by Smith, Anna
‘I heard about that stooshie in the warehouse with that prick Dunn and Co. What a result that was, getting them wrapped up like that. But by all accounts you nearly got done in. Did you get hurt?’
‘I got a few slaps,’ Rosie said. ‘But my face is still as lovely as ever.’
‘I’m sure it is, sweetheart, but listen, I’ve got a name for you. In London. The heart of the corruption. Fuck me. It’s a middle-management guy in Customs, but it’s been covered up by the top brass.’
‘Do you mean the fake licence and the arms dealing?’
‘Yep. Apparently the guy was on the take big time, taking bribes to issue a fake licence. Once you’ve got the paperwork with the official stamp on it, nobody really questions it hard at the border.’
‘And they’ve traced who the guy is?’
‘Yep.’
‘Is he arrested yet? Are they going to do him?’
‘I’d say they’ll do him, but he’s not arrested yet.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the spooks will probably take care of it. I mean, nobody wants to see a guy at the heart of the system being in court for faking an arms-dealing licence. That just doesn’t sound good at PM’s Question Time or in the papers. They’d get hung out to dry.’
‘But we have a story to that effect.’
‘But you haven’t got a story you can prove, Rosie – well, not yet, as far as I know.’
‘No. We don’t, Mickey. But if I can get to the guy, then maybe I can prove it. We can just go down there and monster the bastard.’
‘That might work – he might just burst if you tell him you know everything.’
‘I’m up for that. What’s his name?’
‘Terence Rygate. He’s the civil servant. Here’s his address. He’s actually been earmarked for better things. There was talk of moving him to the Foreign Office.’
‘Not any more, I take it.’ Rosie was delighted that it was the same name Boswell-Smith had given her.
‘No. But the chain of corruption money goes higher up.’
‘How high up?’
‘All I’ve been told is that a big name was a director in the company – or used to be.’
‘Christ, Mickey. You don’t half love this drip-feed shit. Who is it? Give me a name before I burst.’
‘Thomas Elridge.’
‘The deputy finance minister? You’re kidding!’
‘That’s what I said when I heard it.’
‘Jesus!’
‘I said that too.’
‘Why would he get involved in that?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe the company seemed legit in the beginning. Who knows?’
‘So does he know he’s been rumbled? Will he have heard about Dunn’s arrest?’
‘Apparently he hasn’t been around for a couple of days.’
‘I need to speak to the editor about this. I want off the leash and down to London pronto.’
‘Well, if it were me, I’d get moving fast, Rosie. Because this shit will be cleaned up very quickly. Know what I mean? They will want to make this disappear.’
‘Not if I can get there first.’
‘I’ll call you if I get any more. But be careful. You owe me a big dinner.’
He hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rosie looked out of her hotel bedroom window onto Kensington Gardens in all its autumn glory, wishing she could go for a relaxing stroll through London’s pleasant streets. One of these days.
She reflected on the meeting earlier with the Serious Crime Squad detective superintendent in McGuire’s office – Hanlon on hand in case things got rough. The big cop was reasonable but kept pressing her for Adrian’s name. She didn’t know his real name, she lied, or even where he was. He changed his contact numbers all the time. The cop made a face that said he knew she was lying through her back teeth. If she said that in the witness box, he told her, it could get her a three stretch in Cornton Vale for perjury. He told her not to leave town, that she could be facing charges. Rosie promptly ignored his command and breathed a sigh of relief when the plane took off from Glasgow Airport to London.
McGuire’s brief was simple. Find Terence Rygate, get his picture and a reaction. Tell him he’s nicked, that it’s not up for discussion. Then bail out.
Kavanagh had told her that Terence Rygate was single, a fitness fanatic and gay. He drank in a popular gay bar close to his flat most evenings. Rosie was hoping they could melt into the background when they went there, but homophobic Matt was already uncomfortable.
There was a knock on her hotel bedroom door and when she opened it, Matt stood there smiling in faded jeans, a T-shirt and a leather bomber jacket.
