by Anna Smith
Rosie managed a half-smile. ‘My editor always says I’m a bleeding heart. I think he’s probably right.’
The medics came back out and reported that Adrian was conscious and speaking, and that he was determined he was not going to a hospital. He said he was going home. They told him it was risky to travel, and he had to rest for at least twenty-four hours, with some medical assistance as well. He promised them he would. Rosie watched as the police security people and the embassy staff spoke together, then went in to Adrian. She was relieved to see him propped up, his face as bright as it was ever going to be.
‘Thank God, to see you awake.’ Rosie sat at his bedside. ‘I thought we were going to lose you last night.’
He shook his head. ‘I am okay. I feel better. I am going home. Risto is coming. He phoned me.’ He paused, took her hand. ‘You must go now, Rosie. Go back to Glasgow. Tell everyone what has happened. You have a very good story, I think.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t want to leave you here, like this.’
He held her hand tight and ran his other hand over her hair.
‘Rosie. Listen to me. I will be fine. I will be home in a couple of days. I will call you. Please. You must go. The longer you are in this country, the more dangerous for you. These gangsters, there are more than just the ones from yesterday. People will be looking for you, and for me.’
‘My editor says he will get you out. Whatever the cost.’ Rosie knew he hadn’t said, Whatever the cost, but she was determined to cover it.
‘Don’t worry. Risto will get me home.’
‘No. My editor wants to pay for it. You can fly or take the train, or rent a car or get someone to drive you to Sarajevo.’
‘I hope I can fly by tomorrow.’
‘Okay. You must tell me how you are and I will arrange it. I will give your number to the editor’s secretary and she will fix everything for you and for Risto.’
‘Okay, Rosie. Thank you.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Now go. Please. I will be okay.’
Rosie stood up and for a moment she didn’t want to leave. He was weak and vulnerable, reassuring her all the time, but he was extremely tired. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, then kissed him on the lips.
‘Go, Rosie.’
‘Thank you, Adrian. For everything.’
‘Goodbye, Rosie. Take care.’
She swallowed hard as she left the room and went outside, where Matt gave her a sympathetic glance. The Romanian couple who had given them shelter stood shyly in the background, looking overwhelmed by all the activity and cars. Rosie went across to them, and stretched out a hand to each of them. They shook her hand, then she found herself embracing them, and being hugged back by both of them. She asked the translator to thank them from the bottom of her heart, that they had saved her friend Adrian’s life. As she said goodbyes to Madelina and her baby, the young mother clung to her, thanking her several times. Rosie told her through the translator that she would see that she was looked after, and she would be talking to her editor soon, and that they would make sure she was in a position to get medical treatment for her little daughter.
*
The embassy car took them to the hospital where Ariana was to remain for a few days for her gunshot wound. When Rosie walked into the small side room where she lay propped up, her face pale and her eyes ringed with dark circles, Ariana turned to her and seemed to force a smile.
‘Ariana,’ Rosie said as she went over to the bed. ‘My God! I’m so sorry about Nicu. I feel so responsible. I got both of you involved in all of this to help me.’ She shook her head, and took Ariana’s hand. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Tears trickled out of Ariana’s eyes and she sniffed as she squeezed Rosie’s hand.
‘I know, Rosie. It’s okay. I . . . I am so sad because Nicu is gone. He was one of my closest friends. We had known each other, worked together so many times over the years. He was a good man. He cared so much.’
‘I wish there was something I could do for him. For both of you.’ Rosie hoped it didn’t sound trite. ‘I feel so helpless now. And I have to go back home. I’ve left Adrian with the family of your friend, and he is very badly hurt. He told me I must go. But I am arranging for him to get back home to Bosnia.’ She sighed. ‘It’s such a mess.’
Ariana nodded. ‘Yes. But listen, Rosie. Nicu has lost his life, and I lose also a little bit of my heart. But it is because of his work that Madelina has her baby back. That is worth so much. I know it would have been worth so much to him.’ Tears came again. ‘I wish he could have been here to share their joy.’
