by Anna Smith
Besa’s hand trembled as she wiped a tear from her cheek.
‘You were with him?’
‘Yes. He was not alone. I held his hand.’
Besa looked at her, and Rosie waited for an angry outburst of emotion blaming her for his death, but it didn’t happen. Besa stepped forward and put her arms around her. They both stood there, hugging each other and crying on each other’s shoulder. Eventually, Besa let go, and she jerked her head in the direction of the house behind her.
‘Emir’s grandmother – my aunt. She is an old woman. She is sick. Please do not tell her the truth. Tell her what Emir say – that he is happy.’
Rosie nodded. ‘I will.’
*
In the little kitchen, the old lady sat near the window in a wooden armchair. She was dressed in black, with her silver hair pulled back neatly in a bone clasp. When Besa introduced Rosie as a friend of Emir’s, she opened her toothless mouth in a joyful smile, and took both Rosie’s hands in hers. Her eyes were milky with cataracts.
‘Emir,’ she said, happily. ‘Emir.’ She nodded and spoke in Albanian.
Rosie looked at Besa.
‘She is asking is Emir happy. Is he living in a good country.’
Rosie glanced at Matt and Adrian, then at Besa. ‘Tell her yes, he is very happy. He is in Glasgow in Scotland and he has a job. And he is very happy. He has a nice apartment. He told me to tell his grandmother not to worry, that he is happy.’
The woman relayed the message and the grandmother broke into a smile. Then she gazed out of the window, and spoke again.
‘She is asking will he come to see her some time. Will she see him.’
Rosie paused. She looked at the grandmother’s face, the deep wrinkles on her papery thin skin. For a fleeting moment, Rosie thought she saw a look in the old woman’s eyes that knew none of what she was saying was true but that she was playing the game like everyone wanted her to. She saw the woman’s eyes fill up.
‘Yes,’ Rosie nodded. ‘Tell her she will see him some time.’
Besa relayed the message and the old woman smiled. She took Rosie’s hand again and held it tight.
‘Thank you,’ she said in English. Then she spoke to Besa.
‘She says you are very kind to come all this way to bring to her the love of her grandson.’
And once again, Rosie felt that somewhere behind the fading, weary eyes, the old woman knew that the reason this stranger had come so far to see her, could only be because Emir was gone. She just didn’t have to say it.
*
‘And here we are at last, Rosie,’ Adrian glanced at her from the corner of his eye, as he took the slip road off to Skopje airport. ‘Soon you will be home.’
Rosie thought she detected a trace of sadness in his expression.
‘I’m going to miss you, Adrian.’ She gently patted his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. ‘It’s been some journey – in more ways than one.’
Part of her was desperate to get back to Glasgow, not just to feel safe in her own country, but to shake off the heaviness of these past few days, revisiting the scenes that had haunted her since she left Kosovo. But the crazy part of her – that she could never really explain to people – didn’t want to leave. There was something about living on the edge like this, so far out of her comfort zone, which gave Rosie such an adrenalin hit that she felt more alive than she did in any other area of her life. She wished she didn’t feel that way, but she did, and as long as she did, she knew her life would always be pretty much a mess. She looked at her watch. The flight to London was in three hours and they’d be too late for the last flight to Scotland. TJ was going in the morning to New York. No way would she make it on time. She’d already resigned herself to that.
Her mobile rang. It was McGuire.
‘Gilmour? You’re a star! Take a bow! We’re all over Sky News today.’
‘Oh. Hi Mick. We’ve been on the move all day. Did it say much?’
‘Not a whole lot. Just that they’d arrested the Serbian army commander wanted for war crimes, who had been on the run in the UK. They also flashed up a copy of our front page yesterday, with the picture of Hayman. Fucking marvellous news! He’s stood down as an MP, by the way, after our revelations. Downing Street is covered in shit over it. They’ve launched an immediate investigation into PD Pharmaceuticals. If I didn’t have a paper to put out I’d be opening a bottle of champers.’ He paused. ‘But I’ll keep it till you get back, Rosie. Tell Matt I said well done. Both of you. I’m so proud of you, I’m even saying it out loud.’
