Death Trap: Rosie Gilmour 8

by Anna Smith

  ‘Why don’t you give me a call when you get here? I’m working on some very hard stories at the moment.’

  ‘You are always working on hard stories, Rosie. I like that about you.’

  Rosie felt her face smiling, looking forward to seeing her old friend.

  He hung up, and Rosie pushed out a sigh. Her mobile rang again and it was TJ.

  ‘You home yet, darlin’?’

  ‘On my way. I’ll see you at the restaurant in half an hour.’

  ‘Great.’ TJ hung up.

  She pushed away the twinge of guilt.

  Chapter Fourteen

  All Tadi had in his pocket was the ten-pound note O’Dwyer had given him for his part in the robbery. Just looking at it brought back the image of the old couple and their terror, the old man’s face bruised and bloody. He would never use it, he’d vowed, no matter how desperate or hungry he was. But now things had changed. He was on the run. He could never go back to the farm. If he stayed, and the police came asking questions about the bodies in the field, anything could happen. One of the other men, who were already jittery, could end up breaking down under questioning, and they’d all be arrested. Or, worse, the O’Dwyers could see how the news was happening and decide to get rid of everyone involved before the police came calling. He had no choice. Deep down he knew he had run out of options the moment he went to work for the O’Dwyers. Now, the only reason he got up every morning was because his wife and son were out there somewhere.

  He packed everything he had into his rucksack, took the bus from Lennoxtown to Glasgow, and handed over the ten-pound note to the driver.

  Tadi had no idea where he was going as he got off the bus at Buchanan Street, in the city centre. During the months he’d been in Scotland after he’d fled Kosovo as a refugee with his family, they’d lived in a block of flats in the East End of the city, and everything they had was provided either by charity or the city council. He never had any money to take his wife into the town or do anything other than stay at home. Tadi had picked up some small bits of work in a local garage where they paid him peanuts, knowing that he was illegal. And when the time came for him to report back to the authorities and go back to Kosovo, Tadi and his family had fled. They’d used up whatever small savings they had within a week, and it was a priest at a local Catholic church who took them in, when one night, in desperation, cold, wet and hungry, they’d knocked on his door. Now he wished he’d stayed where he was for as long as he could.

  Tadi had been talking to some other refugees at one of the local homeless hostels in the East End, and that was where he’d met Finbar O’Dwyer. He’d seemed friendly, and once they’d got talking and Tadi had told him about the mechanical skills he had, Finbar offered him a job and accommodation for his family. He said he didn’t pay attention to the laws on immigrants, and as long as they both kept their mouths shut, he could remain in Scotland for as long as he liked. Tadi, in his naivety, fell for it, dreaming that they could live here for perhaps another couple of years before looking to go back to Kosovo. He went back to the church and told his wife to pack everything. The old priest had been sceptical, and asked him to think about it for a day or two. But Tadi was full of excitement about the opportunity that was being presented, plus O’Dwyer told him that he had to move fast or he’d miss the chance. He’d felt guilty because at the time he wouldn’t give the name of the new employer to the priest, who’d warned him he shouldn’t trust just anyone.

  Within a couple of days it was clear that they were not workers – they were slaves. His wife and son were treated a little better, as Ava worked for Mrs O’Dwyer, and she was at least kinder to them. But Ava’s workload was huge, cleaning the whole house every day, and washing and ironing for the family. That was why Tadi had devised the plan to leave, which turned out to be his next big mistake. He’d slipped away, just before daybreak. Ava and Jetmir were barely awake as they made their way out of the field to catch the early bus to Lennoxtown. Tadi’s plan was to go back to Glasgow, where he would appeal to the priest to take them back. If that failed, he’d go to the authorities and give himself up. But they didn’t even get that far. By the time they got off the bus in Glasgow, Finbar was waiting for them in the pickup truck. He said nothing, but he had Timmy with him – mad Timmy, who had slapped him around a few times in the first couple of days because he couldn’t understand what he was saying. Finbar told them to get into the truck. They did, terrified to refuse. When they got back to the farm, Tadi was dragged out of the truck, then it drove off with his wife and child. He ran screaming after them, but Timmy caught up with him, and along with O’Dwyer they beat him almost senseless. He was told if he pulled a stunt like that again, he would never see his family again. They didn’t allow him to see them for almost two weeks, as he begged for one last chance. If Tadi hadn’t been so good at his job, he knew that anything could have happened to him. But finally, they reneged and brought Ava back to see him.

