by Anna Smith
Rosie described the scene as they were suddenly surrounded in the car park of the motorway service station.
‘I kid you not, Mick. There was a moment when I thought the game was up. These gorillas had AK-47s aimed at us and the boss man was forcing the older brother, Saban, to hold a gun to his brother’s head. If he’d pulled the trigger, I’m pretty sure we’d all have been shot straight afterwards.’
‘Christ almighty!’
‘Then when I heard gunshots I thought he’d done it. Bertie pushed me to the ground, and when I opened my eyes seconds later, there were bodies lying around.’
‘Who the fuck arrived like the cavalry?’
Rosie took a breath because she knew what the reaction would be.
‘Jonjo Mulhearn’s boys arrived. They did it.’
‘Aw, for fuck’s sake!’
‘They saved our lives, Mick.’
McGuire was quiet for a moment then sighed, shaking his head.
‘Rosie. I’m glad you’re not shovelled in here in a coffin, because I’d have a lot of explaining to do – apart from anything else. But Christ’s sake. Mulhearn’s a gangster, just the same as the Albanians.’
‘Well, not quite.’
‘Aye. Tell that to the cops. His boys just shot three people dead. And my investigations editor is in the middle of it. This is not Deadwood, Rosie. We have laws.’
Rosie knew that although the editor was saying this, he didn’t really believe it, and she could tell he was secretly enthralled at the whole story. McGuire had never knocked a door in his life, but he loved the excitement of reporters on the edge. But she knew this was just a bit too edgy for him.
‘What if the cops find out? There must be CCTV in that place.’
‘We were round the back, about fifty yards or so away from the whole service station forecourt. So I don’t think CCTV would pick it up. Anyway, Jonjo phoned me and they’ve already talked to the café people. They know him. The CCTV tape was broken, apparently.’
McGuire shook his head. ‘Christ!’
‘So I don’t think the cops will even be looking in my direction.’
‘Well, I sincerely hope not, because you weren’t only in the midst of a shoot-out which the police will be all over, you were actually there to smuggle illegal immigrants out of the country. Can you imagine how that would look if it got out? And they’re off with five grand of the Post’s money. Jesus Christ! Why did I even agree to that? Oh, I remember . . . I didn’t.’
‘Exactly. I did it off my own bat. And at least I wasn’t smuggling them in.’
‘Aye, very funny, Gilmour.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘So where are we on the story? Obviously we can’t mention a thing about this shoot-out. Not ever. But we can still tell the story of the boys, and others, being smuggled into the country on the charity lorries.’
‘Of course. I’m ready to write it any time.’
‘And the cops will be down to ask us where they are.’
‘We just say we don’t know.’
‘Christ. It’s dodgy. We need to get Hanlon in to see where we stand. And what about my five grand? Don’t tell me it’s blowing all over the M74 in the middle of all this.’
‘No. The biggest Albanian thug took it off me, but before the boys left, Viktor grabbed it out of the dead guy’s pocket.’
He puffed. ‘No fool he, eh? Right. Get the story they told us about them being smuggled here on the charity wagon, and any pics we’ve got. That’ll be a great splash and spread. Have it ready so I can get it legalled tomorrow. We’ll use it the next day.’ He stood up, looked at Rosie. ‘Go and get a stiff drink and get home as soon as you’ve done your story. The paper’s looking great for tomorrow, with the Helen Lewis story all over the front page splash and spread.’
*
Rosie had told TJ she was too tired and stressed out to meet up for dinner, but he’d insisted he wanted to see her tonight. She was glad he’d done so, because now, half a bottle of wine and some good pasta later, she was finally able to relax. The first gin and tonic hadn’t touched the sides as she gulped it down, describing the scene a couple of hours earlier. TJ had sat shaking his head, sipping his drink. But even though Rosie was so caught up in her own drama, she thought she detected a slightly detached look in his eyes. No doubt he’d heard all this before, as her working life was a constant drama. TJ always listened, these days not preaching to her to give it up as he had in the past, which had caused clashes between them. But there was something not right about his demeanour.