‘Don’t you go crying on me now, Mick,’ Rosie joked. ‘I hate when you do that.’ She was feeling better already. The gloom had lifted.
‘What time are you up here tomorrow?’
‘Should be there by midday. I’m catching the flight out of here in around three hours – unless there’s some kind of stop on me by Interpol.’ Rosie was only half joking. Her stomach knotted at the thought of it.
‘Christ, don’t say that! You should be all right coming out of Macedonia, but you might get your backside felt in the UK. If not in London when you arrive, then maybe when you get back here.’
‘You think so? In the great scheme of things, now that they’ve arrested Raznatovic, the fact that I left the scene of a murder that he had obviously instigated is a mere detail is it not?’
‘Don’t bank on it, Gilmour, but I’ve got Hanlon standing by just in case. Keep me informed.’ He paused. ‘You and Matt can have an extra Kit-Kat on your expenses when you get to London tonight. But get some sleep because I want you fresh for your story on the kidnapping when you get home tomorrow.’ He hung up.
‘Your editor is very happy,’ Adrian said, as he pulled the car into a space at the departures area.
‘Yes. Ecstatic by the sound of him. Raznatovic will probably lie around jail for a while now before they set a trial date, but the good thing is they got him,’ Rosie said, getting out of the car as Matt dragged their bags out of the boot.
He hooked his camera bag over his shoulder. ‘We’d better get a move on, Rosie. I just want to get through security and lie low until it’s time for the flight.’ He extended a hand to Adrian. ‘Big man. You’re some turn.’ Adrian shook his hand, and Matt stepped forward and gave him a hug. Adrian looked a little surprised, but hugged him back.
Matt turned and walked a few steps ahead, leaving Rosie and Adrian standing together. She smiled at him, suddenly recalling the haunted young Bosnian refugee she’d first seen in the cafe in Glasgow when they first met. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
‘I wish you were coming with us, Adrian,’ Rosie said, and meant it.
‘Me too, Rosie.’ He shrugged. ‘I will be here for a little while more, but then I move on again. Is always the way with me now. Home is not the same for me.’
‘I know,’ Rosie said, thinking of the cemetery. She could see Matt standing at the doors waiting for her. She didn’t really have any words for the way she felt right now – not any that would do it justice.
‘I better get going.’ She wrapped her arms around Adrian and he kissed her on the cheek then held her tight. Tears stung Rosie’s eyes.
‘I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Adrian.’
He let go of her, and his pale eyes scanned her face.
‘You are a good woman, Rosie. I do miss you. I see you again I hope.’ He kissed her again, this time softly on the lips, just for a moment.
She was a little taken by surprise and hugged him again. ‘Goodbye Adrian. Take care.’ She let go of him and walked away, turning back to see him still standing by his car, watching her disappear into the building.
CHAPTER 36
There was something about the sight of the lunchtime canteen rush that gave Rosie a ridiculous sense of comfort. She was home. She stood in the foyer of the Post as the lift doors pinged open and the various staff spilled out, full of their usual banter and gossip as they headed for the canteen on the ground floor.
> ‘Good holiday, Rosie? Where’s your tan?’ The big cheery receptionist grinned at her.
Rosie smiled back, her eye still a little swollen and bruised.
‘Yeah. Brilliant, Liz. Laugh a minute.’
Some things never changed. It didn’t matter whether you’d been shot at, kidnapped or beaten to a pulp by some thug – the good thing was you always got the same patter when you came back into the office. It was as reassuring as outstretched arms.
She went upstairs and stood for a moment, gazing around the expanse of the editorial floor, half empty as it usually was at this time of the day before the afternoon buzz built up. It was good to be back. She could see McGuire talking to Marion outside his office, and when he looked up and caught sight of her, he beckoned her across.
‘Welcome back, Rosie,’ Marion said. ‘I hope you’re putting that black eye on your expenses,’ she smiled.
