by Anna Smith
‘Let me get you guys some tea or coffee. Anything to eat?’
‘Coffee,’ Viktor said, glancing at Pavil. ‘Coffee please.’
Rosie went to the counter and ordered a couple of coffees and extra sugar, then two baguettes. Pavil looked like he needed a good feed, but he also looked too nervous to eat. But she still had that urge to mother them when she saw poor vulnerable boys like this. Her bleeding heart. They were part of a people-smuggling operation, she had to remember. Keep it in perspective. She returned with the food and drinks on a tray, and another tea for herself.
‘I thought you might be hungry.’ She pushed the sandwiches towards them.
Pavil looked at Viktor, then at Rosie, as though waiting for permission to eat.
‘Go ahead,’ Rosie said.
He tore open the sandwich and took a bite and another, then swigged some coffee. His head was down and both hands were clutching the sandwich as though he was waiting for someone to come in and snatch the food out of his hand. Viktor toyed with his sandwich, slowly unwrapping it. He smiled a little.
‘Pavil is always hungry. There is never enough food for him.’
‘He’s a growing boy.’ Rosie smiled, glad of the lightness breaking the ice. ‘How old are you, Pavil?’
He looked at Viktor as though waiting for him to give the sign for him to speak.
‘Twenty. I am twenty.’
Rosie nodded. ‘How long you been here?’
Again, he glanced at Viktor, who blinked his approval.
‘I come one year ago.’ He tore off a bite of sandwich and chewed it furiously. Rosie watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving in his skinny neck.
They sat for a moment, and Rosie decided to let Pavil finish eating. She hoped he’d feel a little less scared and edgy once he’d got some food into him. After he downed the last of the sandwich, she glanced from one to the other.
‘So, Viktor, have you and Pavil talked? You have agreed to tell me your story?’
Viktor looked at Pavil.
‘He doesn’t speak English like me. But he understands a lot. I have been here longer, and because I work with a lot of the Scottish people longer I can speak not bad.’
‘Your English is really very good.’
‘Thank you. I am trying.’
Rosie turned to Pavil and spoke slowly. ‘So, Pavil. Viktor will have explained to you. I am writing the story of the charity and the people-smuggling. I already did the story in the newspaper about the babies for sale in Romania.’
‘I know. I see the story. I am an orphan too. Like Viktor.’
Rosie felt a rush of sympathy for him, for the skinny boy with tired circles around his eyes, and for the way he looked so lost in a place like this, vulnerable, alone, and so desperate that he’d ended up sitting in a café with a reporter he didn’t know, hoping she’d have the means to allow him an escape from whatever hell he was in. What a shitty deal to be handed out for so many kids like this around the world.
‘Viktor told me about how the charity brings people from Romania once they deliver the food and medical aid. That the trucks are then filled with people – Romanians, Albanians, Hungarians, et cetera. Is that how you came here?’
Pavil nodded, and looked at Viktor.
‘You can tell her, Pavil.’
‘I am frightened. If they find me talking, they will kill me. They will kill me and Viktor.’
Rosie watched as Viktor spoke to him in Albanian and he took a moment to explain. Eventually, Pavil nodded.
‘I have told him that we will be paid money if our story is proof of what happens,’ Viktor says. ‘If you do the story for the paper we get money. Then we can go.’
‘Yes. I have spoken to my editor, as I told you on the phone. They will agree to give you some money on publication.’
‘But how much?’
‘I don’t know about that yet. It depends on what you can tell me, the level of proof, and how much we can use. But we will look after you.’
‘We need a lot of money. We have to go to Europe. Find a way so that these people don’t find us first.’
‘I know. I understand.’ Rosie was beginning to feel she was losing the edge here. Pavil was nervous. This could easily slip through her fingers. She had to save it. ‘Okay. I understand everything you are saying, and I know how frightened you are, Pavil – both of you. But it is best if you, Pavil, can tell me your story. What is your experience with the charity and your life here, and then once we’ve got that we can see how we are.’
