Death Trap: Rosie Gilmour 8

by Anna Smith

  ‘Sure.’ Rosie smiled at the young lawyer, whom she’d met once before. He worked in the firm of one of her solicitor pals, who’d told her that McCann was a rising star. ‘How you doing, Brian? Keeping busy?’

  They walked together towards the swing doors.

  ‘Oh yeah. A lot on the go. But it gets stranger every day. You’ll never believe what I was just doing this morning in here. A fucking asylum-seeker charged with trapping a seagull.’

  ‘A seagull? You kidding?’

  ‘No. Honestly. How the hell it ever got into court, I’ll never know. Poor bugger said he was hungry, so caught the seagull to eat.’

  ‘Christ! To eat? How did he trap it?’

  ‘Some kind of contraption with a rope and a tin tray, from the window of his flat.’

  ‘Did he actually eat it?’ Rosie was intrigued.

  ‘Well, not exactly. But it was in the oven when the police arrived.’

  ‘I can’t believe someone phoned the police and they actually went to investigate! No wonder you can’t get a cop when you’re being battered to death.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘So what happened to him? Where’s he from?’

  ‘Kosovo. Came here and was supposed to go after a year, but stayed on, working in the black market. A wife and kid. You know, the usual story.’

  ‘Yeah, too well. A lot of them stay on and disappear into the black economy. Can’t blame them, really.’

  They went through the doors and onto the street, where photographers were waiting around to snap anyone connected with the Boag appearance. Don and Brian stopped and lit up cigarettes, both of them drawing in the smoke as if it was their last. Then Brian suddenly looked across the street, straining his eyes.

  ‘Wait a minute! There’s my man there – my refugee! What the fuck’s happening?’

  Rosie looked across the street and followed Brian, who was walking briskly. There was a skinny man, dishevelled, being strong-armed towards a waiting red Jaguar.

  ‘What’s going on, Brian? Who’s that with him?’

  ‘Christ knows. I was only the duty solicitor today, so I don’t know much about the guy. The case was put back to a later date, because the sheriff wanted to get the Refugee Council to give him more information. So I might not see him again. But what’s this guy doing slapping him?’

  Rosie watched as the bigger man smacked the refugee on the back of the head and bundled him into the car. She rushed forward, beside Brian who stood next to the car, battering on the window. The Kosovan looked up with that look she’d seen in the faces of refugees in camps, or limping across borders. Desperate, lost, helpless. The car screeched off. She managed to get the number plate, repeating it to herself as she jotted it down in her notebook.

  ‘Who’s the guy, Brian? Any idea?’

  ‘Nope. He didn’t mention anything about anyone. Said he knew nobody and was just living hand to mouth.’

  ‘Well, he’s being abused there. That’s for sure.’

  Don caught up with them.

  ‘Come on, guys. Let’s have a pint.’

  Rosie watched the car as it sped out up High Street and out of sight in a line of heavy traffic.

  ‘There’s something not right about that.’ She turned to Don as they crossed the road towards the pub. ‘That bastard was slapping the poor guy around. I need to find out more.’

  ‘Did you clock the number plate?’ Don pushed open the door of the bar and allowed Rosie to go through.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘I’ll get one of the lads to run it through.’

  ‘Can you do it soon, Don? Like now?’

  ‘Christ! Can I order a drink first, sweetheart?’ he joked. ‘We’ve just banged up what might be one of the country’s most twisted serial killers. Take a breather, Gilmour – for Jesus’ sake.’

  Rosie smiled and put a friendly arm around his shoulder.

  ‘I know. You’re right. But you know what I’m like. I can smell trouble out there.’

  Don grinned.

  ‘Out there? Look around this place, pet. You can smell trouble in here any day of the week.’

  Rosie smiled as they sat down and she took in the surroundings of the famous Old Ship Bank pub – yards from the High Court in the rougher end of town. If you sat here long enough on any given day, the stories just kept unfolding. In one corner there would be murderers freed on a not-proven verdict holding impromptu parties, karaoke at full tilt, celebrating sticking it up the arses of the cops. Or, across the bar, a few lawyers and QCs imbibing with their clients, or the victims, traumatised after going into court in search of justice. Sometimes they got it – often they got a pie, a pint, maybe drunk. Rosie opted for a mug of tea instead of alcohol. It was too early in the day for a gin and tonic, and the Ship wasn’t known for its red wine. It was one of the few places that still sold Lanliq, Eldorado and Buckfast by the glass. Don brought over three pies on a plate, which they proceeded to tear into with their hands. It’s how it was done. Don’s mobile rang, and Rosie watched him speaking, then winking at her.