  *

  The address written on the piece of paper was a place in Kinning Park. He had no idea where that was.

  The bus station was busy with commuters, as well as travellers with rucksacks and luggage. He looked around for someone to ask directions, suspicious of everyone. A couple of uniformed policemen came through the doors to the concourse and Tadi quickly turned his back and walked briskly outside into the busy street. He passed a couple of beggars sitting with signs saying ‘No money, no home’. One of them had a tiny puppy, and the owner had the glazed look of a drug addict. Tadi glanced around for someone to ask. Then he saw a smartly dressed young woman coming towards him.

  ‘Excuse me.’ He approached her as she was about to pass, and she stopped.

  She looked at him as though she was expecting him to ask for money. He pulled out the piece of paper from his trouser pocket.

  ‘Sorry. Can you help me, please? I must find this address.’

  The woman’s eyes softened and she looked from the paper to him. He felt embarrassed, wondering how he must look to people, in his shabby clothes and unshaven face, his hollow cheeks.

  ‘Kinning Park?’ she said. ‘You can get a bus from here, but I don’t know which bus or anything. It’s not that far. You’d be as well walking.’ She turned around and faced a long busy street. ‘Walk down here, and look for the Jamaica Bridge over the River Clyde.’ She raised her eyebrows enquiringly. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I understand.’

  ‘Then cross the bridge and walk to the right. That is the area you are looking for. That address is in the tenements along there, about five minutes’ walk.’

  ‘Tene-tenement?’ he asked, confused.

  She smiled.

  ‘Ah. It’s flats. Like . . . hard to explain. But it’s a long street with flats, old buildings – you’ll see what I mean when you get there.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tadi forced a weak smile. ‘I will find it.’

  ‘Okay. Good luck to you.’

  She surprised him as she stretched out her hand, and he took it, feeling the softness of her touch.

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  Then she was gone. He followed her directions, walking down through the city, in the sunshine, really seeing it for the first time, although he’d been here nearly a year. People sat outside in bars or cafes and the streets were busy with traffic and noise. The atmosphere almost made him feel free. But even though he knew he was never going back to the O’Dwyers, he wouldn’t be free until he found Ava and Jetmir.

  He was at the riverside within a few minutes. He felt thirsty and stopped at a cafe before the bridge and went in, sat in a corner and ordered a coffee and some water. He had no idea what kind of place Ava was in, if she was working for a family or if she was being held like him as a slave. He had to think of a plan. He knew he couldn’t just arrive and ring the doorbell. He sat watching out of the window, edgy. The news came on, showing footage of the old woman again and her appeal for the picture. He had the photograph in his wallet. If anyone in th
is cafe knew that, he would be lynched, and deservedly so. He sighed, trying to put it out of his mind. He had to find Ava and Jetmir, and soon. By this evening, O’Dwyer and his sons would be home, drunk from the market, so he had only until the next morning to act, before they knew he hadn’t turned up for work. He finished his coffee, put the water in his rucksack, left the cafe and crossed the bridge, walking in the direction the woman had told him to. Eventually, he saw the road sign for Paisley Road West, and he looked up at the buildings, stone buildings, like something he had seen in Belgrade or in television pictures from Paris. But the buildings looked grubby and some of the windows had grimy curtains or were boarded up. He walked along until he reached the right house. Outside it was a secured entrance, His heart sank. How would he ever get in? He went and sat on a park bench facing the river. He watched as the sun set on the water, his insides feeling like someone was pulling and twisting them. Then he went back towards the building. He watched as a man pressed a buzzer and went in. Then a young woman came along, spoke into the intercom and the door was released. He thought she looked Eastern European. A few minutes later she came out and he followed her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said when he’d caught up. ‘I need to get into this flat here?’ He showed her the piece of paper.