Viktor nodded to him, and he began to speak, wringing his hands, chewing his grimy fingernails.
‘I come here because I want to find my brother. Saban. He also come, but before me. We are in the orphanage together, all the life. But he leave a year before me, and get some job in Tirana and here too. It was him who told me this is what we do.’
‘Your brother is also here? In Scotland?’
‘No. I don’t know. Maybe in England. I have not see him and I been here one year. I talk on phone and he say he is busy working with the business. I don’t know what business.’
‘With the Albanians?’
‘Yes. He worked with them in Tirana, but also in UK.’
Rosie’s gut was beginning to sink. What if his brother was well wrapped up and established within the Albanian criminal empire? He must be, or he would have found a way to get to his brother. Perhaps he was protecting him. Her mind buzzed with various gloomy scenarios. Keep to the facts, she told herself.
‘Okay. Viktor told me about going back to Romania and picking up people. Is that something you do too?’
‘Yes. I go with Viktor most of the time. Some days I work in the warehouse too. But mostly I go on the trucks. I help take things off and load.’
‘And you have seen people in the trucks being smuggled through the borders back this way?’
‘Yes. I see this.’
‘Can you tell me about this?’
He looked at Viktor.
‘I go many times with Viktor, and always we bring people back. They go everywhere when trucks come to Holland. They go in vans.’ He paused, looked at Viktor, then took a deep breath. ‘But one time, I see one of the men. I think he is Hungarian. When we come to Holland, it is the night time and when the truck comes in, there is a big van in the car park. The van is there for the people. But one boy – the Hungarian, tries to run away. He doesn’t want to stay with the people. I don’t know why. Maybe he is afraid. But they run after him, and bring him back. Then they beat him with sticks many times until he is dead. I see him dead. They put his body in the side of the road, then we drove away. He is lying there. I see from the back window, still he lies there. He is not moving. They killed him.’
‘Jesus,’ Rosie whispered. ‘That’s awful.’
Pavil sat saying nothing, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
‘I see what they do. That is why I frighten.’ He paused and swallowed. ‘I want to go. They will beat and kill us for talking like this. But one day, I think they will beat and kill us anyway.’
Rosie listened as he turned to Viktor and spoke animatedly in Albanian, his eyes filling with tears, and Viktor held his arm in a comforting gesture.
‘He is afraid. Pavil is young boy and it was difficult in the orphanage. He was beaten before by the people there. Abused. Like me, he thought we could come here and get a job, but now we are like prisoners. He is asking about the money and how soon can we go.’
Rosie listened and sighed. ‘Okay. I know what you’re saying, and what Pavil told me is really great for helping with the proof. Can he also identify the photos, and also between you can you name these people, or even say what nationality they are?’
‘Yes. We can do that.’ Viktor took the envelope from his pocket and laid the pictures on the table.
They went through them.
‘This boy, from Romania, and this one too. This one, Hungary, and these two also. But these four boys, they are Albanian. I don’t know
them but only met on the truck. I can remember some of their names if Pavil does too.’
Rosie wrote the information down beside each picture like a caption, labelling the men from left to right.
‘And most of these people? You didn’t see them after Holland?’
Viktor scanned the photo again.
‘Two of the Albanians – these ones. They stay in Holland, and the Romanians they both come to France because they want go to Spain. But the rest of the people, they all come to England with us. All of them stay in the south of England. I never see them again.’
‘Thanks,’ Rosie said.
She had enough beefed out information that would also help with the lawyers, and when the police eventually were given her story, there were photographs of, the young men who’d been trafficked and their basic nationalities for them to go on. What she had here was evidence and corroboration of a criminal gang at work. She would have to talk to McGuire soon and she knew the lawyers would ask for sworn affidavits from the boys. But the problem with these affidavits was that they were really only a comfort to lawyers, and could be blown out of court if it came to it. But on this story, nobody was going to sue the Post, Rosie was convinced of that. She had her story. She was ready to pay out and let these boys go.
