Death Trap: Rosie Gilmour 8

by Anna Smith

  ‘Tadi. Listen to me. You must go to the police. You must. If you stay here, eventually they will find you and you must know how it will look that you have been hiding. Please believe me. You must go to the police. And you don’t have a lot of time.’

  ‘But what can I say? That I saw a man being killed and that I buried his burnt body, and that I robbed an old couple? They will put me in jail. You know they will.’

  ‘If they come in here right now, or in the next few days or weeks, they will definitely put you in jail, Tadi. And it will be much worse. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘I am afraid of police. Afraid for my family.’

  ‘Look. I have contacts with the police. I can talk to them and tell them everything that has happened.’

  ‘Why will they believe you?’

  ‘I’m not saying they will believe me. But if I go to them with you, or talk to them first, then it might be better. It won’t be easy, but it will be better than them finding you. Believe me, you don’t want police coming barging in and arresting you in front of your family.’ Rosie looked at Jetmir. ‘You have information that could put those O’Dwyers in prison for the rest of their lives, Tadi. The police will listen to you. Trust me on that. They have to listen to you.’

  Tadi took Ava’s hands, and she looked at him and then Jetmir.

  ‘Tadi. I think we must trust Rosie. I . . . I don’t know. But what can we do?’

  Tadi took her face in his hands and stroked her hair.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’ He turned to Rosie. ‘So what do we do, Rosie?’

  Rosie’s heart skipped a little. She wasn’t sure herself how the police would react – perhaps they would be furious that she’d withheld information. But her gut told her they would be happier to have some positive leads on at least one of their investigations right now.

  ‘Okay. What we do now, Tadi, is I go outside and telephone a contact of mine who is a detective with Strathclyde Police. I will meet him shortly and tell him everything. Then we will arrange to take you to the police station. I will ask the priest if Ava and Jetmir can stay with him and I’m sure that will be okay. The important thing is for you to come with me once I make the arrangement.’

  He looked at Ava for a long time but they said nothing. Then he spoke.

  ‘Okay. I will go to the police.’

  ‘Good. You’re doing the right thing. Let me make a phone call.’

  Rosie got up and went out of the room, along the hall and outside. She punched in Don’s number.

  ‘Rosie,’ Don said. ‘How you doing? You fancy meeting later?’

  ‘Hi, Don. Now would be a good time.’

  ‘Now? Why?’

  ‘You know the Kosovan guy you’re looking for – I saw on the news that the police put a statement out.’

  ‘Yeah. Some drifter who worked at the farm has disappeared. We’re all over it.’

  ‘Listen. I’ve got him.’

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Yeah. I have him. I can bring him to you. But he’s done nothing. Look, it’s a long story. But I’m not throwing this guy to the wolves. He’s completely innocent.’

  There was a pause, then Don answered. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I just know.’

  ‘Oh, right. In a Rosie Gilmour way?’

  ‘Never mind that. I can bring this guy to you, but he’s terrified, and he’s done nothing. So I want to meet you first. Can you come over to Shettleston? I’ll meet you in that cafe on the corner of Shettleston Road. Now?’

  ‘Sure. I’m on my way.’

  ‘Please don’t say anything to anyone.’

  ‘Course not.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rosie fidgeted with her mobile as she waited in the cafe for Don. She felt tense and edgy, even though she believed she was doing the right thing. She’d already phoned McGuire to let him know she’d tracked Tadi down, and what she planned to do. He told her he was impressed at how swiftly she’d found him, and joked that she must have had him all the time and was just winding him up. He agreed that it was time to call in the police and his parting words were, ‘Let’s hope for the best.’ The best, Rosie thought. It was hard to see what choices poor Tadi had that could ever amount to ‘the best’. He’d already fled war in his own country, only to be enslaved by a family of gangsters who involved him in robbery and murder. Was it really best for him to give himself up to the cops? she asked herself. She concluded that of all his shitty options, this was the only real one he had left. She’d also called Adrian to tell him the news. He was just as cautious as Tadi about going to the police, but he also knew there were few choices. She hoped to meet him later when she came out of the police station. Rosie looked up when she heard Don’s voice.

