by Anna Smith
‘Where am I?’
There was a pause.
‘Well. You’re not in the fucking Cayman Islands.’
Chapter Nine
Rosie could feel that familiar little punch of adrenalin she got when she was on a big story abroad. As she’d been packing her bag and saying goodbye to TJ in the last twenty-four hours, she’d been more nervous than normal, and had to dig in to prepare herself mentally for the job. She hadn’t had to do that in a long time, but this was her first out-of-town investigation since her near-fatal brush with serial killer Thomas Boag. So it was a test she couldn’t afford to fail. Getting back firmly in the saddle was how to banish the anxiety, she told herself, and she knew she was right. The butterflies in her stomach would go once she had more pressing business to occupy her mind. At least that’s what she hoped as she stepped out of the glass swing doors at the Intercontinental Hotel in Bucharest into the chilly, grey afternoon. She watched the taxis come and go, her eyes peering, awaiting Adrian’s arrival. In seconds, the gypsy kids were around her like flies, smiling, ‘Hello, beautiful lady’, grimy hands out, begging for money.
‘Flattery will get you nowhere, guys,’ Rosie chirped, placing her back firmly against the hotel wall as the doorman shooed the children away.
She knew from her last trip here, some six years earlier, that while two of the little charmers were smiling hopefully at her one of their mates was trying to dip into her back pocket. It was pointless giving them anything as it would only attract droves the next time she came out. But she still felt heartless as they stepped back a few yards, leaving one little boy sitting on the wall, staring up at her with big, doleful eyes. Rosie turned away from him, because she knew she had to. She’d learned that you had to do that a lot in Romania. She was glad when the taxi drew up, and she caught a glimpse of Adrian in the front seat. She waved, smiling, and he nodded back, the way he did, something close to a smile breaking over his face. He got out of the car and handed the driver some cash, then he slung his rucksack over his shoulder and walked towards her.
‘Rosie.’ He held out his arms. ‘Good to see you.’
Rosie took his hands, and for a second hesitated, not quite sure whether to embrace him. He looked at her for a moment, and then eased her into his arms.
‘How are you, my friend?’
‘Great, Adrian. I’m so glad you said you would come. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.’
He puffed an exaggerated surprise. ‘But of course, Rosie. I will always be here for you. I told you many times. When you need me, for anything, I will be there.’ He looked beyond her at the children swarming around. ‘And this investigation you tell me about on the phone. It makes me sick. I want to help you find these people and make your story.’
‘Thanks. That’s good to hear.’
As they walked together into the hotel, he touched her shoulder.
‘But how are you really? I didn’t hear from you, except only one phone call after that last time, with that bastard Boag. You are still troubled by this?’
Rosie tried to look nonchalant. ‘A little. But it’s getting better.’
Adrian nodded. ‘I could see it. From the taxi, I spotted you before you saw me. You looked far away.’
He really did see her so well, Rosie thought, and met his eyes. ‘Yes. I suppose. But I’ve been here before, you know, during the Romanian orphanages scandal a few years ago. So some thoughts come back to me of how that was.’ She changed the subject. ‘Go on. Get yourself checked in. Then we’ll go out for some coffee and lunch. I wanted to meet you first on my own, but Matt’s here, and we’re going to meet this young woman here in the old city. Hopefully, she’ll be our person on the ground.’
‘Good.’
Adrian went towards the reception.
*
An hour later, as they strolled along the cobblestones of the old city’s narrow streets, Rosie was mesmerised at the change in the place in just a few short years. When she’d last been here, a few months after the dictator Ceauşescu and his wife were shot by a firing squad as the city descended into mayhem, Bucharest was a hotbed of unrest, and every day she’d stood on the streets as people marched against poverty and for workers’ rights. You would be hard pushed to find a coffee shop with anything other than a couple of tables, because there would be barely any coffee or drinks in stock to serve. The shops were empty. Now, the bustling street was lined with pavement cafés with colourful umbrellas and trendy wooden tables and chairs where locals sat sipping their drinks. It could have been any modern European city, and in the wider streets away from the old town it was every bit as stunning as Paris. She suspected that a few hours’ drive from here there would be the same square blocks of flats from the old Communist regime where people eked out an existence in poverty, but this was perfect, and though it was chilly to sit outside, they were well wrapped up.
As they got to the café where they’d arranged to meet Ariana, Christy’s ex-girlfriend, they stopped and looked around, as many of the tables were occupied. A young woman stood up, caught Rosie’s eye, and tentatively made her way towards them.
‘Rosie?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie replied. ‘Ariana?’
The girl in tight jeans and a leather jacket looked barely out of her teens. But Christy had told Rosie she was twenty-four. She smiled, liquid brown eyes lighting up beneath a lush fringe of dark hair. She looked like a model who’d been done up for the tousled casual look.
‘Yes. I’m Ariana. I am pleased to see you.’ She stretched out her hand.
‘Great. How do you do?’ Rosie said, her handshake firm. ‘I really appreciate you agreeing to see us. Christy spoke very highly of you.’
Ariana smiled a little shyly. ‘He is a good boy, Christy. I like him a lot.’