Rosie bit her lip. She didn’t know what else to say. She intended asking McGuire to make sure Ariana and Nicu were looked after, as well as all the others who had helped, and who had so little. But this wasn’t the moment to discuss it.
‘Did Nicu have a wife?’ Rosie asked, tentatively. ‘A family?’
‘Only his mother,’ Ariana said. ‘She is very old. Lives in the countryside. A widow.’
Rosie nodded. ‘Have the police spoken to you about protection?’
Ariana looked at her. ‘All they told me was that they would look after me, not to worry, I would be safe. I’m not sure how much of that I trust. So much of it is corrupt.’
‘I will speak to the embassy here to make sure they talk to their counterparts in Bucharest and ensure your safety.’
‘Thank you,’ Ariana said. ‘You must go now, Rosie. You must go home, and tell the world your story.’
‘Our story,’ Rosie said.
Ariana smiled and rested her head back.
‘Our story.’
Rosie leaned down and brushed her cheek with hers.
‘I will be in touch soon, Ariana. I promise.’
‘Of course. We can speak soon.’
Rosie stepped back from the bed, then turned away and left the room.
*
The embassy car with diplomatic plates pulled up close to the plane and they got out. As they climbed the stairs, Rosie looked back. Her mobile rang.
‘Where are you, Rosie?’ a familiar voice asked her.
‘I’m boarding a plane, Mick. To Vienna, then a connecting flight to London. I should be in Glasgow by tonight.’ Just saying it made Rosie feel emotional. Sometimes she ached for the sight of Glasgow – to feel she was home safe.
‘Good. That’s a relief. If you’re not too tired, see how much you can write on the plane. I want to go big on this over the next couple of days.’
‘Sure,’ Rosie said, ‘no problem.’ She was going home. Already, her mind was focused on the piece she would write.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rosie drove to the office, feeling brighter than she should have been, given yesterday’s twelve hours’ travelling. Between flying to Vienna and waiting hours for the connecting flights to London, then Glasgow, she was so jaded she dropped into a hot bath as soon as she got into the house. She’d lain there, exhausted, staring at the tiles, watching the path of the steam trickling in rivulets down them. She kept seeing Adrian’s face, flashbacks of seeing him crawling around while the Romanian thugs fired shots from the darkness. Guilt washed over her. It was only months since he’d been stabbed by the serial killer, Thomas Boag, who took her prisoner, and here he was again, almost killed helping another of Rosie’s investigations. It was she who put him in this situation. If she didn’t call him, he wouldn’t be there, she told herself. Simple as that. She could make a decision now, and that would be it. No more calling on Adrian to protect her. But then what? Could they be friends, someone she could visit in Sarajevo for a break sometimes? Typical Rosie, wanting without committing – not that she’d ever seriously considered a commitment with Adrian, even if he would want it. But what she felt right now was deeper than ever, and watching him yesterday, unconscious, not sure if he was going to make it, had somehow changed things. All the way home on the plane she’d kept thinking about him, couldn’t get him out of her mind. It was more than just the worry that he might not m
ake it. There was a moment as he’d lain there when she had realised how deep her feelings were for him, and no matter how she pushed them away, they kept coming back. She couldn’t get involved in this. She’d already made her mind up about that a long time ago, and lately there had been nothing but friendship between them. A friendship forged the way theirs was meant they would always be close no matter what, and Adrian too, it seemed, had decided that this was how it was. Why the hell was she even thinking this way? They hadn’t even properly discussed or entertained the notion they could be together. They couldn’t be. It was impossible. He lived in Sarajevo, she lived in Glasgow. There was no future in it. He was so damaged by his past that he would never escape it. It was doomed, and best to stay away. And there was always the guilt that she was even having these thoughts. TJ was in London for the next few months, on and off, and might even be going on tour with the jazz singer’s backing band he’d joined. He was the happiest she’d ever seen him, enjoying the working and touring, and coming home to be with her. She loved him, that much she knew. Adrian had been a mistake, a distraction almost, something that had got out of control, and thankfully they’d put it to an end over a year ago, before it really began. But now it felt different. Her mobile on the passenger seat rang and she picked it up. She recognised the number, but there was no name.
