by Smith, Anna
‘Never thought you were. But I need to get some inroad into this guy and blow the whole thing.’ She paused. ‘Would you be willing to help us on that? If we set something up?’
‘Like what?’
‘I’ll tell you more once I work it all out. But we would be undercover.’
‘Not me, though.’
‘No. But you could maybe help if Tony gives you any information.’
‘Sure. If I can.’ She looked Rosie in the eye. ‘But I want something in return. Are you working with the cops?’
‘Not yet. I know they’ll want to talk to us after this morning’s story in the Post. The editor has still got to see them, then we’ll decide what to do.’
‘I don’t want to work with the cops. Because once this is over I’m out of here for a while. Maybe for ever. With Judy.’
They sat quietly.
‘But can you do that with her? Is she okay to travel the way she is?’
‘Yeah. I’ll go to France. I have a place there. I can look after her. I’ve already looked into it.’
‘You have money?’
Ruby looked at her and stubbed out her cigarette on the grass.
‘I have money.’ Her eyes smiled a little. ‘I’m the accountant. I don’t have to worry about money.’
The trees rustled as the wind rose. Ruby looked at her watch.
‘I’m going to have to take Judy back up. She gets her dinner at five. We eat together . . . I have to help her . . . then I’ll stay here till she’s asleep.’
‘Okay.’ Rosie stood up. ‘But I’ll be in touch. And I appreciate your help.’ They shook hands. ‘I’ll give you a call when I know more.’
‘Likewise,’ Ruby said, getting behind her sister’s wheelchair.
Rosie bent down.
‘Good to meet you, Judy.’
Judy’s blank gaze seemed to veer slowly away from the lake, and she made a slight turn of her head. Her eyes didn’t smile or show any emotion, but for a fleeting second they looked straight at Rosie. She was in there. Somewhere.
Chapter Nineteen
McGuire was in rant mode, pacing around his office as Rosie’s eyes followed him from the sofa.
He turned to her, rolling up his sleeves. ‘I’m not in the mood to take any crap from these guys.’
‘Me neither. Did they give any indication on the phone of what’s going on?’
‘Nope. I only had a brief word with the boss man. Chief Superintendent Boswell-Smith. A pretty fancy name for a plod.’
‘Special Branch plod, though, Mick. Some of them are a bit top drawer. If he’s that high up the chain, he’ll have seen a bit of action in the field.’
‘Well, he’ll not be throwing his weight around here.’ He folded his arms. ‘What about Mahoney’s dossier? Have you got it all sorted?’
‘Yes. All copied twice and hidden away. I took everything I gave you, just in case they ask you for any paperwork . . . In case they have a search warrant.’
‘There was no sign of that from the brief phone call. They said they just want a chat about our front page.’
‘Well,’ Rosie said, ‘I’m deeply suspicious of them anyway. It was probably them who bumped off Hawkins. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it was them who ran me off the road in Kilmaurs. I’m not just being paranoid, but there’s some dark stuff going on.’
McGuire’s phone rang and he picked it up.
‘Send them in, Marion.’ He turned to Rosie, squaring his shoulders. ‘So, here’s your chance to ask if they did Hawkins in and made you crash.’ He gave her a mischievous grin.
‘I might just do that.’
Rosie always felt intimidated when police came marching in on an investigation, because it was never to tell her to keep up the good work. Far from it. In the past when they’d pitched up at the Post it had been an attempt to monster her, push her for her information source or make her hand over evidence. It usually ended with a bad-tempered senior cop storming out, threatening repercussions.
A knock on the door, and Marion appeared ahead of two men then backed out. ‘Hello, Mr McGuire.’ The big man in the blue pinstripe suit stretched out a hand. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see us. Chief Superintendent James Boswell-Smith.’
He didn’t sound as though he had picked up those clipped tones pounding the beat in London’s East End, and he looked more like a politician than a detective.
‘Not at all.’ McGuire shook his hand. ‘Always ready to help out Her Majesty’s finest.’
His expression said the opposite.
