by Anna Smith
‘Let me make a phone call, Emir. Don’t worry.’
Don’s phone rang out and went onto message. Then Rosie remembered that he was going fishing with his mates and probably had his phone switched off at least until the evening. She dismissed the idea of contacting some out-of-hours number at the Refugee Council. It would be wrong to throw Emir into a confusing mire of red tape and officialdom.
‘I want to talk to a friend of mine, Emir,’ she said. ‘He’s a detective, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help, but he’s not answering his phone.’ Rosie glanced at her watch. ‘Listen. I don’t think there’s a lot we can do over the weekend. I’ll take you to the police station now if you want, but it might be better for you to leave it until I can get my detective friend. But can you give me your phone number and the exact address of your flat, so I can keep in touch?’
Emir nodded, and gave her the details which she wrote down. ‘Okay. I wait for you to call me.’ He stood up. ‘I go back to now and stay in my apartment.’
‘I’ll drive you there, if you want.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I go by myself.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘Thank you. I know you will help me.’ He clasped her hand tightly.
‘I will, Emir.’ Rosie saw the desperation in his eyes. ‘I’ll do everything I can.’ She watched as he turned and left the cafe, walking briskly across the station, and disappeared through the archway into the street.
CHAPTER 5
Tanya was a discreet distance away from the overspill of mourners standing in the drizzle outside the Catholic church, waiting for the end of Tony Murphy’s funeral mass. Looking around at the smartly dressed people who had turned up to pay their respects, she wondered if they really knew who their friend was, if they had any idea of the double life he’d led. Whatever he was to them, he was more to her. She was his secret. But even as she tried to convince herself, the words of his suicide note to his wife kept coming back. I love you forever, always have … That’s what had brought her to the funeral, to catch a glimpse of his other life, the family he’d adored.
As the heavy church doors opened, the strains of the organ and the congregation singing swelled out and up into the leaden sky. The priest and altar boys emerged, and behind them Tony’s dark oak coffin, carried on the shoulders of half a dozen men. At the front was Frank Paton, and the sight of his face flushed and tear-stained as he carried his friend brought tears to Tanya’s eyes. We were the wide-eyed students who were going to change the world … Tony had written in his letter to Frank. He had told her how Frank and him had been friends since university – closer than brothers, he’d said.
Tanya watched as they came down the steps, her heart in turmoil. Then she saw his wife, sobbing as she was supported by a beautiful young girl, and a teenage boy so much the image of Tony that it took her breath away. And for the very first time, the truth cut through her like a knife. These three people, their faces etched with grief, their lives changed forever: they were what Tony was all about. She was nothing. She was sex in the afternoon in a cheap hotel room.
Suddenly it hit home to her that all the promises, all the plans they’d made were nothing. Shame washed over her. She had kidded herself that she’d moved on from an escort girl to a woman who was loved and cherished. She’d imagined Tony’s wife was dowdy and boring, that he’d grown tired of her and only stayed with her for the children. But now she was confronted by this beautiful, elegant woman in black, her eyes puffy from crying, sobbing as her husband’s coffin was placed into the hearse. This was all that mattered. And Tanya had robbed her of the final words from her husband before he took his life. She had to make amends. She knew where Tony lived, having sneaked there a long time ago for a fleeting glance at the big turreted house in a wealthy suburb of the city, where she now realised he belonged. She slunk away as the church emptied.
*
Tanya could hear the televison blaring as she got to the top step of her block of flats in Maryhill. She knew even before she put the key in her door what she would find. She let herself in and there he was, snoring, surrounded by three or four empty lager cans and a quarter bottle of vodka. She switched off the television, went straight into the kitchen with her bags of shopping, and began preparing dinner.
Half an hour later, as Tanya strained a pot of potatoes into the sink she heard the television blaring again. He was up. She braced herself, waiting to hear what he was going to moan about tonight so he could pick a fight.
‘Where were you?’ Josef stood leaning on the doorframe, smoking. ‘Thought you weren’t working today.’
‘I was just walking in the city. I went to the library.’ Tanya glanced at him as she set the table. She could see his simmering rage and her stomach knotted.
‘The library?’ Josef snorted. ‘Walking in the city I can understand – that’s what whores like you do – but the library? What the fuck you do in the library? Looking for books about whores?’
Tanya didn’t answer. She turned away from him and went to the cooker. She took sausages from the frying pan and put them on the plates along with potatoes and beans. She placed them on the table and sat down without looking at him.
‘What the fuck is this?’ He sat down.
Tanya put down her knife and fork. ‘It’s all we have, Josef.’ She looked at him. ‘I told you, I haven’t worked this week. The lawyer’s office is closed since … since the death. Mr Frank said he will pay me, but it won’t be until later this week. I go back to work tomorrow.’
Josef sat back and folded his arms.
‘You think I can eat this shit?’
‘It’s not shit,’ Tanya said, trying to control her anger. ‘In Ukraine you would have been glad of it. You’d have been glad to eat at all.’
‘Well, I am not in fucking Ukraine. I’m here.’ He sneered. ‘We ate better when you made your wages on your back. Maybe you get on your back for Mr fucking Frank and we eat better.’