  She regarded him a little suspiciously, looked him up and down.

  ‘Just ring the bell. One of the girls will answer.’

  He didn’t know what to think. One of the girls will answer. So Ava wasn’t being held there alone. Perhaps there were some other women sharing the flat.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ She narrowed her eyes.

  He said nothing, shrugged. She gave him a long look.

  Then he spoke.

  ‘I . . . I’m looking for Ava.’

  The woman’s face darkened.

  ‘I don’t know anyone of that name.’

  ‘Do you live there?’

  ‘No.’ She began to back off. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Do you know some people who live there? A little boy?’

  The girl looked suddenly anxious.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am the husband of Ava.’

  The woman closed her eyes and shook her head.

  ‘Then go away. Don’t go in there.’ She turned. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Please. Wait.’ Tadi stepped after her. ‘Please. Help me. What is wrong? Is Ava in that house?’

  ‘Go away. Go. Are you stupid? Go!’

  She quickened her step until she was almost running down the street. Tadi stood looking after her, bewildered, feeling sick. Ava was in that house, that much he knew from the girl’s frightened face, but what kind of house? Who else was there? His head swam with the thought of the danger she was in. He’d heard of people-trafficking where women were taken to work in saunas and nightclubs, but Ava was a woman with a young son. This wasn’t a club, but a street at the edge of the city. He looked around him. He had to get out of here, at least for the moment. He crossed the bridge and walked along the riverside, and eventually, exhausted, he sat down on a bench watching the flow of the river, his head in his hands. He looked around him and noticed a building with a large sign over the entrance, The Post. He tried to remember the woman’s name who had spoken to him in the field. He racked his brain. Rosie. Yes. Rosie. She had said she would help him. But how could she help him? By doing a story in the newspaper, or taking him to the police? He had robbed an old woman of her jewels, money and treasured possessions. He had witnessed a murder and disposed of the body. He had nowhere to go. But he stood up and crossed the busy road, and found himself walking in the revolving doors of the newspaper office. He went to the reception and put his rucksack down, as the woman at the desk looked him up and down and smiled.

  ‘I . . . I like to speak to Rosie. The journalist.’

  The receptionist looked at him for a moment.

  ‘Rosie Gilmour?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s her,’ he remembered. ‘Can I speak with her?’

  She picked up the phone and was about to press the numbers when the lift doors opened, and out walked Rosie. She was with a man, about to walk past, when the receptionist called out.

  ‘Rosie?’

  She stopped.

  ‘Someone to see you.’

  She turned. Tadi saw the recognition on her face.

  ‘Tadi,’ she said, her eyes widening.

  They stood looking at each other for a long moment, and Tadi tried to bite back his emotion. She took a step towards him and reached out to touch his arm.

  ‘Tadi. It’s okay. Come on. We’ll have a cup of tea.’ She took his arm and led him to the staff canteen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosie showed Tadi to a table, then went out to the reception where Matt was hovering in case he was needed.

  ‘Don’t stray too far, Matt. This guy is in a bit of a mess, so I’m going to see what he’s got to tell us.’

  ‘I can’t believe he actually came to the office. Are you going to be okay with him?’

  ‘Of course. He looks harmless enough. I’ll give you a shout in a little while.’

  Rosie went over to the counter and ordered two teas and a sandwich. Tadi didn’t just look hungry, he looked seriously malnourished. Her mobile shuddered with a text message and she automatically checked it as she put the cups on a tray. It was Adrian, who she was supposed to meet in an hour for dinner. She sent a message back, saying same place, but put the time back an hour. She knew he would understand, and she was looking forward to seeing him, despite the niggle of guilt in her stomach from last night’s conversation with TJ. She pushed away the thought. She had work to do.