  ‘Get your pen out, Gilmour. Here’s the sketch,’ he said.

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Yeah. Like you were sitting there not bothered. Your arse was making buttons to get started. I know you.’

  ‘So I’m ready.’ Rosie took her notebook out.

  ‘O’Dwyer. Gadgie. Well . . . settled gadgie, but gippo nonetheless.’

  ‘Your political correctness is astounding, if I may say so, sir,’ the young lawyer piped up between mouthfuls of pie.

  ‘Fuck that! I know of this bastard. He’s not a major player as such, but a gangster, and worse still, one of the big faces in the travelling community. They own some farmland out towards the Campsie Hills. But word is they’re also fences, moving stolen gear, plus they dabble in drugs. Nobody’s ever been able to get a handle on them because the last thing anyone does in the gadgie community is grass.’

  ‘So what is he doing with my asylum-seeker?’ the lawyer asked.

  ‘No idea, mate. He’s your case.’

  ‘We need to find out,’ Rosie said. ‘That poor bloke looked distraught. I hate to see that. He was being bullied into that car.’ She looked at Don and the lawyer. ‘I’m going to have a look at this O’Dwyer character. I’ve never heard of him.’

  ‘Well, just be careful,’ Don said.

  ‘Will you be able to give me some details on the Kosovan – his name and a bit of background?’

  ‘I don’t have much, but no problem. His name is Tadi. Married with one young son. I’m curious myself. I didn’t like what I saw there either.’

  They went back to their lunch and ate in silence.

  Don’s phone rang again and he pressed it to his ear. Rosie watched as the colour drained from his face.

  ‘You are fucking joking me,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me you’re not serious.’

  Rosie and the lawyer exchanged glances. Then they heard the sirens. They watched as Don listened, rubbing his forehead in frustration, alarm and shock.

  ‘Right. I’m on my way.’ He put the phone back into his pocket.

  ‘What is it, Don?’

  ‘It’s Boag. Fucking Christ almighty! The fucker’s escaped. He’s slashed a cop’s throat on the way out.’

  ‘Jesus! B-but how? He was in handcuffs. What the Christ happened?’

  Don was on his feet.

  ‘No idea. Seems to have kicked off when he was going into the cells. All hell broke loose. There are another three cons missing as well in the mayhem. But fuck them! Boag is out! Holy fucking shit!’

  Rosie looked out of the window where the blue lights of a police car flashed as it sped past. A shudder ran through her. Boag was out. It was her story that led the police to arrest him over a week ago. And he knew it.

  Chapter Two

  Martin Black opened the tailgate of his jeep, and with a swift clap of his hands, the springer spaniel leapt in, tail wagging.

  ‘Good boy, Rex!’ He turn
ed to his girlfriend as she opened the passenger door. ‘Let’s hope he’s tired out. I’m knackered after that walk.’

  He got in and pulled on his seatbelt, then eased the car out of the lay-by and back onto the road. In his rear-view mirror he could see the light beginning to change over the Campsie Hills, giving the sky an almost lilac tinge. He thought of getting out to take another photograph, but he knew Katie would only moan at him.

  ‘No more pictures,’ she grinned. ‘I can read your bloody mind, Martin. Come on. We’ve enough pics for the day. Let’s get settled somewhere and get the tent up. I’m starving.’

  It was mostly farmland around the Campsies, and Martin had already sorted out a spot close to where they had turned off the main road to go up with the dog for a hike in the hills. There was a house in the distance, and he knew they should probably go and ask permission to camp, but they hadn’t done it so far, while they’d been travelling up from the Borders over the last few days. It was his idea not to pitch their tent in campsites. That was for the people who were kid-on campers, he said. They were going to be real survivors, he’d told Katie, when they’d left England. They’d be pitching the tent where they could, bathing in rivers, cooking on their small gas stove. Three days into the trip, and Katie had already been bitching that she longed for a long hot shower and a meal in a restaurant. Tomorrow night, he’d promised her. We’ll stay in a campsite and do what the rest of the herd does. He knew the only way to keep her onside was if he toned it down a little. They were hoping to go all the way up to Oban in the Highlands, so he had to make some compromises along the way.