‘You’re looking well,’ Rosie said. ‘I was a bit worried you’d turn up like one of the Village People.’
‘I thought about it, but where was I going to get an Indian headdress at this time of the day? Do I look gay, though?’
‘I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. There’s no such thing as looking gay. Don’t be daft.’
‘Yeah, but do I look like I’m up for anything. I mean, I don’t want to have to fight anyone off.’
‘Stop being homophobic. Just act normal, because if you look all freaked out every time somebody gives you a second look you’ll blow our cover.’
‘As long as it’s the only thing I blow.’ Matt grinned.
‘C’mon. Let’s do this.’
*
After dinner in the hotel restaurant, where they downed a bottle of red wine between them, they headed in a taxi to the bar.
Inside, the place was jumping, every table packed, and at least three deep at the bar, cheering on a drag artist who was strutting across the stage in fishnet stockings and a leather dress . . . with an Adam’s apple the size of a golf ball. There were a few women in the bar, too, and Rosie assumed it was a mixed bag of people, not exclusively gay. They sat in a corner watching the bar and hoping for the best.
‘I’ll have a pint of lager,’ Matt said to the waiter.
Rosie noticed that Matt’s voice had dropped an octave, and that he avoided the waiter’s eyes.
‘Lighten up, you, for God’s sake.’ Rosie dug him with her elbow. ‘You don’t have to go all macho. Nobody’s going to pay the least bit of attention to you. Just keep your mind on your work and don’t worry about who’s looking at you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Matt said. ‘I’m cool. Honest. Just that there’s a guy at the bar and he’s been staring at me for ages. Should I smile back?’
‘Maybe best not to. There’s a lot of activity goes on in the toilets at these places and often it’s agreed with just a nod and a smile.’
‘Fuck me!’
‘I wouldn’t say that too loudly either.’ Rosie chuckled.
They sipped their drinks and relaxed.
‘So, is big Adrian gone?’
‘For the moment, yes.’ Rosie had told him earlier about the scene in the flat with Olenca. ‘I’ve left a couple of messages on his mobile, but no answer. He’ll be all right though. He’ll call when he can. Unless he’s already gone back to Sarajevo.’
Rosie said it as though it didn’t matter, but it niggled that he hadn’t got in touch. Of course, she understood why he had to make himself scarce, and knew she was being irrational. But because things had moved on between them, it clouded her judgement. She chastised herself for getting involved in the first place. It felt like a mistake, and it probably was. But she couldn’t help wanting to see him again.
‘Shit!’ Matt said.
‘What, you getting eyed up again?’
‘No.’ He leaned forward. ‘Don’t look now, but our man has just walked in.’
‘Really? Where?’
‘At the bar, four down and close to the stage. He’s ordering a drink now.’
Rosie strained her eyes to see the figure Matt was describing. He did look like the image Kavanagh had sent her this afternoon. But it was hard to tell from this distance.
&
nbsp; ‘I’m going up to the bar to get a drink.’ Rosie got to her feet. ‘I’ll stand next to him and see if I can strike up a conversation.’
‘He’ll not be in here to meet a woman.’
‘I know. But it’s quite a relaxed atmosphere. People are just at the bar having a chat and a night out. Maybe it’s not exclusively a gay bar.’
Rosie went up to the bar and squeezed in through the throng so that she was next to Rygate. She heard him talking to the barman. He ordered a large vodka and tonic.
‘There you go, Terence? How’s it going, mate?’
Game on. Rosie ordered herself a gin and tonic and another beer for Matt. She glanced at Rygate and smiled.
‘Good crowd in tonight.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, sipping his drink and looking away. ‘Always.’
She didn’t pursue it, but she was certain it was him. The barman handed over her change, and as she was putting it in her purse she heard the voice over her shoulder.
‘Terence, darling, how the hell are you?’
He turned and embraced the man who’d come up behind him.
It had to be Rygate. But she needed to be a hundred per cent certain. They’d have to hang around until he was going home, then follow him.
