up years ago if it weren’t for her needing me. She’s . . . she’s the only person in the world who’s ever needed me.’ Her eyes moistened a little and she blinked twice.

  Rosie watched her. The front was beginning to crumble a little. Not a lot, but enough to know that behind the mask was an abandoned, angry, driven child. Rosie knew how that felt.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Rosie said. ‘More than you can imagine.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Driving past her local newsagent’s on the way to the office, Rosie spotted the Post’s billboard: ‘SHOT PROF WAS SOVIET SPY’ the headline screamed in bold black letters. The slick marketing boys didn’t mess about. The Post would be flying off the shelves. She hadn’t gone back to the office after yesterday’s early-evening drama in Ayrshire, despite McGuire telling her he wanted to see her. Matt had been dispatched, along with the AA, to get her car out of the ditch in Ayrshire and bring her back. To everyone’s surprise, the damage was minimal and the car still drivable. Back on the road, she and Matt had stopped at a café, where she’d told him he would be getting pulled into the story in the next day or so, once they had worked out the next move. She gave him only the basics but, as usual, he was choking to get involved.

  *

  ‘Where are you, Rosie? He’s looking for you.’ It was Marion on the phone.

  ‘In the car park. I’ll be there in two minutes.’ Rosie was already heading for the revolving doors at the Post’s entrance.

  She stretched her arms above her head, wincing at the pain in her back from the crash.

  ‘Shagger’s back?’ Jean grinned at reception as she walked in.

  ‘I wish.’ Rosie smiled.

  Declan glanced up from his screen as she put her bag on the desk opposite his.

  ‘Some splash in the paper today, Rosie.’ Then he noticed her limping. ‘What’s happened to you? Swinging from the chandeliers again?’

  ‘Christ. Everyone’s a comedian.’ She stretched her neck. ‘Bit of a crash last night, early on. Car skidded into a ditch. Yes, I’m glad to be alive. You can quote me on that.’ She winked over her shoulder as she walked towards the editor’s office.

  ‘Wait till you hear this, Mick,’ she said, limping into his office. ‘You’re going to love it.’

  He peered over the top of his reading glasses.

  ‘Don’t give me your bullshit, Gilmour. What the fuck?’ He took off his glasses, cocked his head to watch her limp. ‘And don’t try for the sympathy vote. Explain.’

  ‘I will . . . in a minute.’ Rosie sat down delicately on the sofa. ‘But first . . . I met Ruby Reilly last night.’

  His expression changed.

  ‘Seriously?’ He sat back, folded his arms. ‘She got in touch again?’

  ‘Yep. Just as my car hit the ditch – and I realized I wasn’t actually dead . . . my mobile rang and it was her. I met her later in a pub in Ashton Lane. That’s why I couldn’t come in last night to see you.’ She gave a little sarcastic smile. ‘I knew you would understand.’

  ‘Aye, fine. But what the fuck were you doing down in Ayrshire? You know I like to be kept informed of where you’re going. I can’t seem to get that drummed inside that bloody head of yours! I mean, you could have ended up dead in some ditch, and the last place I would
have looked for you would be fucking Kilmaurs.’

  ‘I know. Sorry. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘Yes it bloody will. I’m going to tag you. I’m telling you, I will.’ He gave her a look; part reproach, part affection. ‘Right. So where were you?’ He took a sip of his coffee. ‘Oh. And great stuff this morning, incidentally. None of the other papers was anywhere near us. The bastards just lifted the story once our front page hit the streets . . . But I’m expecting some heat to come our way from the cops or the MoD. Fuck them. Let’s see where we go from here first.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ll explain the Ayrshire run first.’

  Rosie told him about the tip from Humphy Boyd, and he shook his head in disbelief as she regaled him with the story of the monkey diving around the living room.

  ‘You’re fucking joking! A monkey! Did you have Matt with you for a pic?’

  ‘No. I was on my own. We can’t use Humphy anyway. He was just giving us the info. He’s got to stay out of it. But his information was solid. So I drove straight down to Ayrshire.’

  McGuire listened as she told him of her meeting with the retired DCI Roddy Thompson.

  ‘And it was after I left his house that someone forced me off the road.’

  ‘So who did it? Why would anyone do that, and who knew you were in Ayrshire? I didn’t even know, and I’m the fucking editor.’

  Rosie shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s what worries me. Like you, I’m sure Hawkins was murdered, but there’ll be no way of proving it. So maybe whoever did that saw me going into his house a couple of times. That’s my thinking and, to tell you the truth, it gives me the bloody creeps.’

  McGuire steepled his hands under his chin.

  ‘We’re going to have to be ultra-careful here. At least with normal villains you can almost see it coming, but this is different.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, never mind. We can’t sit here fretting about that. I’ve got more to tell you.’