by Anna Smith
Tadi stood rooted, looking shocked.
‘What the fuck are you doing, you idiot? Put the combination in, you thick fuck.’
Tadi’s fingers trembled as he stood at the dial. He looked at Finn, who then turned to the old man.
‘Again. The combination. Slowly this time.’
The old man repeated it slowly, and with each number Tadi turned the dial, and with each number he felt more and more sick. Then click. The door pinged open. His eyes almost popped out of his head. So much money stacked in bank notes, and an ancient-looking gold jewellery box, studded with diamonds.
‘In the rucksack,’ Finn said. ‘Everything. Every single fucking thing. You hear me? Go!’
Tadi glanced over his shoulder at the old woman, sobbing, her husband shaking his head, his chin on his chest.
‘Fucking go!’ Finn spat.
Tadi stood for a second, then he opened his rucksack and began to empty the safe. The feel of the money, stacked inside, more money than he’d ever seen, made him feel dizzy and agitated. He glanced over his shoulder to see the two men shove something in the old man’s mouth. He gagged as they put tape over his mouth. He wanted to tell them to stop, that he was suffocating, but he was too afraid. The woman whimpered and they did the same to her. He could hear the others mumbling while he kept loading the rucksack. Purses, wallets full of money and soft velvet bags which felt as though there was jewellery inside. Then a leather folder. As he took it to put it in the rucksack, a photograph dropped out of it onto the floor. Nervously, he picked it up. It was an old black and white image, cracked in the middle. But he recognised immediately what it was. It was somewhere like the ghettos he’d seen in TV footage or newspapers about Nazi Germany. People were standing in the background, loading up wagons. Others stood around the streets. He could see the star of David on their jackets and noted the pale worried faces of children. There was a woman with a small boy at her side, he couldn’t have been any older than Jetmir. He was holding onto his mother’s skirts, looking up to the camera, fear in his eyes. The woman looked young, gaunt and tired. But the resemblance between her and the woman who now sat across the room tied up and sobbing, was striking. He closed his eyes for a moment. Tadi didn’t know what possessed him, but he stuck the photograph inside his shirt, and emptied the rest of the safe into the rucksack. Finn came over and for a moment he thought he’d spotted what Tadi had done. But Finn merely glanced inside the safe, then gave him a look.
‘Right, come on. Let’s go.’
As Tadi left he took one last look at the old couple, and he knew that the pleading in the old woman’s eyes would haunt him for ever. He didn’t look back as they all padded downstairs. In the hall the gunman pulled all the telephone wires out of the wall. They left by the back door and piled back into the van.
‘Gimme.’ Finn stretched out his hand to Tadi as he was about to get into the car.
Tadi handed him the rucksack, still trembling in case he’d seen him take the photograph. They got into the car and drove out of the estate, and once they were onto the main road, Finn opened the rucksack and rummaged around inside.
‘My information was right. Old bastard was fucking loaded.’
*
Tadi lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the look in the eyes of the old woman, and her husband, his face deathly pale. Four hours had passed since they left the house. They could be dead by now. They wouldn’t be able to free themselves, and if nobody came to their rescue soon, anything could happen. They looked so frail. They reminded him of old people he’d seen back in Kosovo when the Serb soldiers came, burning the villages and forcing people from their homes at gunpoint. The morning light was beginning to break through, and Tadi turned to his bedside table and picked up the photograph he’d stolen. Why had he done that, he’d asked himself again and again? He could have left it in the safe, but the chances were that Finn would have seen it, or that madman Timmy, and they’d have ripped it up. If it was in the safe, then it was treasured. He looked at the picture again, the little boy, in his shabby coat with the star of David, and he thought about himself and his family and friends and the constant movement out of Kosovo when the marauding Serbs butchered their way through. Their faces could have been the faces from this picture, the same haunted, tired, exhausted expressions. This boy could have been his boy, bewildered and clinging to his mother’s skirts. Tadi turned in the bed and curled into a ball, the photograph under his pillow. His life could never be the same now, because of last night. He had been an illegal immigrant in a bad situation before, but now he was in so much more trouble. Now, he was a criminal. He was helpless, with nowhere to turn. And he felt cold fear run through him. He sat up on the bed. Finn had told him to be back at work as normal for half eight. Maybe today they would let him go as promised, but as he went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and stared out of the window at a train passing in the distance, he knew they would never let him go. There was no way back. He was trapped.