They watched the bar for nearly an hour as Rygate chatted animatedly to other punters, then he went to the toilet. After a few minutes he came back out, drank up and left. They followed and watched him get into a taxi, then followed him in another cab. Matt had already reccied the street, so he was pleased they were going in the right direction. Rosie asked the driver to let them out a few yards before the block of flats where Rygate lived, and they stood in a doorway while the other taxi drew up and he got out. He walked towards the flats.
‘It’s him,’ Rosie said. ‘That’s all we need to know. We’ll hit him in the morning as he’s coming out for work.’
‘Don’t you want to do something now so we’ve got it in the bag?’
‘No. He won’t open the door at this time of night unless he knows who it is. He’ll probably have a security chain and won’t even open enough for you to get a snap. Let’s leave it till the morning so we can get him out in the open.’
*
The following morning Rosie and Matt were outside the flats first thing, both of them a little hungover and regretting staying up in the hotel bar for too long. The main door of the flats had been opening all morning, with people going to work, but no Rygate. Then suddenly the door opened and he appeared.
‘I’ll go over first and make the approach. You just keep snapping,’ she said to Matt.
She crossed the road and went up to him.
‘Terence Rygate?’
There was a flash of recognition in his face, as though he were trying to work out where he’d seen her.
‘Sorry?’
‘Terence,’ Rosie said, ‘I spoke to you last night at the bar. Terence Rygate?’
‘Yes. But . . . what do you want?’ He looked puzzled.
‘My name is Rosie Gilmour, Mr Rygate. I’m a reporter from the Post newspaper in Scotland. I want to ask you about J B Solutions.’
She waited while his face changed colour.
‘What? Excuse me.’
He stepped out to pass her. Rosie blocked his path. He stopped, irritated, trying to pass her again, but she blocked him.
‘J B Solutions, Mr Rygate. They’re part of Damar Guns, international arms dealers. The people who were banned by the government but were able to continue dealing because they were given a fake licence to trade arms, granted by your department? By you, in fact? And you were, in turn, paid by Mr Thomas Dunn, the boss of J B Solutions?’
‘Look here.’ He glanced around him furtively. ‘Whoever you are, you’re quite obviously deranged. And, to be honest, I’m a bit troubled that you stalked me from last night. So please get out of my way or I will call the police right now.’
Rosie flashed her press card.
‘There’s my ID. I’m here for your reaction and comments to the story we are about to publish.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I’m going to call the police.’ He took his mobile from his pocket.
‘So call them.’ Rosie stood back. ‘But you won’t. Because you’re up to your eyes in this. And now that Tam Dunn is in police custody, he’s singing like a canary, about everything he did . . . all about the money he squirrelled into your bank accounts offshore. It’s all there. We have it all, Terence . . . documents, the lot . . . so . . . this is not up for discussion.’
By now Matt was at her side, snapping away. Rygate stood and for a moment his eyes were filling with tears, his face crimson. He shook his head, backing away, then turned, put the key in his lock and scurried back inside.
‘Did you get plenty of pictures?’ Rosie asked Matt.
‘More than enough. Great stuff. Looks like he shat himself.’
‘Just a bit. He tried a bit of bluster, but it’s him all right, and he’s guilty as hell. Stuff him.’
‘So what now?’
‘I think we should GTF before anyone turns up.’
As Rosie said it, they both turned, startled by the sound of tyres screeching. For a moment it didn’t register. There was a black Jaguar speeding up the tight side street towards them. Then they realized it wasn’t stopping.
‘Shit! What the fuck?’ Matt’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘It’s coming for us.’
‘Oh, Christ, Matt. Run.’
‘Run? We can’t outrun a Jag.’
The car sped towards them, its main beam full on. Rosie glanced around for somewhere to jump into – a doorway or alley. But there was nothing. She spotted two huge industrial wheelie bins and a skip outside a building.
‘Quick. The bins, Matt.’