  ‘You are totally mental, Gilmour.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘How the fuck do you get yourself into situations like this?’

  ‘Just lucky, I suppose.’ Rosie shrugged.

  The waitress came up and she ordered two coffees.

  ‘So tell me about it, Rosie. Have you really got this Kosovan guy?’

  Rosie nodded. ‘Yeah. Well, as long as he’s not done another runner. I had him for a couple of days, then he went missing this morning. But I managed to find him.’

  ‘Why the fuck are you only telling me this now, Rosie?’

  Rosie looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘How was I to know you were looking for this particular guy? First I hear of it is on the news.’

  Don sighed. ‘It was just a line we had to put out. I mean, for fuck’s sake. How was I to know you were already dealing with him?’

  ‘Anyway,’ Rosie said, ‘I have him. I met him in one of the fields near where you were digging, and he looked like a poor soul. But the thing is, do you know who this guy is?’

  ‘Nope. How the fuck would I know?’

  ‘Remember that day in the High Court, when Boag escaped?’

  ‘Like I’ll ever forget it.’

  ‘Well. Remember outside, the guy who was in court for trying to trap the seagull?’

  Don looked puzzled for a moment, then the penny dropped.

  ‘Oh fuck. It’s not him, is it?’

  ‘Yep. Remember, we saw him getting huckled by the bloke in the car and you took the number plate and checked it for me?’

  Don looked at Rosie, his mouth dropping a little.

  ‘Fuck me! O’Dwyer? That bastard O’Dwyer family. He was staying with them? Was he working for them?’

  ‘Not working, Don. Imprisoned. A slave. Held there against his will, and the shit beaten out of him on a regular basis. Not just him, other guys too. That’s what these bastards do. They keep slaves.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake. That’s far-fetched. I know they’re gangsters, but who keeps slaves in this day and age?’

  ‘You mean apart from the sex slaves in the brothels all over the city?’

  ‘Well. You know what I mean. Apart from that.’

  ‘That’s what he was. A slave. And he’s told me everything. What he’s done. It’s really serious. The guy’s terrified. To be honest, I’m shitting myself handing him over, but there’s no other way.’

  ‘What has he done?’

  Rosie took a breath and said nothing for a long moment.

  ‘You know the bodies you dug up? The burnt guy?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ve got an ID on him now, from dental records. Robert Bowman, a drunk down-and-out. Went by the name of Bo.’

  Rosie’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Bo? That confirms Tadi’s telling me the truth.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He told me he and some other guys held at the farm were forced to watch as O’Dwyer kicked this Bo guy to within an inch of his life. Then O’Dwyer’s boy poured petrol over him and O’Dwyer threw a match onto him.’

  Don’s face dropped.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’

  ‘Yeah. Then they made Tadi and the others take him to the field and bury him.’ Rosie paused
, watching Don. ‘That was when Tadi found out there were other bodies in the field. He felt the spade hit something, and there they were. He thought it might be a mother and a baby.’

  ‘Oh fuck! And this guy can tell us all this?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What if he’s lying to cover his tracks?’

  ‘Why would a guy on the run from Kosovo suddenly start doing things like that?’

  Don shrugged and said nothing.

  ‘But there’s more. Hold onto your pants for this.’

  The waitress arrived and placed the coffees on the table. Don drank some of his and put the cup down, eyes wide.

  ‘It was the O’Dwyers who did the robbery of the old Jewish couple – the Cimmermans.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yep. They made Tadi go with them. He was in the house. He was disgusted by what he saw them do.’

  ‘Fucking hell. He’s told you all this?’

  ‘Yeah. And, wait for it, he has that photograph the old woman was talking about. He took it out of the safe. O’Dwyer ordered him to empty the safe and the picture was there, but for some reason he doesn’t even know himself, he stuck it in his shirt pocket.’

  ‘He has that picture?’