‘You all right, TJ? I’m so busy running off at the mouth that I’ve barely asked how you’re doing.’
He half smiled and fiddled with his wine glass. Something was wrong.
‘I’m cool, Rosie. I’m just a bit perplexed that you risked your life again to that extent. You honestly need to stop and think about these things.’
Rosie felt a little uneasy. Surely he wasn’t going to preach to her. She knew more than anyone that her life was chaotic, but it wasn’t like that every day.
‘Aw, come on, TJ. It’s not like that every week. I mean, there’s months go by and I’m just doing normal stories, investigations. I know sometimes it gets dangerous, but usually that’s because something unforeseen happens.’
‘Yeah, like taking on Albanian and Russian gangsters in their own neck of the woods. You know you were lucky to get out of that.’
‘I know that. More than you.’ She realised it was a bit terse, and she thought his face burned a little. ‘Sorry.’ She ran a hand over her face. She was tired.. ‘I don’t mean to snap. But please don’t preach to me. I know you care about me and worry, but honestly, telling me what might have happened doesn’t help.’
He pushed his hand across the table and covered hers.
‘Okay, boss.’ He smiled. Then silence for a moment. ‘But, Rosie, these guys in London, you know the ones I’m doing the session work for? They want me to go with them on tour.’
‘On tour? Like a rock band?’
‘Well,’ he smiled, ‘more of an old farts jazz kind of thing. There’s a lot of festivals that he’s got lined up, and they like my work so far. So they want me to go.’
‘Of course. You must go,’ Rosie said too quickly.
‘Dying to get rid of me?’
‘No. Of course not, TJ.’ She touched his face. ‘But I . . . I can’t say to you do this, do that. You’re your own man.’ Her stomach sank a little. There was no drama in this, not like the last time when he was going to the US for a few months. Maybe they had matured, maybe the relationship was bigger than a few months’ absence.
‘I fancy going. It’ll be good fun.’
‘How long for? Where will it be?’
‘Actually, all over Europe – Germany, France, Austria and stuff. And they’re negotiating some deal for concerts in the USA and Canada.’
Rosie made a whistling noise. ‘Sounds like a long haul.’
‘Could be six months at least.’
‘Just touring all the time. That would do my head in.’
‘Sure, you never sit on your arse anywhere for more than a month.’
‘Yeah. But this is my home. I always come back. Do you not feel that way?’
He took a long time to answer and Rosie studied his eyes, waiting.
‘Well. Sometimes. But the main reason I’m here is because of you. But we’re not going anywhere really, are we?’
His words hit Rosie like a punch in the gut. This was what it was all about. He wanted to move on. She felt her face burn. She took a gulp of her wine.
‘TJ. Listen. We’ve done this before. I thought we were clear what we had here . . . how we felt about each other.’
‘I love you, Rosie.’
‘Yeah, and I love you too. But don’t lay all that guilt stuff on me, that you’re going on a six-month jolly around the world playing jazz because our relationship isn’t going anywhere.’ She tried to control her irritation. ‘Christ, man. Where do you want it to go? I thought
you were okay the way things are?’
‘I am,’ he said quickly. ‘I understand your work is what you do, what you are. It will always be the number one thing in your life. I get all of that. And I’m not looking for a wife. But you have to understand that sometimes I get bored in Glasgow. I’m on the sidelines of your life.’
‘Christ. What do you want?’
‘I like doing gigs. I like the idea of getting out of here, making my life feel a bit more exciting. It’s how my life has always been really.’ He smiled. ‘Why should you get all the excitement?’
Rosie couldn’t help smiling. ‘You can come along the next time there’s a chance I’ll get killed.’
‘No thanks, darlin’. I’ve been there, taking a bullet for you.’