‘And this is Captain Martin Banks.’ The superintendent gestured towards his colleague.
‘Captain?’ McGuire raised his eyebrows. ‘Have we sent for the troops already?’
Nobody moved for an awkward moment, then McGuire went on. ‘And this is Rosie Gilmour, my Investigations Editor, and all-round top operator.’ McGuire had a glint in his eye, and added cheekily, ‘She’s even been known to noise up the cops from time to time . . . so you’ll want to watch her.’
‘How are you doing, chaps? Welcome to Glasgow.’ Rosie smiled at the big cop as she shook his hand, but her eyes were drawn to the captain.
He was all chisel-jawed and rugged good looks, with close-cropped hair and a broken nose. He looked like the kind of guy you’d want on your side if you had to fight your way out of trouble. His icy blue eyes locked with Rosie’s, and she hoped she didn’t look as impressed as she felt.
‘So’ – McGuire motioned them towards his conference table – ‘take a seat.’ He turned to the captain. ‘I’m a little confused here. Are you army?’
The captain opened his mouth to speak, but Boswell-Smith intervened.
‘Yes, he is. Captain Banks has been seconded from Hereford to the MoD investigation.’ He tugged at the cuffs of his white shirt as he sat down. ‘On occasion in the international fight against organized crime, all forces come together. It’s not a fact that we shout from the rooftops – but it does happen.’
‘I see.’ McGuire shot Rosie a look.
Hereford meant the SAS, and if they were bringing them in then something serious had gone down. If it came to a fist fight over Mahoney’s documents, she wouldn’t mind if the captain wrestled her to the ground.
‘So, Superintendent’ – McGuire took a breath – ‘what can we do for you here?’
Boswell-Smith cleared his throat.
‘Your story in the newspaper yesterday . . . About Tom Mahoney the university lecturer being a spy.’ He clasped his hands on the desk. ‘We’re very interested in that.’
‘Yes.’ McGuire nodded. ‘So are we . . . and our army of readers.’ He waited.
‘So . . . er . . . what is that allegation based on?’ He looked at Rosie inquisitively. ‘I’m aware you’ll not want to reveal your sources. But do you have actual evidence to back that up?’
‘It came from documented evidence,’ Rosie said. ‘From information that Tom Mahoney had given in writing. Before his . . . er . . . murder.’ She wanted to say ‘execution’, but thought better of it.
‘You mean a written testament from Tom Mahoney? And do you have that in your possession?’
‘No. I don’t, actually,’ she said quickly. ‘It was shown to me by a contact. And I don’t have access to that information any more. I took notes from it at the time but I don’t have the documents.’ She hoped the lie wasn’t written on her face. ‘And I don’t have access to that contact either.’
‘So you don’t have a contact you can go back to? Even if you want to check your facts again?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s dead.’
The silence hung over them, and Rosie crossed her legs and sat back, clicking her pen. She was conscious of the captain watching her.
‘Can you say who the contact is?’
Rosie caught McGuire’s eye, then looked at the cop.
‘I don’t really think I have to tell you that, Superintendent. I’m sure you already know.’
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Again, the silence, Rosie holding her nerve.
McGuire gave an impatient puff.
‘Look, chaps. Let’s cut to the chase here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got an editorial conference in fifteen minutes. What exactly do you want from us? Do you want us to help you with your investigation? Because if you do, then we may be in a position to do that, but that will depend on how you want to play this.’ He turned to Rosie.
‘Rosie. Tell the chief super a bit of what you’ve been told happened in Berlin.’
Rosie was a little surprised that McGuire was going in boots first.
‘Okay.’ She sat forward, leaning her elbows on the table. ‘I have good, solid information that Mahoney was a spy, or had been many years ago, as our story says. But apparently he was also working for MI6 over the years, and lately was used in the international fight against crime. He was part of an operation – a sting operation – in Berlin, to bust open a crooked illegal arms deal with a UK operator and Russian mobsters.’ She paused for effect, feeling confident. ‘How am I doing so far, Superintendent?’
He said nothing but Rosie saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. She continued.