‘Viktor, I asked you yesterday about the possibility of going to the police and you said, No way. I’m asking you again, because I do think it will help put away these people who treat people like you, and all the others who have been smuggled, like slaves.’
‘It won’t, Rosie. There are too many Albanians now in gangs here. It is very organised. It is not going to help the police or us.’
‘But do you have names of the people in charge?’
‘Only the names we deal with. That is all. And the charity boss. Morgan. He knows all about this. The police can come and arrest him now. Maybe he will talk.’
She knew that by telling them Robert Morgan was dead they would freak out, feeling the net beginning to close in already. But if she didn’t tell them, they’d see it in her story all over the front page tomorrow or the next day. She took a breath, looking from one to the other.
‘Listen. I have something to tell you. But I don’t want to alarm you, but it is something you need to know.’
Viktor and Pavil glanced at each other anxiously.
‘Morgan is dead. He was found earlier today in his car out in the countryside. He has been murdered.’
Both of them blanched and their heads went down. Pavil began to shake.
‘This because the story you did?’ Pavil cried. ‘This is what they do. They are closing all the people down. They will be looking for me more now. We should go, Viktor.’
‘No, listen. Wait.’ Viktor held Pavil’s arm. ‘Rosie. We need to get away. When is your story in the paper? Now we have told you everything we know?’
Rosie spread her hands to calm them down.
‘Just keep calm for the moment, guys. Honestly, just stay calm. I want to talk to my editor on the phone just now, and I think we can work on the story to get it in the paper in the next two days.’
‘But what we do?’
‘I can put you in a hotel somewhere in the city. Nobody will know you are there.’
‘They will be looking for me. For both of us.’ Pavil looked pleadingly at Viktor. ‘What do we do?’
‘Pavil. I think we listen to Rosie. I think we stay in a hotel and stay in until it is time.’ He turned to Rosie. ‘When will you know about the money?’
Rosie stood up, reluctant to leave the café but not wanting to discuss with McGuire in front of them.
‘Let me make a call to my editor.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
The splash was written, and Rosie read it over one last time before emailing it across to McGuire. Tomorrow’s front page would fly off the shelves, with her exclusive line about Robert Morgan being shot in the head. The TV news at six led with the death of the charity boss whose body was found in his car, days after a newspaper had revealed the charity’s link to an orphans-for-sale scandal in Romania. But that was it. No murder line. Rosie had DI James Morton to thank for the break on this one, and she wondered how much cooperation he’d be looking for in return. He would know by this time that she didn’t run to the police every time she had a tip on a major criminal activity, but he had enough respect for her to know that now and again she would. She hoped it would work both ways, and this wouldn’t be the first big shout he’d give her. She looked at the time on the top of her screen. She and Matt had dropped Viktor and Pavil at the city-centre hotel where she’d booked them a room and told them not to venture outside, and to order everything they needed from room service. They were already scared that they’d come this far, and she hoped they wouldn’t do a runner. But if they did, she had their stories on tape and Matt had snatched a photograph of both of them together as they left the café. She needed to get back up there soon, to get better pictures done and, even though she hadn’t even written their story up yet, ask them to sign the sworn affidavits the Post’s lawyers were insisting on. But she didn’t want to argue. McGuire had agreed to pay them five grand for their story. She’d hoped for at least eight, but had had to settle for less. She hadn’t broken the news to them yet, so if they were hoping for some kind of jackpot they were going to be disappointed. But five grand would take them a long way. They had no idea where they were headed, but just wanted to get as far away from here as they could. And they had no passports. The gangmaster thugs held on to the passport of every person they smuggled, to make sure they’d be slave labour for the rest of their lives. So Rosie had to make the decision for the boys, and she knew the risks. She’d already sounded out her contact in the north of Spain, Tony, who drove a truck to Europe every couple of weeks. He’d agreed to get them out of the country in his truck. He was even going to make a detour from the north of England to come and pick them up in a motorway service station car park. Rosie knew big Tony would call in the favour another time, and she would return it. She’d also phoned her big ex-cop friend, Bertie Shaw, who now owned a hotel in the Borders where she occasionally hid people from the press pack if the Post was on an exclusive. The last time she’d seen him, he’d helped her in an investigation into a child sex abuse ring involving top-level Establishment and showbiz figures. He was glad to get out of the kitchen, he’d told her, and was already on his way to Glasgow to keep an eye on Viktor and Pavil. Rosie hadn’t told McGuire any of this. It was her call. She couldn’t just leave these guys to wander around the city. As she hit the key sending the story over to McGuire’s private email, her mobile rang on the desk. It was Jonjo Mulhearn.