Chapter Eleven
Rosie and Matt were back at the farm long before the media pack who were turning up in even greater numbers than yesterday. There were a few outside broadcast units from BBC, ITN and Sky News. A couple of young students going missing, found in a shallow grave, was one thing, but the fact that it all happened days after a notorious killer escaped from custody made it a national story. Rosie’s piece in this morning’s Post pushed things a bit further, because of her inside information from Don. She revealed that bodies had been found in the grave, and that the police hunting for the missing couple had forensic teams all over the area. McGuire had been desperate to use the line that there may be more bodies, but Rosie had pleaded with him that it would land her police contact in the shit. She hoped it would keep til tomorrow. They’d driven past O’Dwyer’s farm on their way to the crime scene, but there was no movement in the yard, and the blinds were still drawn in the house. She wondered if they would see the Kosovan again today.
Around mid morning, activity picked up at the police scene. The area where they were digging was tented off, but Matt’s long lens allowed him to see people coming in and out.
‘Something’s rotten down there, Rosie. The guys coming out of the tent look sick – like they’re about to throw up. Have a look.’
He handed Rosie the camera and she looked down the lens, at the white tent and the area around. Most of the officers had white forensic suits on, but the other officers and detectives were now pulling on masks. She spotted two ambulance men approaching with stretchers.
‘Here. You’d better get that, Matt. Stretchers. They’re bringing something out.’
‘It is the couple, isn’t it? It’s them buried in there – you think?’
‘We’ve not been told officially, but I’d say it is.’
Rosie’s mobile rang and she could see Declan’s name on the screen.
‘Rosie,’ he said. ‘The cops have just announced a press conference up at HQ. Are you coming back for it, or do you want me to go? I think they’re going to be saying they’ve found the students’ bodies.’
Rosie thought for a moment.
‘You go, Dec. I’m best to stay here. It’ll be a short conference. They might not even say officially it’s the couple, as the bodies will have to be identified by the family. But, between us, I was told last night that there are more bodies. The editor knows, but we held it over because nobody has that line. Hopefully we can use it tomorrow. So keep quiet about that up at the press conference, unless, of course, they mention it. But I’m sure they won’t.’
‘Sounds pretty grisly.’
‘Yeah. It’s grim. Talk later.’ She hung up.
Rosie got out of the car and walked along to where a few journalists she knew were standing having a chat. The usual suspects from the daily and evening papers hung around, chatting to each other. They’d obviously been phoned about the press conference, and some of them were preparing to leave. She listened to th
em speculating that if they’d found the dead students, it was beginning to look like Boag had claimed his first victims since his escape. One hack piped up that the only confirmed victim up til now had been a young gay man. Maybe that’s just the one we know of, another said. But there was a definite feel among the press corps that this was the work of Boag. Rosie said nothing. She wasn’t so sure. But right now, she’d be happy if all of the reporters disappeared to the press conference to air their theories, so she could wait here to see what other secrets the grave held. Her mobile rang and she walked away from the crowd. It was Don.
‘Howsit going, pal? I had to hold the editor down last night so he wouldn’t use your info.’
‘Thank Christ you didn’t. I’d have got lynched.’
‘So what’s happening now? We could see in the distance that more of your guys were wearing masks.’
‘Yeah. That’s because we pulled the young couple out. Christ, Rosie! Poor bastards! They couldn’t have stood a chance. Looks like they’d been hacked with an axe.’
‘My God! How awful! Those poor families coming up here to identify them.’