‘Oh, you bet I will, Marion.’ Rosie winked and went into McGuire’s office and closed the door.
‘Christ, Gilmour, I feel I should hug you.’ He came towards her. ‘In fact, I’m going to hug you.’
He put his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. Rosie felt a little choked – a mixture of exhaustion, and gratitude that she’d actually made it in one piece.
‘Don’t get all weepy now, Mick. At least wait till you see my expenses.’
‘Are you all right Rosie? I mean with the bloody kidnapping and stuff?’
‘Yeah,’ Rosie said, as casually as she could manage. ‘I’m okay. At least I’m here to tell the tale.’
McGuire looked at her, shaking his head. He motioned her to sit down on the sofa, then went to his desk and picked up two copies of the Post. He held them up to her like a trophy.
‘Fucking brilliant! We stuffed everybody! In fact we’ve been stuffing every other paper from day one on this story. Sales are up a right few thousand in the last couple of days.’
Rosie gave him a sarcastic look. ‘Yeah, never mind the poor bastards getting their bodies sliced up and pickled – as long as we’re selling millions.’
‘Oh you know what I mean, Rosie. We’ve set the agenda big time with this. Fucking resignations all over the place.’ He opened the paper. ‘Look.’
Rosie saw the headline: ‘Hayman Stands Down’, and below, the story of his dealings with the company at the centre of international illegal trade in human body tissue.
‘And not just him.’ McGuire turned another page. ‘A detective has been suspended pending an investigation into the death of your pal Emir.’
Rosie brightened. ‘Really? Who is it?’
‘Some guy named Nicholson. Not even a DS, just a detective who was on the job of looking after Emir. He must have given them the whereabouts. My spies tell me it turns out he’s been on the take from Howie’s mob for a while. He’s for the high jump anyway, the bastard, but you have to wonder why it took them so long to fucking realise he was bent.’
‘Shocking,’ Rosie said. ‘And you’d think they’d be able to hand-pick a crack team to look after a protected witness.’
‘Yeah. I also hear the Deputy Chief Constable is getting his arse kicked big time. The Chief was on a week’s holiday, and Emir was murdered on the DCC’s watch. So there’s a view taken that the buck stops with him.’
‘Good. Deserves all he gets. I need to find out a bit more about it. We should just keep hammering them. We shouldn’t let them get away with being so completely inept.’
McGuire gave her a perplexed look. ‘I thought you might say that. But give yourself a rest, Rosie, you just got back. Take a couple of days to bask in the glory – well, after you write up your kidnapping piece today.’
‘I will, Mick. I will. But I need to make a call.’ She pressed Don’s number. It answered after two rings.
‘You still on the run, Rosie?’
It was good to hear Don’s sarcastic voice. ‘I’m in hiding – behind the sofa. Less said about it the better.’
‘Are you back though?’
‘Yep, only just. Tell me: what’s the craic with the cop suspended. I just heard.’
Don lowered his voice. ‘Can’t talk right now. Why don’t I meet you in O’Brien’s for a quick drink … about six?’
Rosie rubbed her face. She was tired. She would take a couple of hours to write up the kidnap story, and she needed to go back and reacquaint herself with the safe flat.
‘Okay, Don. I’ll be there.’ She hung up, then turned to McGuire. ‘I might have a bit more intelligence on the cop situation later today.’
The door opened and Marion came in carrying a tray with coffee and some sandwiches.
‘Thought you might be hungry,’ she said, setting it down on the coffee table.
‘Great, Marion. I’m starving.’
McGuire’s phone rang on his desk and he answered it impatiently. When he hung up he came back and took a mouthful of tea without sitting down.
‘Listen, Rosie. I’ve got to go up to a directors’ meeting. Some bean-counter crap, but I’ve got to be there.’ He put his cup down. ‘Are you all right to do the kidnap story? I mean how are you with it? When I come back down I want to hear all about it. You’re a bit bashed up.’
‘I’m okay. It was scary, but I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it over a bottle of something stronger than this.’ She held up her teacup.
‘Deal.’ He headed for the door.