‘Rosie?’
‘Who’s this?’
‘Rosie, it’s me. Donna. Remember we were up at the caf—’
Rosie interrupted her. ‘Of course. Sorry, Donna. I’ve been away for a week or so on a job abroad and my head is all over the place. Sorry. How are you?’
‘I’m all right. I’ve got a house from the council. Move in next week. So it’s good. And the wean is going into the nursery school.’
‘You keeping well too?’
‘Aye. No drugs, if that’s what you mean. I’m finished with that, Rosie. Definitely.’
Rosie wondered why she’d phoned her and guessed it wasn’t for a chat, or maybe it was? Perhaps a casual friend like her was all she had. So she’d keep up this small talk as long as necessary. But then Donna spoke again.
‘Rosie. I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Aye. About that Helen Lewis.’
‘Really?’
‘She came to see me. Out of the blue.’
‘Helen Lewis came to see you?’
‘Aye. She got in touch. Well, her ma got in touch. And she came to see me. I’ll tell you about it. Can we meet?’
‘Of course. Any time. I’ve got to check into the office first and see the editor to offload some stuff that happened when I was away. But I’ll call you shortly.’
Pause. Silence. Rosie hoped she hadn’t upset her because she wasn’t coming to see her straight away.
‘She gave me money. Five grand. Cash.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Dunno. Well, she said it was to look after Frankie’s wee one.’
Rosie felt like turning her car around and going to meet her now, but she knew McGuire would be waiting to see her, and she had to talk about today’s business.
‘Give me an hour or so, and I’ll call you. That okay?’
‘Aye. Great. Talk to you later.’
She hung up.
*
Rosie pushed in the revolving doors as Jean on the reception was hanging up on a call. She beamed as she walked towards her.
‘Some story over there, Rosie. Those poor bloody weans. I’d take those bastards out and shoot them.’
Rosie wanted to smile and say, ‘Actually, that’s what did happen,’ but she couldn’t.
‘I know, Jean. As if things aren’t bad enough over there in the orphanages for these wee kids, people are making money out of them. And, stealing weans from their mothers as they’re born, I mean, what kind of mentality does that?’
‘Would make you sick. Have you more to come?’
Rosie winked. ‘I hope so.’
Part of the buzz of working for a daily newspaper for Rosie wasn’t always about the editorial floor and chasing stories, the excitement of watching them go in the paper, and waiting for the fireworks the next day. It was the family aspect of the whole place. It wasn’t something you could explain to people outside who might have thought of reporters as being hard-bitten drunkards, hidden behind a cloud of smoke all day. Sure, there had always been an element of that. But what Rosie loved about the place was that any time she went to the canteen or into a lift, everyone knew each other. From the library to the accounts to the publicity people, there was a shared excitement when the paper broke a story like this. Things were changing on the editorial floor – no doubt about that, with cutbacks and restraints. But she hoped the camaraderie of it all would remain the same. It was hard to understand the black humour of journalists in the middle of a major unfolding drama or tragedy. And there were plenty of egos around newspapers who revelled in the glory of breaking a big story. Rosie wasn’t one of them, even though she’d always loved the moment when her story was all over the front page. She loved the chase of it all, the tearing down the walls of injustice. But once the story was in the paper, you moved on. Most of the time. Unless it was something like this, where the image of a toddler clinging to your thigh as you leave them in an orphanage remained with you for a very long time, as did so many more haunting memories. It was all part of the package.