She beckoned them to sit at her table, pulling over another couple of chairs for Adrian and Matt. Rosie did the introductions, and they ordered coffee.
‘I’ve been in Romania before,’ Rosie said to her, ‘and I know how difficult it is to work without someone local translating and preparing the ground. So it’s great to be met by someone who knows the landscape.’
‘Christy told me you had been here. He said you do a lot of good work for your newspapers on exposing the bad people. I hope I can help you.’
‘I hope so too,’ Rosie said as steaming mugs of coffee arrived. ‘And your English is much better than my Romanian.’
Ariana smiled and lit a cigarette, telling them that the café served terrific home-cooked food, but it was best to eat inside as it was getting chilly. For the moment, Rosie was glad they could just be here and take in the atmosphere of the city. Or perhaps it was the protective presence of Adrian at her side that was making her happy. Once the coffees were drunk, they ordered wine and beers, and some small talk followed about the work Ariana did in orphanages and how she and Christy worked together. Rosie told her some stories of her own experiences reporting from various depressing places where children were held in horrendous conditions. She wanted to get a handle on Ariana’s personality and a bit of her background, before they went any further. The more they talked, the more Rosie liked what she heard. It was time to get down to business.
‘Ariana, you know that Christy has talked to me a little of the suspicions you had about babies and children being sold. And also about this Scottish accountant, Alan Lewis.’ Rosie looked at the others. ‘I’d like to talk about that, so we can see what we do next.’
‘Of course,’ Ariana replied, drawing her chair a little closer to the table. ‘I can tell you what I know, and what I suspect.’ She took a breath. ‘Christy told me about the wife of this Alan Lewis going missing, which is very strange. As you know, he disappeared in Romania some time ago.’
‘Was there much on television or in the newspapers about his disappearance? Much from the police about the search?’ Rosie asked.
Ariana shrugged. ‘Not much. I don’t think the police really did much apart from have some kind of search of the
area where he lived, and around the lake not too far from his villa. But it wasn’t like a big manhunt, or something that would be on television all the time. It was on the national news at first, because he was a Brit who disappeared. But there were no reporters or media over here from the UK asking questions. I think there was perhaps the view that he maybe disappeared and took his own life, and that one day his remains will be found.’ She puffed. ‘As you know, the police here have a hard time investigating anything. If it was a child who went missing they would perhaps make a big fuss about searching, but they would not keep it up for long.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sad to say that the cities and towns – in fact the whole country – is run by gangsters these days. The mafia is everywhere. Lot of Russians.’
Rosie glanced at Adrian, and they both nodded in agreement.
‘It’s the same everywhere,’ Adrian said. ‘In my country, it is getting a little better, but the mafia and the Russian criminals always muscle in. And the Albanians. They are everywhere.’
Ariana nodded, taking one of Adrian’s cigarettes and lighting it, inhaling deeply. Rosie declined the offer of a cigarette.
‘So, before we talk about anything else, Ariana, what do you know of Lewis’s role here? He’s an accountant. But was he ever in the orphanages, to your knowledge?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. The only time I saw him was at a small function organised by the UK charity – Hands Across Europe – and he turned up there. I thought it was because he had a villa here and because he was friends with the boss of the charity, who would be in and out of Bucharest a lot. The charity would come with convoys of aid – you know, clothing, food for babies, lots of things like that. And once they touched base in Bucharest, they would then go north to places like Cluj, Suceava and around Bacău – these are places where the orphanages were particularly in need, where they have nothing. They took a lot of good aid and supplies to these places. I went with them a couple of times, and so did Christy, so I saw it for myself.’
Rosie told her that when she went to an orphanage with an aid convoy, she had witnessed the clothing going in the front door, and half an hour later being taken out of the back in a horse-drawn wagon, no doubt to be sold. Corruption was at every level.
‘I am not surprised at that,’ Ariana agreed. ‘I have seen this happen too. Is all corrupt. And to be honest, I can see why some of the people who operate in these orphanages steal some of the clothes, because the reality is they have so little themselves. Of course, they are taking from orphans, much worse off than them. But this is human nature.’
Rosie was impressed by Ariana’s knowledge and attitude. There was a bit of steel about her.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But all of that pales into insignificance when you look at the trade of babies. That is a different story altogether. Tell me, Ariana, how much do you know about the boss of the UK charity? Do you think he could possibly have been in on this? His charity is very respected, and though there isn’t a lot about him in the newspapers, it’s widely believed that the work of the charity is genuine.’
Ariana nodded her head vigorously. ‘Yes. I’m sure that is true. But . . .’ She paused. ‘I cannot say for certain that he was involved, not actively anyway. But there is such a thing as turning a blind eye.’ She spread her hands, as though explaining. ‘You see, in adopting a baby, especially in the north of the country, where laws may be overlooked and money can buy just about anyone’s agreement, then a lot of decisions are left up to the head of any particular orphanage. If they are the kind of person open to corruption, then that is why the trade in babies has been allowed to operate. And I can tell you that it has.’ She stubbed her cigarette out. ‘I am making some very discreet enquiries, and they have to be discreet, of course, but I am trying to trace a mother whose baby was taken from her. They told her the baby had died. And this was not in an orphanage. This was in the maternity unit of a hospital. So it is more widespread. But someone has told a friend of mine that this baby wasn’t dead, and that it was taken away and sold to someone. The problem is, there is no way of tracing where the baby went. It was a few months ago. It would be impossible, unless someone on the ground could tell us. That is the kind of thing we are faced with.’