Rosie settled down and read over the newspapers she’d missed while she was away. Her eyes rested on the picture of Emir that Matt had taken at her flat before they took him to the police station that afternoon. His drawn expression and dark eyes were full of fear and apprehension. She remembered him sobbing like a lost child that morning at the Red Road flats, and then how much more relaxed he’d been as they’d sat in her flat the night before she handed him over to the care of cops. He’d talked to her about growing up in Kosovo, about the murder of his parents, and how he and his friend Jetmir were full of hope for the future. She reflected on the look in his grandmother’s eyes …
She sat back and flicked through the other stuff she’d sent while she was on the move – the full story behind the Raznatovic involvement. She looked back at the Frank Paton revelations, thinking of his ashen face that day she’d confronted him. One of the other reporters, young Declan, had written a good piece about a government probe into refugees in Scotland. There was a photograph of the woman Rosie had spoken to from the Scottish Refugee Council and an interview with her declaring how shocked they were at the revelations. But she claimed that government cutbacks prevented them from checking the whereabouts of every refugee every single day. Some things never change.
It was, as McGuire had said, a groundbreaking investigation, and the entire media was a country mile behind them in the chase. Rosie wished she felt as triumphant inside as the bravado exterior she was putting on. But the truth was that all she could think about was Emir and Gerhard Hoffman. She noted there had been no arrests as yet. Both Al Howie and Clock Buchanan had vanished, probably to the Costa del Sol. But they would get their day …
Her mobile rang and she looked at it, confused. It was TJ.
‘TJ?’
‘Hey Rosie.’ His tone was light. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m back, TJ. Just a couple of hours ago. I’m in the office. Where are you? You in New York already?’
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Put it off for a couple of days. I’ll catch up with the others.’ He paused. ‘I couldn’t go without seeing you, Rosie.’
She tried to speak, but her throat was tight.
‘You there, Rosie?’
‘Yeah … I … I’m just … Can’t believe you did that.’
She heard him sighing. ‘Just didn’t feel right, not seeing you. Cost me my first week’s gigging money, by the way. Are you okay? They didn’t shoot you or anything?’ he joked.
‘Not quite,’ Rosie managed to say. She took a deep breath. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, TJ. I … I thought you’d be gone. I
had just resigned myself to it. There’s been so much going on over in Bosnia and stuff that I tried not to think about it, but when I got to London last night, I felt … Well I felt like shit, just knowing that I’d miss you by a few hours.’
‘Well, we’ve got a couple of days. Then I’m off. Why don’t I come to your place tonight? We can get a takeaway.’ He paused. ‘Or are you too knackered from the trip?’
‘No. No way, TJ. I’m okay,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘But … er … I have to see someone at six. A cop. I’ll be there by around seven.’
*
Rosie felt a little sluggish as she sat on a bar stool in O’Brien’s, sipping a mineral water as she waited for Don. It had been a busy afternoon, writing the spread on her kidnap ordeal, then dashing up to dump her bag in her flat before coming out to meet Don. More than anything right now, she longed for a large gin and tonic to straighten her out, but she resisted, knowing that mixed with the exhaustion and stress she felt, it would hit her between the eyes. The last thing she wanted was to turn up to meet TJ half sozzled.
She watched as Don came through the swing doors and automatically looked over to the bar. He came towards her, his craggy expression even more wiped out than usual. He glanced at Rosie’s bruised eye as he eased himself onto the bar stool.
‘You’ve been getting on some Serbian tits, I see. You’re not fussy who you fuck about, Rosie, are you?’ He offered her a cigarette and flicked the lighter under it. ‘You’re lucky they didn’t cut your ears off.’
‘They’re just not fast enough,’ Rosie gave a little swagger to her shrug.
‘What happened to you?’
‘I got kidnapped.’ Rosie drew on her cigarette and looked beyond him. ‘Long story. But as you see, I got away.’ She swirled the ice in her glass. ‘So what’s the score with the bent detective? And I hear the Deputy Chief is getting pelters.’