‘Now, for some reason – I don’t know why – the sting went wrong and a Russian woman was caught in the crossfire. Her name was Katya.’ She paused again, raising her eyebrows. ‘I’m also told that the police – the joint international operation – also took a prisoner. One Derek . . . Del.’ Their faces were blank. ‘Well. He’s gone missing. That much we know. And he was definitely in on that arms deal, working for UK gangsters. So, at the moment, I’m trying to establish more about the man behind the UK arms company. We want to nail him. And obviously we want to find out who killed Mahoney. Was it the Russians, or someone else . . .?’
‘It appears that there was some Russian mafia involvement in the murder of Mahoney,’ the cop said.
‘Yeah,’ Rosie said flatly, shooting him a sarcastic look. ‘It would appear that way. But I’m not sure that’s the case. Anyway. We’re going to expose this arms dealer. I’m sure you know who we’re talking about?’ Rosie flicked over a page in her notebook, glancing at notes more for effect than necessity. ‘Because the operation that the police were involved in to nail this guy went – for want of a better expression – belly up, if my information is accurate.’
The cop said nothing. They sat in tense silence.
McGuire cleared his throat.
‘Well, if that’s all, gentlemen, I must be getting on. I’m not sure we were of any help to you. But . . .’
‘Hold on.’ The chief Superintendent put a hand up. ‘We may be able to assist you – perhaps we can help each other on this. I will have to consult with my department and the various bodies involved. This a very high-level inquiry.’
‘Yes. I’m sure.’ McGuire rolled his eyes. ‘Well, once the left hand reveals to the right hand what’s going on, you chaps know where we are.’ He looked at Rosie. ‘Oh, and I think my Investigations Editor has something else to ask you. Rosie? Tell the chief super how you were forced off the road the other night.’
‘Yes. That’s correct,’ Rosie said. ‘I’d been meeting a contact down in Ayrshire, and when I was driving home I was run off the road by another car. A bit of a close shave, actually. Very strange. I don’t suppose you can shed any intelligence on that?’
‘No. Absolutely no idea. I’m not even sure why you’re asking.’ The chief superintendent shook his head, looking straight at her.
‘Yeah. Thought not.’ Rosie gave him a sarcastic look.
‘Did you report it to Strathclyde Police?’ The cop bristled.
‘No. I didn’t think there was much point.’
The two men stood up. Boswell-Smith stretched out his hand to McGuire.
‘I hope we’ll be seeing you again, sir.’ He nodded to Rosie, shaking hands. ‘And you, Rosie. Thanks for your information.’ His mouth was tight.
Rosie said nothing and shook both their hands.
When the door was closed, McGuire turned to Rosie as he walked across to his desk.
‘What the fuck was all that about?’
‘Fishing expedition,’ Rosie replied. ‘They’re trying to find out what we’ve got.’
‘They must be rattled to come all the way up from London. And what’s with the SAS guy? What’s that all about? At least they didn’t get all heavy-handed and ask me to turn out my drawers. They’d have been told to GTF if they had.’
‘I’m guessing the SAS man was, as the big man said, there as part of the international fight against crime. They do work together on certain things, but I’ve never heard of SAS involvement.’ She paused. ‘They might be working on the basis that we have Mahoney’s dossier. Because if what Hawkins told me is true, then Mahoney had already threatened to expose them. Maybe he even told them he had a dossier that could blow them all out of the water. And that’s why they got rid of him.’
‘We’ve no evidence whatsoever that they killed Mahoney – or Hawkins. Do bear that in mind, Gilmour.’
‘I know. But they’ll be shitting themselves in high places if they believe Mahoney has got some kind of dossier exposing the dodgy arms company, and drawing attention to the fact that people who work for the government are turning a blind eye so it can get a fake licence. Can you imagine the blood on the walls if that gets out?’
‘But it’s not going to get out, because we don’t have proof.’
‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’ Rosie felt a little impatient. ‘But we’re obviously on the right track, Mick, or they wouldn’t have sent someone scurrying up to Glasgow.’