‘Do you think there is much chance of tracing the mother?’
Ariana nodded. ‘I think it is a good possibility. I am working on it, and have someone trying to find where she is. It is somewhere north of here. Up in Bacău area and Botoşani. I’m thinking we should go there tomorrow if you want?’
Rosie nodded. ‘Sure, if you think that’s the best place to start.’
‘That is where my best contacts are, and it is in this region that a lot of the trade goes on. People are so poor there. They have nothing.’
Rosie glanced at Matt and Adrian, then spoke. ‘Ariana, do you think if an ordinary couple from, say, a foreign country, went or were put in contact with someone in the baby trade, they could buy a baby from them? I know it sounds a bit off the scale. But what do you think?’
Ariana crossed her long legs and sighed. ‘That is a different matter, Rosie. That is very dangerous. If someone discovered that the people trying to buy a baby were not genuine, well, I wouldn’t want to think of what would happen.’
Adrian’s face was deadpan as ever, so you never really knew what he was thinking. But Matt rolled his eyes.
‘Christ, Rosie. Can we not have a few days’ holiday first, before you get us killed?’
Everyone burst out laughing, as much to ease the tension of a long day and heavy discussion as the fear of what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter Ten
‘So where is he? Where the fuck is Alan? And more to the point, where is his fucking money?’ Ricky Thomson growled at Helen from across his desk. ‘And listen, ya wee tart. I’m not going to sit here all day coaxing this out of you.’ He glanced up at the big thickset minder in the leather jacket who stood at the door with his arms folded. ‘I have people who do that for me. So it’s up to you.’
Helen really didn’t know how she was going to answer him. But she knew Ricky Thomson from way back. He would cut your throat just for fun, and as a teenager throwing his weight around the Gorbals, he often did. But usually if Ricky cut you up, it was for money, or, more accurately, because you hadn’t paid your debt. Back then, he’d been an enforcer for one of the biggest moneylenders in Glasgow, and it was working as muscle for him that got him noticed by the big boys. Ricky hadn’t the brains to be a big-time Charlie, but he had the brawn. And that got him through the ranks when fear and power ran the show. How the Christ he’d got involved with Alan Lewis was beyond her. But now that her brain was bouncing off the inside of her head trying to work things out, she thought back to the time when she found out Alan was involved with Frankie Mallon and how surprised she’d been then. So anything was possible. She was desperate to ask questions. Somehow Ricky had discovered there was no money in Alan’s accounts, so it looked like he was blaming Alan. But Alan had been missing for months. Why had he not come after her before? Helen wondered why Alan hadn’t contacted whoever Ricky worked for to tell him the money had gone and it was nothing to do with him. But he’d probably been too scared to risk that. Christ, this whole thing was a mess and she didn’t know where to start. But one thing she couldn’t do was tell him she’d had Alan murdered – or thought she had. He wouldn’t believe it, for a start, and the fact that Alan had landed back at her house would have made her sound crazy. No. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this one. Best to say as little as possible.
‘Look, Ricky. I’m being honest with you. I’ve no idea where Alan is. I wouldn’t lie to you. He disappeared off the face of the earth. Do I think he’s alive? I honestly don’t know.’ She swallowed. ‘I don’t know anything about his finances. He was the accountant. Do you seriously think he’s going to tell me anything about his business?’
Ricky listened, but he didn’t look as though he believed her.
/>
‘So what about Frankie Mallon? Did you kill him?’
Helen looked as surprised as she could muster.
‘Kill him? Are you kidding me? How could I kill him? Where was I going to get a fucking gun, Ricky? I’m not living in the same world as you.’
‘Aye. But you come from the same world as me, ya wee hairy.’
Helen sighed. So far, no punch in the face, so that was a bonus. She looked him in the eye, crossed her legs, knowing he was watching her skirt ride up her thighs. Ricky would have fancied her back in the day as much as the rest of the boys, but she hadn’t been remotely interested in him or any of the others.
‘I never said I don’t come from the same world as you, Ricky. I know who I am and where I came from and I’m not ashamed of it. But I left all that behind.’
‘You were a wee fucking prostitute at fourteen.’
Helen swallowed the sting.
‘Aye. I was. And it was a shite life, let me tell you. But I knew I was getting out of there as soon as any chance presented itself. Listen, Ricky. Please. You must believe me. I’m just a bird who got out of the mire and did all right. I had no idea that my husband was involved with guys like you.’ She managed to make her voice wobble with emotion at the end of the sentence. She might even tear up at this rate. But Ricky was barely buying it.
‘So what was Frankie Mallon doing in your flat?’
‘Who knows? Maybe he was looking for Alan too. Or his money, or his books or something. I don’t know.’