Silence. Tanya froze, terrified he suspected her and Tony.
‘You hear me, Tanya?’ He slammed the table with his fist, making her jump. ‘When you made money from fucking, we used to eat steak. Now you clean offices and we eat this kind of shit.’ He pushed the plate away.
Tanya tried to stay calm, but the words were out before she could stop herself. ‘If we eat shit, it’s because you drink every penny I make and you won’t even look for a job.’
She didn’t even see the slap coming, but it almost knocked her off her chair. Her cheek burned. Tears sprung to her eyes.
‘You bastard, Josef. Fuck you.’ Tanya jumped up clutching her face and headed for the door.
He was after her in a flash.
‘Where do you think you’re going, you cheap whore?’ He caught her by the arm and swung her round so hard she knocked into the table and sent the glasses flying. He slapped her twice on the face and she tasted blood in her mouth.
‘Stop,’ She screamed. ‘Leave me alone, you drunk, useless fuck of a man.’ She tried to spit at him but nothing came out.
He let go of her, his eyes blazing.
She wiped blood from her mouth with the back of her hand as she wept. Then she couldn’t stop herself.
‘I hate you. I wish I’d never met you. All you’ve ever done is bully and beat me and take everything from me. Can’t you even look at yourself in the mirror and see how repulsive you are? My flesh creeps every time you touch me.’ She tried to push past him, but he stood in front of her, pinning her against the sink. He smelled of sweat and stale booze.
His face reddened and he grabbed her by the wrists, and turned her around, forcing her arms behind her back.
‘Stop. You’re hurting me.’
‘You never complained when some fat old bastard was hurting you as long as he was paying, you bitch. He dragged her towards the table and bent her over, slamming her face onto the wood, holding her down with one hand.
‘Fuck you, woman. This is all you are. And these days, you’re not even much good at that. So shut the
fuck up and I teach you who is boss in this house.’
‘Stop.’ Tanya screamed and struggled as he pulled up her skirt and tore her pants off.
Through her tears, Tanya could see the blood from her mouth smear the table as he held her down and raped her.
*
It was just gone six when Tanya slipped out of the single bed in the spare room. She moved softly around the house, creeping into the bedroom where Josef lay snoring like a bull. It crossed her mind to go into the kitchen and grab a knife and stab him to death while he slept. She’d read enough in the papers about rape, that she could claim self defence. The bruises on her swollen face and an internal examination by a doctor would back up her story of last night’s brutality. But it was easier just to walk out on him.
She closed the door quietly, crept down the three flights of stairs with her small suitcase and opened the door, walking out into the bright, fresh morning. It was over. Whatever it had been with Josef in the beginning had died a long time ago. The beatings had begun before she had started her affair with Tony, and once he had made her know what it was like to be treated with love and respect, her revulsion for Josef grew. She was on her own now, the same as she was when she arrived here from Ukraine four years ago. She didn’t starve then and she wouldn’t starve now. Josef wouldn’t come after her. He would know that last night he had crossed a line.
Tanya took nearly an hour to walk from Maryhill Road into the city centre, stopping everywhere she could for a rest from carrying her suitcase. By the time she got into the city, she was just in time for the Post Office opening. She went inside and bought an envelope and stamp. Then she addressed it to Mrs Millie Murphy, carefully printing it so it wasn’t in her handwriting. She had considered the consequences of what she was doing, that police would become involved because a suicide note was now arriving at the Murphy home almost a week after Tony died. Of course they might suspect that someone swiped the note from his desk, and she was the first one on the scene. But they could prove nothing. They would prove nothing.
She went for a coffee in the cafe close to the lawyer’s office before she started work. She took out the letter from Tony to Frank Paton. I told you we should stop. See you in hell, Frank … What did it mean, she wondered? She sat back, recalling how Frank had come into Tony’s office and removed files from his desk and the safe. He had something to hide. And that made him vulnerable.
*
Arriving at the law firm earlier than usual, Tanya was surprised to hear voices coming from upstairs in Frank Paton’s office. She put her suitcase in a cupboard and climbed the stairs quietly. She stood outside and held her breath, listening hard.
‘It can’t go on like this, Billy,’ Frank said. ‘Tony’s dead. He killed himself over this. It changes everything.’
‘No it doesn’t,’ another voice said. ‘It doesn’t change a thing. You just carry on as normal.’
‘I don’t think I can.’ Frank’s voice was shaking.
‘You don’t have a choice, Frankie boy. You’re in this up to your fucking neck.’
Silence. Tanya waited.
‘Look, Frank, you know the score here. You know what you agreed to do, and you’ve made plenty of money out of it, so you just keep going. You just provide the details and stuff, we’ll do the rest. Don’t start developing a fucking conscience now.’
More silence.
‘By the way, there’s a bit of a problem. These two dickheads you gave us last week. One of them got away.’
‘Aw, fuck me, Billy!’
‘Don’t sweat man. It’s no big deal. It’s getting sorted.’
Tanya could hear movement in the room and she scurried downstairs in time for the door of Frank’s office opening. He looked shocked to see her.
‘Hello Tanya,’ he said. ‘You’re early.’