‘All right, Rosie?’
‘Yep. Working away here, Jonjo.’
‘Okay. I won’t keep you. But a couple of bits of info from our last chat. Have you got a minute to talk?’
‘Of course.’
‘That charity you were talking about. I see the boss’s car has been found with a body in it. No doubt he’s been murdered.’
‘I think you’d be right on that one.’ Rosie didn’t want to give her splash away, even though she had a level of trust with him.
‘I put some feelers out on him, relating to your story on the babies in Romania. You’re bang on about the charity being linked to this mafia mob in the UK. And also those thug Albanians and Russians who are over here muscling in? It’s part of the same grubby empire. The names you’ve mentioned have come up. And the charity boss was in on it.’
‘Really? Have you got people actually saying they know Robert Morgan and that he was working alongside them?’
‘So I’m told.’
‘What about Alan Lewis? Any word on him knowing all about it?’
‘Not as such, to be honest. I was really only asking if the charity was involved with the mob here, and it seems they are. But Lewis was the accountant. He must have known. Tell you what . . . If I was him, I’d stay missing.’
‘Thanks, Jonjo. I really appreciate y
our help.’ She pulled on her jacket. ‘I have to go now, as the story is growing arms and legs, and I’ve got a couple of guys I’m looking after who are giving me good information.’
‘Good for you. Be careful. If you need any help, give me a shout.’
He hung up.
*
Rosie and Matt made their way along the quiet hotel corridor to room 212. She’d told Viktor not to answer the door to anyone but her, and she hoped the two of them were sensible enough to stay in the room. She gently knocked on the door. No answer. Matt glanced at her and pursed his lips. She knocked again, and thought she heard movement.
‘Hello?’ The voice was from inside.
‘Viktor? It’s Rosie. Can you open the door?’
She heard the chain being slid back and the lock turned, and as the door opened a little she could see Viktor, with Pavil standing behind him.
‘Rosie.’ He took off the chain and opened the door. ‘Come.’
‘You all right?’ Rosie looked from one to the other. Then she turned to Matt. ‘This is Matt. He’s a photographer with the paper and we work a lot together.’ She could see the worried look on Pavil’s face. ‘Don’t worry. He will not take any pictures of you that can be identified. We will do pics from behind you. Nobody will even see your faces. And you can put on baseball caps or something.’
They both looked at each other and nodded.
‘When is the story in the paper? So we can go,’ Viktor asked.
Viktor looked more anxious than he did yesterday. Probably being holed up in the room all the time with nothing to think about except getting rumbled was beginning to get on top of them.
‘Okay. Here’s the situation. I came up to see if you were all right and to tell you the plan.’
‘What about the money?’ Viktor asked.
‘That’s what I’m going to talk about. Sit down, guys. Try to relax a bit.’
‘I am very frighten. Look.’ Pavil held up his mobile phone and scrolled down. ‘Many times they called me. And messages too. In Albanian they spoke. My boss. He said I to get back to the flat that they will find me.’