When she stepped onto the editorial floor, a few of the reporters looked up from their phone calls or notebooks or screens and gave her a wave or a thumbs up. She could see Marion clock her arrival and buzz through to McGuire to say she was in. Marion caught her eye and waved to her to come through.
McGuire was on his feet and coming out from behind his desk to greet her.
‘Gilmour! Thank Christ to see you in one piece. Every time you’ve walked in that door for the past while, I haven’t known what to expect.’
‘Well, as you see, Mick, I’m alive and kicking.’ He motioned her to sit down by the coffee table and joined her in a chair opposite.
‘You want some tea?’
‘That’d be great. I’m a bit knackered. Long day yesterday.’
McGuire got up and put his head around the door and asked Marion to bring tea, then he sat back down.
‘So tell me what happened. Blow by blow . . . And how’s the big Bosnian?’
Rosie let out a tired sigh, picturing his face as she left.
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve been trying to call him, so I’m guessing when he’s able to he’ll get back to me. When I left him, the embassy were taking him to a hospital and patching him up until he gets this flight home today that Marion booked for him. Hope he gets it.’ She paused. ‘And, Mick, thanks for sorting that. I know the bean counters don’t like this, but they’re going to have to brace themselves to be parting with a lot more money.’ She paused, seeing McGuire puff his cheeks. ‘Seriously, Mick. I think we should speak to our insurance guys. We need to compensate Adrian. He took two bullets for us to get us out of there. If it wasn’t for him, we’d all have been killed. It could have been a bloodbath.’ She shook her head. ‘Wee baby caught up in the midst of it. Adrian was a real hero, and I want him sorted.’
‘I’ll talk to them.’
‘Make them understand how important this is, will you? And another thing. We need to be parting with a few quid for other people who helped.’
‘Oh Christ, here we go.’
‘I mean it. Look what we’ve got so far in the paper. World exclusive baby-selling racket involving Romanian and UK gangsters and even the bloody Romanian cops and authorities. Any newspaper would have paid a fortune to have that. And we’re sharing it with our sister paper in London, so we need to get them to fork out. They splashed it too, I take it?’
‘Yep. They did.’ He sipped his tea. ‘I’ll talk to them. Who else do we need to pay?’
‘Well, the mother of the baby. We got that great exclusive from her, and fair enough, I helped track down her baby and get her back
, but she didn’t need to talk to us. She’s got nothing, and by the sounds of things her baby’s going to need some serious medical treatment. Part of the whole mess of that place and the reason for so much criminality is because people have nothing. So I want us throwing a few quid at her – a right few quid. I can work out a way to get it to her. Also, Ariana. She got shot too. So we need to sort her. The work she did for us on the ground was immense. Totally. Oh, and the family who took us in when we were in the middle of nowhere and blood was pouring out of Adrian and Ariana. I need to get something to them.’
‘So who got killed? What was his name?’
‘Nicu. He worked really hard to help us, but he wasn’t hired, as such, the way Adrian was, so the insurance won’t wear that. He wasn’t married, so I don’t know what we do there. But he died helping us.’ She stopped as the words stung her, and she swallowed hard. She’d been talking and demanding for five minutes, but suddenly the emotion got to her. Change the subject a little, she told herself, before you blub.
‘You all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Rosie didn’t look at him. ‘Anyway. Here’s the latest situation.’ She sat back and stretched out her legs. ‘You remember the girl, the ex-junkie, who’s the mother of Frankie Mallon’s kid?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She’s just called me as I was pulling up in the car park. She says Helen Lewis phoned her and they met. And, wait for this, she gave her five grand.’
‘What?’
‘Yep. She handed her the money and said to look after the wee one. What does that tell you?’
‘It tells me she’s guilty as fuck.’
‘Yep. Smoking gun. It was her who shot Frankie, for whatever reason. I think we knew that anyway, but the fact that she’s done a runner and can’t be found means it wasn’t a mistake. She knew what she was doing.’