‘I know. The bodies have been taken to the mortuary now. But listen. Believe it or not, we’re in the process of digging out more bodies. One fairly recent. It’s like something out of a fucking horror movie. I feel sick to my stomach.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘There’s the remains of someone who’s been torched. Looks like a bloke, but he’s horribly burned. And it’s recent. So he’s being carefully brought out now by our forensic team. But even worse – and this goes no further right now – there’s another two bodies.’
‘Are you serious? This is a horror movie.’
‘I’m deadly serious. There’s not much left of them, but it’s looking like a woman and a baby.’
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘Yep. We’re all completely numb down here. Nobody even speaking to each other. The bodies are at least a year old, and obviously there’s been some decomposition. But it looks like a newborn baby.’
‘Who would do a thing like that?’
‘Not Thomas Boag, anyway. That’s for sure. He’s an evil bastard, but murdering a woman and a newborn baby is not his bag. Someone else is out there who did do this.’
‘So, where do you go from here?’
‘We’ll have to start with the basics, ask around. But the murders could have been done anywhere, then brought here. It happens. But how likely is it that a guy’s burnt body is buried on top of an older corpse of a woman and her baby? Somebody must be returning to this place.’
‘But is that not the work of a serial killer?’
‘I just don’t know, Rosie. But I don’t think so. Not Boag anyway. Christ! We don’t know where to start. We’ll have to try to identify the bodies, so they’ll be going to the morgue soon – or what’s left of them.’
‘When are you putting it out?’
‘The DCI says it’ll need to be tonight. He was just talking to HQ. It will have to go to everyone. Sorry. But it’ll be just the basics, that more bodies have been found, and one is thought to be a child. They won’t have all the information you have.’
‘I understand. But I want to be able to say that there may be a mother and her newborn baby.’
Don sighed. ‘It’s up to you, Rosie. You might be right if you said that, but it didn’t come from me. You’ll have to say you took a flyer if you’re asked.’
‘You sound shattered.’
‘I am. But on top of all that, we’ve just been told of an armed robbery in Glasgow. An old Jewish couple. Tied up and robbed in their home. The old man’s probably going to die. Looks like a professional job.’
‘Who found the couple?’
‘Their cleaner came in this morning and found them tied up in the bedroom. The old guy was unconscious, and the woman was barely conscious. They’re both in hospital. He’s got a heart condition, so he’s struggling.’
‘Jesus! We’ll need to have a look at it. I’ll tell the news desk. By the way, if you’re up for a beer later, give me a shout.’
‘Will do.’ He hung up.
*
Tadi had been functioning on autopilot since he got back to the farm, after his sleepless night. Coming in on the back of the pickup truck, he’d kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the other workers. He didn’t want to engage in any conversation, but most days it was the same, anyway. They knew very little about each other and even though they travelled together and lived in the same block of houses owned by the O’Dwyers, they seldom spoke. Tadi only knew that his neighbour was from Bulgaria and had been at the farm when he’d arrived. He guessed he must be a prisoner too, but it wasn’t safe to discuss things with others, as you never knew how close they were to the O’Dwyers. People this desperate would do anything to survive. He had just committed armed robbery and the thought terrified him. He wondered if they’d used the Bulgarian for similar robberies, but he didn’t dare broach the subject.
*
Tadi heard his name being called and climbed out of the pit where he’d been working on the exhaust of a car. It was the old man, Jake, and he looked agitated.
‘Tadi. Did you see the newspaper today?’
Tadi shook his head and said nothing.
‘The police. Remember yesterday, they were over at the field. Where we . . . where we . . .’ His voice trailed off. ‘The newspaper says they’ve found a dog or something. They’re digging over there. That’s what they are doing.’
Tadi listened, then shrugged, but didn’t reply.
‘What if they find the body? They’ll come here. For us.’
Tadi took a step closer to him. ‘We say nothing. Remember that. You must say nothing.’
‘But what if the police come?’