‘Not really, Mr Frank. Only a few minutes. You are very early. Will I make some coffee for you?’
‘Yes, thanks Tanya.’ Frank stood at the top of the stairs as the two men came down. They walked past Tanya without even looking in her direction as they left.
CHAPTER 6
As she drove out of the city and up towards the Red Road flats, Rosie kept ringing Emir’s mobile number, but there was no answer. It had been that way since Sunday night when she’d called him after she finally got Don and told him the Kosovan’s story. As predicted, he’d said the story was far-fetched, but wanted to meet Emir before he ran it past the bosses. He suggested a couple of detectives go to Emir’s flat to talk to him, but Rosie thought it would spook him and volunteered to bring him to the police station herself before she went into work.
She was surprised to see two police cars and several uniformed officers outside one of the blocks of flats when she pulled into the car park. She got out of the car and approached a couple of young mums standing smoking, their toddlers asleep in pushchairs.
‘What’s happening?’ Rosie said.
‘Vigilantes,’ one of the young girls puffed on her cigarette.
‘Vigilantes?’ Rosie’s stomach sank.
‘Aye. They got another one of the refugees last night. A boy. Stabbed.’ The other girl looked at Rosie. ‘It’s not right that. Doesn’t matter what they’re getting from the council and stuff. Nobody deserves that. I mean some of these people have got weans and everything. They’re just like us.’
‘I know,’ the other girl said. ‘You can’t go about stabbing folk. The thing that annoys me is the fucking vigilantes are just neds from round here who’d stab anybody. They’re all wasters.’
‘Do you know what age the guy was?’ Rosie asked. ‘Is he alive?’
‘Dunno. He’s in the hospital. Heard he was quite far through.’
‘Where did he come from?’ Rosie said. ‘I mean what block of flats?’
‘That one.’ The girl pointed. ‘I heard he was Turkish. He’s been here for a few months. The vigilantes attacked him and stabbed him out in the street last night. Just picked on him. I heard the commotion – the ambulance and stuff.’
Rosie watched as the girls walked off in the direction of the city. She felt a pang of guilt at her relief that the stabbed refugee was Turkish, then quickly realised that with Emir’s looks he could quite easily have been mistaken for Turkish.
She crossed the car park towards the block where she’d first seen Emir standing in tears that day. Rosie got into the tiny lift just before the doors closed and stood alongside two women who looked like refugees. They stood bunched together in the rickety aluminium box that smelled of piss, and she prayed it wouldn’t break down between floors. She gave the women a friendly smile, but they looked intimidated just by her presence. Nobody spoke, and as the lift shuddered slowly towards the twelfth floor, Rosie read the graffiti scrawled in front of them. ‘Go home’ it said in thick black letters. She glanced at the refugee women who were staring flatly at the walls and wondered where home was for them and how it must have felt when they fled, knowing that all their tomorrows would be filled with uncertainty and fear. And to come here, tired and wretched, only to be a victim of some lowlife vigilantes who hadn’t the wit or compassion to comprehend just how much these people had lost.
They all got out of the lift together, and walked along the corridor, Rosie checking the door numbers until she came to number nine. The two women passed her, but glanced back suspiciously as she knocked on Emir’s door. She watched as the others went into a flat three doors down. She stood and waited. No answer. She knocked again, this time louder and for longer. Still no answer. She bent down and looked through the letter box and into the stillness of the long hallway. It looked chilly and dismal, but from what she could see at the edge of the living room it was furnished and clean. And, crucially, no smell. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d peered through a letter box to be hit by the stench of a dead body.
‘Emir?’ Rosie shouted through the letter box. ‘Emir? Are you there?’ Nothing.
She stood for a few moments, not quite knowing what to do. He
r mobile rang. It was Don.
‘Where’s this guy, Rosie? I thought you were bringing him down?’
‘I was, Don, but I can’t get him on his mobile. Tried all night and this morning, but no answer, so I’m up here now at his door. There’s no sign of him.’ Rosie spoke quietly.
‘You up at the Red Road? I was going to buzz you on that. Some Turkish guy got stabbed last night by these nut-job vigilantes. That’s three attacks in the past month.’
‘Is the victim definitely Turkish?’ Rosie said.
‘Yep. Definitely a Turk. He was here with his parents.’
‘What is it with these thugs who are doing this?’
‘Just scumbags, Rosie. Pure pond-life.’ He paused. ‘So what you going to do if you can’t find him. Not much I can do this end if he’s done a runner.’
‘I know. But it’s a real bastard. I know he was telling the truth, Don. The guy was terrified. Maybe he just got off his mark. But tell you what, Don, my worry is that somebody got to him.’
‘You mean the guys who took his mate? None of his story makes sense, Rosie. You do know that, don’t you? I mean, why would anyone lift two guys off the street and take them outside of the city and beat them up? Why?’
‘You’re the detective, Don. All I know is that this guy was terrified and I believe that something happened to his pal. I don’t think it was this vigilante mob, but it could have been, and I want to find out. I want to find Emir. I feel for the guy. I think something has happened to him. I’m going to ask around here – some of the other refugees – see if they know him or have seen him.’