  ‘Yep. This guy is an innocent man. I’d stake my life on it.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Close by. But just hold on a minute. I want to bring him in my car. You can come behind in your car, or get some help, but he goes with me.’

  ‘Rosie. I’ll get my arse kicked for that.’

  ‘Don. Tell your boss you do it my way, or not at all.’

  He puffed out a frustrated sigh, then took his mobile out.

  ‘You’ll have to come in as well, Rosie. They’ll want a statement.’

  ‘Sure. As long as they let me back out,’ Rosie joked, but she could see Don wasn’t smiling.

  *

  Tadi had been silent in the back seat of the car as Rosie drove Father Dunnachie back to his home, on their way to the police. Don’s car followed close behind, and she could see in her rear-view mirror that he had a passenger – probably one of the detectives he worked alongside. Behind Don’s car, a police panda car was following at a discreet distance. It was clear that Tadi was going nowhere. Rosie had to keep telling herself that she was doing the right thing, but at this moment, she felt that things were slipping away from her, even though they weren’t – well, not yet. She and Father Dunnachie had stood in the hallway while Tadi said his goodbyes to Ava and Jetmir. Father Flaherty had said very little, but his face had distrust and betrayal written all over it. Rosie hoped she’d prove him wrong, and that Tadi would be back soon enough. The priest had embraced him before he left, and Tadi swallowed hard as he came into the hall and they headed for the door.

  They pulled into the back car park of the Pitt Street station, as Don instructed, and an operative on the entrance lifted the bar to let their car through. Rosie parked and got out of the car, opening the door for Tadi, who came out of the back seat and stood beside her. She could see his hands were shaking. Don pulled up and jumped out of the car along with the other detective.

  ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Don Elliot, Tadi.’ He didn’t shake hands. Then he turned to Rosie.

  ‘Rosie, we’ll take it from here. But you’re to come upstairs with us, as they want to have a chat with you.’

  ‘Who wants to have a chat?’

  ‘Not sure. But it’ll be okay. I’ve told them what you told me. So obviously you feature in this story. You fine with that?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Rosie shrugged, but she wasn’t really fine. Nerves fluttered across her stomach. She wasn’t in the mood to take any crap from any cops who might want to give her a hard time. ‘Let’s go then.’ She smiled at Tadi.

  Once they got inside the building, they were met by a female plain-clothes officer and another, older male detective. The older man approached Rosie.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector James Morton, Rosie. This is DC Janice Forsyth. If you’ll come with us please?’

  ‘Sure,’ Rosie said, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding. ‘I’m just going to bell my editor and let him know. He’s been trying to get me.’

  The officers looked at each other but said nothing, and they walked on ahead as Rosie punched in McGuire’s private line.

  ‘Mick, it’s me. I’m up at Pitt Street. They want a chat with me.’

  ‘What kind of chat, Gilmour? They’re not going to fucking arrest you, are they?’

  ‘Er . . . I hope not. Hard to say at the moment. Look, I can’t talk long, but just wanted to let you know.’ She hoped she was conveying her sense of unease.

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Rosie. I hope it’s not all going to go tits up. I’m going to alert Hanlon anyway, just in case you end up in the pokey. If I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m sending him up there.’

  ‘Might not be a bad idea,’ Rosie said as she walked behind the officers along a corridor on the second floor. ‘Talk later. I have to go.’

  ‘Don’t be taking any shit . . . But don’t be making trouble either.’

  ‘Thank you, Henry Kissinger,’ Rosie said as she hung up.

  The officers directed Rosie into a small room. It looked suspiciously like the kind of room where they interview suspects, and similar to the one she was taken to a couple of years back when the police tried to frame her for cocaine possession. Despite their bullying tactics then as she investigated corruption at top level in the police, despite them planting cocaine in her flat, she was still able to bring down the Chief Constable and one of his cohorts. This was a bit different, she hoped. DI Morton looked at his watch, then went out of the room, leaving her with the detective constable, who stood with her hands clasped in front of her.

  ‘So, what happens now?’ Rosie asked as soon as the door was closed.