They both sprinted, the car on their heels. Rosie dived behind the bin, but not before she saw Matt getting clipped and hurled across the bonnet and onto the road. The Jag stopped for a second, then the wheels screeched as it sped off.
‘Matt! Christ! Matt!’ Rosie jumped out from behind the bins and dashed where he lay on the road. She bent down. He looked up, groggy, blood coming from a graze to his head.
‘Fuck me!’ Matt said. ‘What the fuck was that all about?’ He moved, groaning and grimacing. ‘Quick, help me up. We need to get the hell out of here. Is my camera all right?’
Rosie picked it up. There was a crack on the lens.
‘Don’t worry. We’ll check it later. They might come back. Hurry, Matt! Take my arm.’ Rosie crouched down and helped him to his feet. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Yeah, I think so. But my leg’s jumping with pain. Shit.’ He limped.
‘Let’s just get to the end of the street and we’ll get a cab.’
They walked as fast as they could, blood dripping from Matt’s head.
‘Is that okay?’
‘Yeah. Flesh wound.’ He wiped it with his sleeve. ‘I hope it leaves a scar, though, so I can brag about it.’
Rosie smiled.
‘You’re nuts.’
‘I must be – working with you.’
Rosie spotted a taxi and waved it down.
She helped Matt into the back seat.
‘What’s going on? I don’t want no trouble,’ The driver said.
‘It’s okay,’ Rosie said. ‘He just slipped off the kerb. Can you take us to the Tara Hotel in Kensington.’
The driver pushed his car into gear and drove off, keeping a suspicious eye on his rear-view mirror.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rosie sat in front of her computer screen, re-reading and tweaking the main piece for tomorrow’s splash and spread. It was written as carefully as possible, given that they were hanging a Ministry of Defence official out to dry, as well as suggesting that a government minister was, at the very least, reckless, for not researching the company where he’d once been a non-executive director. At an earlier meeting in McGuire’s office with Hanlon and the boss of the legal firm playing devil’s advocate, the
y’d pointed out that the minister’s links to the company had been a number of years ago. They suggested the story wouldn’t lose impact by dropping the minister and Rygate out of it. They already had a fantastic exposé of J B Solutions’ illegal gunrunning and the fact that an investigation was going on at government level. They didn’t need to name names. But if we do that, Rosie had protested to them, then we leave it open for somebody else to dig deeper. Then they would get the claim of unmasking Rygate and the minister. We have to name names, she told them. Her mobile rang. It was Adrian, and her stomach did a little unexpected leap.
‘Rosie, I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your calls.’
‘It’s okay,’ Rosie said, even though deep down she didn’t mean it.
‘Look, I have to go. It’s not safe for me here. Can you meet me?’
‘Yes. When are you going?’
‘Now. Well. In a couple of hours. I have to.’
Rosie looked at the time on her computer screen. She knew that as soon as she sent her piece she’d have to be available for queries from the lawyer as well as the editor and subs. It was going to be a long night. She checked all the various parts of the stories once more, then sent it to McGuire.
‘Where are you?’
‘At Central Station. I’m taking the train to London, then to France and will drive from there.’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
Rosie grabbed her bag and jacket and called McGuire as she was getting out of the lift to the car park, telling him she had to go out for half an hour, but the copy was on his desk.
*
In Central Station Adrian stood at the coffee bar smoking a cigarette and drinking from a paper cup. He raised his chin a little when he saw her walking across the busy concourse, then put his cup down and came to greet Rosie, flinging his arms around her. He kissed her on the lips, fleeting at first, then a little longer.
‘Sorry, Rosie. It was not safe for me to be around the city. I think people will be looking for me.’
‘No change there, then.’ Rosie hugged him again, then stood back.
She was suddenly stuck for words. They’d come a long way since their first encounter in a café years ago. She swallowed, wondering if the reality was that she might never see him again, or if she did, how different things would be. They couldn’t keep this kind of relationship up, because it had moved on from what it had been, yet she wasn’t sure there was anything they could really build on.