The atmosphere had turned a little, simmered down. She wasn’t angry; she knew any irritation she had was irrational. She had no rights here. Neither did TJ. There was no commitment from either of them, and he was right. It did drift along. But he was the only real constant in her life, and she knew how bereft she was when they’d quit the last time.
‘So, what do you want to do? Draw a line or something tonight?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you want us to end this? Like, end us?’
He looked shocked. ‘No. Christ’s sake, Gilmour. No. I don’t ever want that. I love you.’
They sat for a long moment saying nothing. Rosie emptied her glass and drank some water.
‘Then what’s to worry about?’
‘Will you be here when I get back?’
‘Sure. Unless somebody shoots me.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ll be here. That’s if you come back . . .’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Rosie drove to the office feeling as though she’d been hit by a train. So much adrenalin from yesterday’s drama with the Albanians had sent her into a feverish nightmare when she’d finally dropped off to sleep. And when she’d woken at four in the morning, she’d lain there, pondering over TJ’s words at dinner. The fact that he was so keen to go away didn’t exactly flatter their relationship, but she knew that was her fault. He’d settled for everything on her terms – no real commitment, no moving in together, just go along and see how it goes. But maybe he did want more and if they were more settled he wouldn’t want to go away. What also niggled her was that she wasn’t upset that he was actually going. That was a real sign that whatever this was, it had perhaps run its course. Maybe she should talk to him about that. Perhaps it was time to be brutally honest. But the thought made her uneasy because she knew how much she loved him, and how much she’d longed to be with him when he’d gone away a couple of years ago, when she didn’t think she would ever see him again. TJ brought some stability to her life. He was a rock for her, a refuge, and she did love him on top of all that. So what was wrong with her, that she couldn’t just go the whole hog? She didn’t want to, and she knew that deep down. Living a normal life with a family wasn’t cut for her and she could never fit it. Rosie lived in the adventure, the excitement, the danger, the chasing of the story; all of that sustained her. But even though at times it didn’t seem enough, that she’d pined for TJ when he’d left her for New York, it wasn’t enough for her to make the leap from where they were. She pushed the thought away with the notion that even if she did, perhaps he didn’t want it anyway. He did say he liked to go away. Maybe the truth was that he was just as restless as her.
The mobile rang on the passenger seat and she could see it was DI James Morton. She braced herself, knowing her story on the Albanians was on the front page.
‘Jim,’ Rosie said, breezily. ‘How you doing?’
‘Up to our eyes in dead Albanians, Rosie. I suppose you’ve seen it on the news?’
Rosie thought she detected a note of irony, but she told herself she was just being paranoid.
‘Yes. I saw it on the telly last night. Some stuff. Are they dead?’
‘Yes. Three dead. Shot. That’s one of the reasons I’m phoning you. Your Albanian blokes in the paper this morning. The ones who were smuggled in by the charity. Great story, Rosie. I need to get a word with them.’
Rosie hesitated, feeling guilty, but cornered. She blew out a sigh.
‘Don’t know where they are now, Jim. I interviewed them a couple of days ago.’
Lies as blatant as that always bothered Rosie. If it had been some hoodlum or thug she was lying to it wouldn’t have bothered her, but the big cop was just trying to do his job, and in reality he might have been able to do more good for Viktor and the boys than they could do themselves.
‘Come on now, Rosie. I know you reporters don’t just drop someone after interviewing them. Especially you, and with guys like that. Would you not even give me a mobile number to have a word with them? They’re not in any trouble.’
‘I think they’ll be out of the country by now. They were going away, they told me.’
Silence. This was one contact she could quite easily lose, and she didn’t want to.
‘Look, Jim. I can make a call to them, but if I can’t get them, then they’re obviously gone. I’ll do my best. But they have left the country, I think.’
‘Okay. See what you can do. By the way, the other reason I was phoning you . . . I have a bit of inside information I think you’ll be interested in.’
‘Really? I’m all ears.’
‘Alan Lewis, your missing accountant. He just walked into our Stewart Street police station last night.’
‘What? You’re kidding! I thought he was dead. Everyone did.’