  The detective gave her a look that said you should know better than to ask that. ‘Er, I think you probably know that I won’t be able to comment.’

  Rosie shrugged. There was no point in trying to strike up a friendship here.

  ‘Just wondered who was coming to talk to me.’

  The officer looked at her and then beyond her out of the window, where the sky was turning grey.

  ‘Looks like we’re in for some heavy rain,’ she said.

  Rosie couldn’t help but smile. They didn’t half turn them out these days to despise the press – especially the tabloids. The officer straightened up suddenly at the sound of the door handle being turned. It opened and DI Morton breezed in. He flicked a glance at Rosie and she looked up and met his steely grey eyes staring back at her with what she could only describe as contempt. This was not looking good.

  He crossed the room and stretched his hand out.

  ‘I’m in charge of this inquiry, Miss Gilmour.’ He gave her a firm handshake and held it a second longer than necessary. ‘Just so we are clear about that.’

  There was no way to answer that, Rosie decided, other than to say your boys were not exactly performing well, so she bit her tongue, saying instead, ‘How’re you doing?’ and watching him as he went round behind the desk so that he was sitting opposite her.

  Another officer, younger and obviously dressed by the same tailor, pulled up a chair and sat alongside his boss. Rosie waited and watched as the DI placed a sheaf of papers on the desk and took a pen out of his inside pocket. He looked at the desk for a long moment, then up at her. Again with the fixed stare. On another face it might have been attractive, Rosie thought, but along with the general demeanour that he was putting out, she braced herself for trouble.

  ‘I might as well get to the point,’ he began. ‘Firstly, we’re obviously grateful that you got in touch to bring us the man we’ve been looking for over the past couple of days. We think he may be crucial to our investigation. So we do appreciate your help.’ He paused, looking at Rosie, as though he was expecting her to smile coyly. She didn’t. She just stared back. ‘But the fact of the matter is
, you have been in possession of this information for the past few days. Let me put it another way. If this man turns out to be a suspect in any part of our investigations – and from what I hear, he has made a full confession to you – then you, Rosie Gilmour, have been harbouring a suspect.’ Another pause. ‘That is a criminal offence. But I’m sure you know that.’

  He waited and Rosie felt she’d better say something.

  ‘I think that’s putting it a bit rough, Inspector. The man came to me for help. I was aware that it was the police he should be talking to, but he was frightened.’

  ‘Well, if he’s witnessed a murder, buried a body and taken part in a vicious robbery, then he’s every right to be frightened of the police.’

  ‘All of which was done against his will.’

  ‘Yes, so he says. But if you don’t mind, we’ll be the ones investigating whether he’s telling the truth. And right now, we’re several days behind – thanks to you. What were you trying to prove? That you could do all this yourself?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rosie snapped. ‘I told you. The guy was terrified. He’s a foreigner, living as a slave in a foreign country, his wife held somewhere else. If you guys were doing your job it would be the bloody O’Dwyers and the likes of them you’d be looking at.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how we should do our job. It’s not smart – sitting where you’re sitting.’ He sat back. ‘Listen. I know your reputation goes before you, Rosie, and you’ll get a bit of respect for that from this side of the table, but this is a serious criminal investigation. It’s not for the tabloids to decide when to get the police involved. In my opinion, you’ve been allowed to get away with this crap too often. And I’ll tell you this – it’s about to change now that I’m running the show here.’

  Rosie glanced from the inspector to his detective, who was sitting staring at the desk, avoiding her eyes. She should take the heat out of this by being civil, but she couldn’t resist it.

  ‘Fine. I’ll remember that the next time I’m able to deliver a serial killer to you – who then manages to escape from custody. Oh, and the next time I bring a poor bastard refugee to you, who actually got murdered while in police protection.’ She felt her face burn. ‘Listen, Inspector. Don’t try to monster me. If every story or investigation I did was a straightforward case of passing information on to the police, then my job would be easy. But I’m a journalist, not a cop, so I have a job to do too.’