  ‘I’ve already seen a place we can camp,’ he said. ‘It’s close by, so we can have the tent up and dinner on before it’s dark.’ He rolled down the window and stuck his head out, scanning the sky.

  ‘I’m just hoping it doesn’t bloody rain. I can’t cope with another night, waking up with the dampness going right through me.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘Why the hell did I let you talk me into this bloody trip? It was all right when the sun was shining.’

  ‘Me Tarzan. You Jane.’ Martin reached across and ruffled her hair. ‘Tarzan going to make Jane feel good later tonight.’

  ‘Yeah. Well Tarzan will be struggling to keep Jane awake, if we don’t get started soon.’ She giggled, running a hand up his thigh.

  They’d only been going out six months, after meeting at Durham University, but Martin already knew he was never going to let Katie out of his life. They’d hit it off at a party in a bar close to the university, and by the time the night was over they had sat up all night talking of their dreams, lives and plans. This was as good as it gets, Martin had told himself. They became instant friends. In less than a month they were lovers.

  Martin pulled the car into the side of the road and opened the gate to the field.

  ‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t worry. The Scots are an easy-going crowd – someone will probably come down and offer us a whisky later.’

  ‘Yeah. Or shoot us for being on their land.’

  ‘But we don’t know whose land it is. Look.’ He spread his hands out. ‘There are two farms. One closer, but the other one has things growing in it, so maybe this is their field. So rather than make a scene, let’s just pitch here. We’ll be off before they’re even up in the morning.’

  Martin got out of the car, slung his rucksack over his shoulder and dragged the tent out of the back seat, then headed up towards the clump of trees at the edge of the field, with Katie following. He stepped an area out.

  ‘Here will be great. There’s a bit of shelter from the trees in case the wind gets up in the night. And look – there’s some papers and stuff. Like someone’s been camping here before. Probably kids.’

  The two of them went to work pitching the tent and had it up in minutes. Katie took the sleeping bags inside and Martin set up the stove and brought some food out. In twenty minutes they were sorted and dining on sausages and powdered mashed potatoes washed down by a couple of cans of beer.

  ‘Food fit for kings.’ Martin winked at Katie.

  ‘It’s great, actually,’ she agreed. ‘But tomorrow can we go to a cafe and get fish and chips?’

  ‘Definitely. I promise.’

  When Martin was finished eating, he got up and brought the dog out of the jeep and put food and water into his bowl. Then they got into the tent.

  Under the flickering light of their lamp, they snuggled in and the dog lay sleepily outside the tent. A couple of times earlier, Martin noticed it had been over at the clump of trees, sniffing and scratching. He’d commanded him to come and lie down, threatening to tie him. The dog had looked at him, a bit resentful, but was finally settled. They finished their beers, switched off the lamp, and lay back in their sleeping bags.

  ‘I’m knackered,’ Katie said. ‘Can we put off this Tarzan and Jane lark til tomorrow night?’

  Martin leaned over kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Okay, pet. Tarzan’s a bit done in too, as it happens.’ He lay back, pulled the sleeping bag over him, and seconds later felt himself drifting off to sleep.

  It was still pitch black when Martin’s bladder woke him up. He tried to turn over and ignore it, but he could feel the pressure. Shit! Shouldn’t have drunk all that beer, he muttered to himself. He slipped out of his sleeping bag and crept out of the tent, turning for a second to see Katie’s face in deep, contented sleep. Outside he got to his feet, and could hear the dog sniffing and breathing, but couldn’t see him. Then he looked around, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He spotted Rex, clawing at the earth, just yards away beneath the clump of trees. The dog was digging furiously, agitated.

  ‘Rex,’ Martin rasped. ‘Get over here, you stupid mutt.’

  The dog turned around and barked twice, then went back to digging.

  ‘Christ almighty! You’ll wake up the whole place.’ He glanced back to the tent, where Katie was already poking her head through the flap.