‘We say nothing. They won’t come to us. We are only workers.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Don’t be, just keep quiet. Go back to work, old man.’
Tadi felt weak, his arms heavy. The police would be here today. No doubt they would all be questioned. He looked around him. If he had been on his own, he would walk away now, break into a run and get on a bus and go somewhere. But he couldn’t. Not with Ava and Jetmir being held somewhere else. He went back to work, his hands shaking as he climbed back into the pit.
Between the exhaustion and his mind being somewhere else, Tadi took longer than normal to fix the exhaust. He heard Timmy’s voice from above.
‘Have you not fucking finished that exhaust yet, Tadi? I could have done it quicker myself. Get up here. Rory wants a word.’
Tadi swallowed his contempt. He climbed out of the pit, wiping his oily hands on his dungarees. Timmy jerked his head and began walking towards the house.
‘Wait here,’ he said as he went in through the back door.
Tadi could see Mrs O’Dwyer working in the kitchen at the sink, and she turned and gave him a thin smile. He nodded in acknowledgement. The door opened and Rory came out, followed by Finn and Timmy. They walked past Tadi, Rory beckoning him to follow. He did and walked behind them until they reached the pickup truck. Then they stopped, and the boss turned to him.
‘There’s a lot of shit going on up at the field now, Tadi. More than yesterday, when you had a look. Do you know that?’
‘No. I haven’t seen anything. Yesterday, I couldn’t see.’
‘Well. Have you seen the paper?’
Tadi shook his head.
Rory snorted and spat.
‘They found something. The cops. Bodies. More than one. Did you see anything when you were up there digging?’
Tadi shook his head. ‘No.’ He glanced at Finn, who stared back. Timmy seemed to shift around in his feet.
‘Are you sure? You didn’t see anything at all?’
Tadi shook his head. ‘No. Nothing. I see nothing.’
‘What about the other halfwits? Did they see anything?’
‘No,’ Tadi said, shaking his head again. ‘Nothin
g.’
‘Okay. Well fucking keep it that way. And if the fucking bizzies come down here asking questions, you’ll tell them nothing. You hear? You were never in that field. You understand?’
Tadi nodded. He felt desolate. He just wanted it all to stop.
The boss went into his pocket and took out a ten-pound note. He thrust it in front of him. Tadi looked at him, then at the other two who were watching him, waiting.
‘For last night,’ O’Dwyer said. ‘You did all right.’
Tadi could feel his head swim. What about the deal? he wanted to ask.
‘B-but . . . you said . . . before I went . . . you said. I could be free now. With my wife and child. You said I could go back home, Mr O’Dwyer.’
O’Dwyer looked at him for a long moment, his eyes cold and angry, and Tadi braced himself for a punch in the face. Then the fat man burst out laughing, a chesty cackle, his big belly shaking.
‘I say a lot of things. Now get back to work, you stupid cunt.’
Tadi could feel his eyes stinging with anger and frustration, and he bit his lip. He had to turn away or he’d have broken down in front of them. He walked back to the garage, his shoulders slumped, his legs barely able to carry him. When he got in the door to the darkness he broke down, fell on his knees and wept.
Chapter Twelve
Rosie slipped into the front row for the police press conference a few minutes before it was due to begin. The conference room at Strathclyde Police HQ in Pitt Street had been transformed over the past few days to accommodate the growing press pack in the wake of the student murders. On top of that, they’d been trying to keep the press briefed on the manhunt for Thomas Boag. That in itself was putting years on the police hierarchy and press office team, who looked like they were ageing every time they popped up on television to admit that Boag was still at large.
The Post was not the only newspaper to be asking questions. Most of the media had filleted the police in recent days, falling just short of calling them inept. MPs were jostling for political gain, demanding that an outside force be brought in to conduct an inquiry. If it hadn’t been for the fact that there were so many other things going on, McGuire would have been calling for resignations at the highest level. But the press had been so busy reporting the news as it unfolded, there was no time to stand back and take a breath.