  Rosie walked across with the tray in her hand, glancing around the canteen for somewhere else to sit that was more private, and ushered Tadi to an area that was cordoned off with wooden trellis. She watched as he got up, rake-thin in old jeans and trainers that were worn, with holes on the sides. She motioned him to sit down on the low seats and sat opposite him, sliding a polystyrene cup of steaming tea towards him.

  ‘You should eat something too, Tadi. You look hungry.’

  He swallowed. ‘I’m hungry, but I feel sick all the time. I . . . I’m so worried. I . . . I need help, but I don’t know if I should have come here.’

  Rosie looked at him for a couple of beats and said nothing, waiting to see if he would say anything else. He didn’t, just picked up the tea and sipped it.

  ‘Tadi.’ She half smiled. ‘You speak good English, so please listen to me. I hope I can help you. I will do everything I can. But you must just take your time and tell me what has happened to make you come here like this. When I saw you in the field that day, and when you came out from court and those guys took you away, you looked so frightened. But you need to tell me everything.’

  He took a breath and seemed to compose himself.

  ‘I come here now, because I am desperate. My wife . . . my son.’ He swallowed. ‘They are in a house. Prisoners. Like me.’

  Rosie scanned his face for a moment.

  ‘Prisoners? Like you? What do you mean?’

  ‘I am from Kosovo.’

  ‘I know. I found that out from the court documents. You stayed longer than you should and you are due for deportation. But it seems the Refugee Council people can’t find you.’

  He nodded, his eyes cast downward, but said nothing.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie continued. ‘I was interested in you after the court, because of the charge, and what was going on with that guy. He was bullying you. I know who they are too. The O’Dwyers. Are you saying you are a prisoner there?’

  Tadi looked up. ‘Yes. Like a slave. Not only me. Others too.’

  Rosie felt a little punch in her gut. Slaves. Modern day slavery was a story that had been thrown around the newspapers a couple of years ago when a nanny told how she was held by a Saudi Arabian family in London and beaten up. She had no escape because she was illegal.

  ‘Are they also immigrants, the others?�
��

  ‘No. Only one man, from Bulgaria. But the others, they are . . .’ He paused. ‘One is old man – a frightened old man, I think, maybe . . . I don’t know how to say it, but I think his mind maybe slow. He has been there for years. The other two are alcoholics. They came from the hostel. Homeless. Like I was when they found me.’

  ‘When who found you?’

  ‘Finbar – the son of the boss man Rory O’Dwyer. He come to the hostel and offer me a job, and when I tell him I am married, he says he take my wife and children too, for a good job, a new life.’

  ‘I see,’ Rosie said. She took out her notebook. ‘Tadi, I want to write everything down you are saying. Maybe not for a story, right now. But I need to be able to have everything you say so I can tell my editor.’ She took out her tape recorder. ‘Do you mind if I also tape our conversation?’

  He shifted nervously in his seat.

  ‘No, please. Are you going to get the police? Please. Let me tell you everything. No police. Please. My wife, my son. They are in danger.’

  Rosie put her hand up, as she saw he could easily go into meltdown.

  ‘No. No police. But I need to have everything you say. Don’t worry. If you don’t want the tape, then no problem. I’ll just write it down.’

  He eyed the tape recorder and was silent for a moment, then he nodded.

  ‘It’s okay. I ask for your help, so I have to trust you.’

  ‘You can trust me. Okay?’ She switched on the tape. ‘So tell me this, Tadi. It’s been niggling me since I saw you in the field that day. Why were you hanging around there? You know there are bodies buried there. Have you seen the news?’

  Tadi’s eyes seemed to sink even further back in his head as he looked to the ceiling.

  ‘Yes. I saw the news. Is terrible.’

  ‘But why were you there?’ Rosie was a little worried that her line of questioning would make him feel threatened. But she had to know why he was up at the field and looked so frightened when she approached him.