  ‘What the hell, man? It’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘Sorry, Katie. It’s bloody Rex,’ he whispered. ‘I got up for a pee, couldn’t see him, and then found him over there digging like mad. You know what he’s like. Go back to sleep.’

  But Katie was already on her feet and stumbling in the darkness. The dog barked again.

  ‘Shit! Go and bring the bugger over here,’ Katie said. ‘The farmer might come.’

  In the distance they heard the barking of at least one more dog.

  ‘See! He’s bloody wakened the whole of the countryside.’

  Martin took his torch and went over to the dog, shining light over him. He glanced back at Katie.

  ‘Bloody hell. He’s only gone and dug a great hole in the ground.’ Martin took a couple of steps, but his dog wasn’t even looking up, just scraping with his paws.

  ‘Rex! What the hell you looking for, you daft dog?’

  Martin shone the torch into the hole. There was a faint smell of burning and he thought he could see a blackened, torn shirt. Then, suddenly, he realised it was a body. He stood rooted, his head swimming with shock. Don’t panic, he told himself. Just calm down. Just go back and get Katie to get into the tent, wrap things up and get to hell out of here. They didn’t want to be part of whatever was in that hole. They shouldn’t be here.

  Then the dog growled as it turned and looked beyond Martin. It happened so fast. Martin was barely conscious by the time he had slumped to his knees, felt the numbing sensation in his head and warm blood run down his face. Then a sickening thud as something smashed his head again, as though it had cut him in two. Katie shone the torch into the darkness. All she could see was the ski mask on the man’s face, and Martin on the ground with what looked like an axe in his head. The dog lay whimpering at his side, the white patches of its coat stained and wet. She opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late.

  *

  Tadi stood under the shower until the water ran cold, then stood for
a few moments longer, hoping the icy water would bring him to life. It had been a sleepless night, but he had to be sharp. Yesterday, when Finn was driving him back from court, he had told him that the boss wanted to talk to him in the morning. He didn’t want to ask why for fear of another tirade of abuse from Finn, so he said nothing. During the journey back to the farm, he’d sat in silent dread. Finn had asked him what the hell was he playing at, trapping a seagull. He was planning to eat it, Tadi told him. He was hungry. Finn shook his head in disbelief, but never once asked him why he was hungry. Tadi wanted to tell him that the three pounds a day wages he paid wasn’t even enough to have one square meal, never mind three. Especially with the way they were working him back at the yard. He was constantly hungry ever since he’d gone to live with them, and the other men were the same. He noticed how slack his trousers had become and how his clothes hung on him, his cheeks sunken. He’d stopped looking in the mirror because the last time he did, he saw an old man looking back. He prayed that wherever Ava was, at least she and his boy weren’t going hungry. That would be too much for him to bear. But he’d been surprised yesterday when Finn drove out of town and stopped at a fish and chip shop, handed him five pounds, and told him to go in and eat something while he sat in the car. Tadi had wolfed the fish and chips down with bread and butter, vaguely aware of the other people in the cafe watching how he was eating the food, barely chewing it. It had lain in his stomach all night while he was in bed, staring in the blackness, trying to work out why Finn was suddenly being so nice to him. When he’d dropped him off, Finn told him to be bright and early in the morning, that there might be a surprise in store for him. Tadi was nervous, but also excited. He dared not even hope that maybe they were bringing his wife back. He feared that it was bad news, maybe big O’Dwyer was going to give him a kicking for ending up in court.

  He turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower, drying himself with the threadbare towel. He put on the only clean dark T-shirt he had, and pulled on a V-neck sweater over it. Then he looked in the cupboard to see if there was anything to eat. He cut the mould off a hunk of bread and ate it with some ketchup. As he sat drinking a cup of tea, he looked out of the window and could see the pickup truck coming up the street, one of the other workers already outside waiting. He picked up his rucksack and went downstairs into the bright sunny day, glancing around as people left their homes, going to their jobs in the city, kissing loved ones on their doorsteps. It underlined his loneliness, and his chest ached to see Ava and his son. He looked down at the truck and Timmy was sitting smoking, the usual mad expression on his face. He climbed into the back of the truck and blinked a hello to the other worker who lived in the flat below him as they drove away.