‘So you’ll have to watch your step.’ He turned to his computer. ‘Oh, and by the way, I noticed James Bond giving you the eye.’
‘You don’t need to look so surprised,’ she said over her shoulder as she headed for the door.
Chapter Twenty
Rosie walked up from her flat to St Vincent Street to meet Adrian. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect. She’d toyed with the idea of inviting him to stay at her flat for the duration of the job, but she didn’t want awkward questions from McGuire or Matt. She needn’t have worried. He declined the offer of a hotel, saying he was staying with Bosnian friends he hadn’t seen since he left Glasgow a couple of years ago. Decision made. Rosie’s paranoia kicked in. Had he gone cold after their encounter in Sarajevo, which, on reflection, probably shouldn’t have happened? Jesus! She was behaving like a teenager on a first date.
She saw him through the window as she approached the bistro. He was sitting in an alcove, his arm resting on the cushioned wall seating, gazing into the middle distance. He looked cool and relaxed, but knowing Adrian, that was only half the story.
He stood up when she opened the door and stepped inside. It was always hard to tell what was going on behind his flat, naturally gloomy expression, but his eyes softened and she knew it was as close to delighted as Adrian got.
‘Rosie.’ Towering above her, he tilted his head to the side and reached out both hands.
‘Adrian.’ Rosie automatically slipped into his arms.
They hugged for a long moment, and she could feel him squeeze her tight against his body. Then he pulled back and his eyes searched her face.
‘Rosie. My friend.’
Then he kissed her. A soft, glad-to-see-you kiss on the lips, pulling back after a second as though not sure. Then they kissed again, this time longer, and Rosie felt his hand grip her hair as she kissed him back. She could feel his heartbeat. They eased apart, and Adrian gazed down at her. Now he did smile.
‘It’s good to see you.’ He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek.
‘You, too.’ Rosie put her hand over his. ‘Come on. Let’s sit down. People are staring at us.’
The waiter showed them to a table in the corner and Rosie ordered a gin and tonic and Adrian a beer. Rosie also asked for a bottle of house red, too, as she knew she would need a few drinks to get through this. For a long moment they just sat
looking at each other.
Rosie reached her hand across the table so that their fingers were almost touching. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. What she really wanted to ask was how he felt. They’d ended her sixweek trip to Sarajevo with an explosion of sweltering passion for the final three nights, but they’d barely spoken about it while it was happening and it was clear they weren’t an item, which suited them both. But what were they?
‘Adrian . . . I . . . Er . . . How are things with you? . . . Is everything okay? I’m so glad you’re here. This will be a big job, if a bit dodgy.’ She felt awkward, conscious of Adrian studying her.
‘Yes . . . I am also glad.’ He ran a hand over his face and sat back as the waiter arrived and put his beer on the table. Adrian raised his glass towards her. ‘Thank you for asking me. I have done already some work on this.’ He shrugged. ‘But we can talk about that in a minute.’
He took a long drink of his beer and brought his cigarettes out of his top pocket. Rosie watched as he lit up, sucking in the smoke and letting it out slowly. She wasn’t comfortable with lingering silences. She wished she could be in control here, be her usual strident self. But here she was, sitting, waiting to be addressed by a man she had developed feelings for, even though right now she wasn’t sure how deep those feelings were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
‘Rosie. I wanted to ask you. Are you . . . I mean . . . Are you okay with what happened between us in Sarajevo?’ His hooded eyes locked on hers. ‘I thought maybe you would feel that . . . well, maybe that it should not have happened . . . You know . . . between friends. To be lovers like that.’
Rosie swallowed, partly taken aback by his frankness and partly glad it was out in the open.
‘And you, Adrian? Are you okay? She threw the question back at him.
He shrugged. ‘Of course. I was very happy.’ He placed his hand on top of hers. ‘I like being with you very much. I enjoy it . . . But then you . . . and I think maybe you don’t want any more . . . and I worry we have ruined the friendship.’
Rosie gulped a mouthful of gin and tonic and put her glass down.