‘Nope. Very much alive. And very angry, with plenty to say. I’m sure you’ll be interested in that.’
‘You bet I am.’ Rosie was shocked. This changed a lot of things. She had to get a way to talk to him. ‘Where’s he been? Is he talking about the baby-selling racket? About the gangsters attached to the charity?’
‘I don’t know about that, because I won’t be seeing him till this morning. But I can tell you this, though don’t use it right now – it’s only for your information. He said his wife hired Frankie Mallon to kill him.’
‘Christ! Where? How?’
‘In Romania. Mallon left him for dead. And more than that, Rosie. He said he walked into his flat in the West End last month and Helen Lewis was standing over Mallon with a smoking gun in her hand, like some old movie.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘Can I use any of this?’
‘Like I said, I haven’t spoken to him yet. So, no. It was passed to us up at the Serious Crime Squad because of all the background and the charity he was involved in. We’ve a lot to talk to him about.’
‘Is there any way I can talk to him? Is he under arrest?’
‘No arrest. Not yet.’
‘Is he likely to be?’
‘I don’t know yet. But tell you what: get me those Albanians to talk to – even if they’re abroad. Get them to talk to me and we’ll see what we can do.’
Rosie waited a moment before she answered. The Albanians were out of the country. The cops would surely not extradite them back in to accuse them of being brought in here illegally.
‘Like I said, I’ll do my best. I’ll try to get in touch with them this morning. That’s really all I can do. But I’m dying to talk to Alan.’ She waited. ‘And I might be able to help you back up Alan Lewis’s story about his wife hiring Mallon to kill him.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I talked to someone recently who said that very thing. That Mallon had been hired to kill him.’
‘Really? You kept that quiet, Rosie. It’s not even been in your paper.’
‘Well, you know what it’s like. Proving it would be a problem.’
‘Okay. I’d definitely like to talk to that person too. So let’s see how we can do this. And, Rosie? Everything I’m saying to you here is off the record.’
‘Of course.’
He hung up.
‘I knew Helen Lewis was lying through h
er back teeth,’ Rosie said aloud as she slung her mobile onto the passenger seat. Her initial instinct was to throw her to the police, contact Donna and get her to talk to the cops. But Rosie wasn’t finished with Helen Lewis yet. She dialled her mother’s number. It went straight to answerphone and she left a message saying she had to meet them.
*
‘So she’s a murderer, as well as a lying, scheming bitch,’ McGuire said. ‘So much for the weeping all over the paper yesterday.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘The Black Widow. I love that. I’m looking forward to hanging her from the rafters. What’s your plan, Gilmour?’
Rosie sat back. ‘I’m of a mind to set her up with the cops. They don’t even know where she is, and they’ve been asking for her contact number, which I’ve told them I don’t have. I hate lying to them about that, because the big DI has been decent with me.’
‘Set the bitch up then. What’s it to you if she gets dragged kicking and screaming to the cells?’
Rosie thought. ‘I don’t know. I need to think about it. But I have to get Donna, the mother of Frankie’s baby, I have to get her to talk to the cops. The DI is going to give me a real inside track. But I have to give him something. He wants to talk to the Albanians.’
‘Then give him their bloody mobile. Christ, Rosie! They’re out of the country now. What do you care?’
‘I know. You’re right. But I do care.’
‘You’re a headcase.’ He looked at his screen. ‘Now clear off while I get ready for conference.’
*
Rosie spotted Donna in the café where they’d met before, and the toddler looked up and pointed at her when she came in the door.
‘Bright girl, this one,’ Rosie said, sitting down. She looked at Donna, her eyes automatically scanning her for any signs of a relapse into drugs. She looked good, clear eyes and skin, and was wearing a warm sweater and jacket. ‘You look well.’
‘I’m doing great, Rosie. I’ve been offered a part-time job. Two days a week, helping at the crèche in the community centre. And I’ll be able to bring Amy with me. So I’m over the moon.’