Death Trap: Rosie Gilmour 8

by Anna Smith

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Adrian’s here. I can ask him to stay a while longer.’

  ‘The big Bosnian? Great. If ever there’s a man for punching somebody’s ticket it’s him. Call him.’ He looked at her. ‘And maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Just relax while we work out where to put you.’

  ‘No. I’ve got stuff to do. I don’t want to be sitting around, letting things multiply in my mind.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Rosie got up and walked towards the door, conscious that the editor was watching her as she left.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Adrian was leaning on Rosie’s car, smoking a cigarette, as she left the office and headed for the car park. She had asked him to come with her to have a look at O’Dwyer’s place to see what they could pick up. When she’d phoned him, struggling to get the words out about what had just happened, he told her he’d be at the office in fifteen minutes. As he saw her coming towards him, she could see him studying her face, waiting for her to break down. He squeezed her arm.

  ‘You are all right, Rosie?’

  ‘Yes. I’m okay. Come on, let’s go. I’ve got things to talk to you about on the way.’

  *

  By the time they were on the outskirts of Lennoxtown, Adrian had agreed to stay on in Glasgow for the next few weeks to make sure she was safe. He didn’t trust the police to do the job, and she told him that she didn’t want a policeman living in her house, which she knew would be what they would suggest. She couldn’t have Adrian living in her house either, she told him. And she didn’t want to have TJ there all the time. TJ meant the world to her and she knew he would happily move in so she wouldn’t be alone, but Rosie knew it wouldn’t work. She needed her own space – always had – and that was one of the reasons she had not taken things further with TJ. She sometimes wished she wasn’t so afraid of commitment. Adrian agreed to be with her any time she needed him, and for the moment that made her feel safe. The conversation was professional, which seemed ridiculous, given that a few months ago he’d been sharing her bed. She didn’t address the subject, but it was the elephant in the room. Rosie decided she would talk to him about it in a more relaxed way when they went for a bite to eat in the next couple of days. But right now, there were more pressing matters. As they drove past the O’Dwyers’ property there were none of the usual pickup trucks or big cars in the yard. Only a small red car parked next to the house. There was no sign of any workers around the place and she wondered if O’Dwyer had let them go, or if they’d met the same fate as poor Bo. He wouldn’t just turn them free – they knew too much. But there was a sinister emptiness about the place as Rosie drove into the yard. The only sounds were the dogs barking behind a high wire fence, screening off what looked like a scrapyard.

  ‘If you wait in the car, Adrian, I’ll give the door a knock.’

  She walked round to where the car was parked, which seemed to be the back door of the house. She waited for a second, listening to hear if there was any activity inside. Then she saw a television blaring in the corner of the room. There was no buzzer, so she gave the door a firm knock, then glanced in the kitchen. She waited a few seconds. Nothing. She knocked again, this time a little harder. Eventually she heard a door being opened and she peered in the window to see a woman coming into the kitchen. She looked about the right age to be O’Dwyer’s wife, and she walked towards the door, glancing out of the kitchen window to where Rosie was on the doorstep. Then she opened the door. It was the black eye that Rosie saw first, bruised and slightly swollen. Recent, by the look of it. Her short hair was in an old-fashioned style that made her face look even plumper than it was. The eye that wasn’t swollen was pale and bloodshot, and the woman looked worn out. Her lips were full, but pale, with no trace of make-up, and she was dressed casually in a baggy top and loose-fitting trousers. She looked at Rosie, waiting for her to speak.

  ‘Mrs O’Dwyer?’

  ‘Yes. Who are you, please?’

  ‘Is Mr O’Dwyer home at the moment?’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s out on a bit of business.’

  Rosie detected an accent, a trace of Irish.

  ‘My name is Rosie Gilmour, Mrs O’Dwyer. I’m from the Post newspaper.’

  The woman sighed and took a step back. ‘Aw, now look! I’m not wanting any reporters around here. We’ve had them over the last day or so, people poking around. But my husband made it clear to them we’ve nothing to say.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rosie said. ‘I take it the reporters were here because of that Kosovan man who went missing? The police were looking for him. It was a very strange turn for the story to take, so that’s why you’d have the press calling down here asking questions.’

  Mrs O’Dwyer said nothing. Rosie chanced it.

  ‘Did you know the Kosovan man very well, Mrs O’Dwyer? I understand he’d worked here for a few months. With the cars and things.’

  She looked over Rosie’s shoulder into the yard. ‘So they found him then?’

  ‘Tadi? Is that who you mean?’

  Mary nodded.

  ‘Yes. They say he’s helping with their inquiries. They’re very suspicious because of the circumstances he left in. You know, with the bodies being dug up. One minute he’s been working here a few months, and the next he’s done a runner. You can imagine how that looks.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do anything like that, the Kosovan fella. He was quiet. Hard-working. A family man.’

  ‘Do you know where his family is? A wife and son, I believe.’ Rosie was trying to draw her, and as long as the door wasn’t getting slammed in her face she was winning.

  ‘I’ve no idea. But I hope he’s not in any trouble. He was all right, you know.’

  ‘Have you been watching the news about the bodies they found up there?’

  ‘Well, it’s never off the telly, is it? Hard to avoid. That poor young couple out camping . . .’ She shook her head and her lips tightened.

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said. ‘A real tragedy. The police are no further with finding out who did that. But the other thing was the body of the woman and the baby. That was just awful. A little one in its mother’s arms . . .’

  Rosie let her voice trail off, because she could see something in Mrs O’Dwyer’s eyes that looked as though she was remembering. Her lips quivered a little.

  ‘The child was only four weeks old, according to what I hear,’ Rosie continued. ‘Somebody must have killed her and then dumped her there. What kind of monster does that?’

  Rosie had no idea who had killed the woman and child, but she could see that the image was resonating with Mrs O’Dwyer. Because now her eyes were filling with tears and suddenly she stepped back.

  ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Now, go away. You people aren’t helping coming around here. You can’t help that poor woman now, with her wee babba, and you can’t help that young couple, God love them. I can’t talk to you, you’ll only make it worse.’

  ‘Make what worse?’ Rosie persisted.

  ‘Everything.’ She lightly touched her bruised eye. ‘Just go away. I can’t say anything. It’s all a mess. The police up and down here, and aw, Jesus, those poor people.’

  She looked like she was about to go into meltdown, but Rosie couldn’t bring herself to walk away. She was hiding something, and she had to try to tease it out. Tadi had told her that she’d helped him – that it was her who told him to leave. She knew about the robbery, and it was only a matter of time until the police knocked on her door and took her in as a witness in their investigation. She was a lot more aware of her husband’s criminal activities than she dared admit, but that was the problem. Her black eye was probably the result of her saying something out of turn to big O’Dwyer. Rosie tried to press on.

  ‘Mrs O’Dwyer – Molly. Listen. I know that you helped Tadi, the Kosovan.’

  Rosie let the words hang there, then put her hand up when she didn’t answer.

  ‘Don’t worry. Nobody knows that I know this, except Tad
i and you. He’s spoken to me. He came to see me at the newspaper. He’s told me everything.’

  ‘Tadi?’ She looked shocked. ‘Is he all right? Is he in the jail? He didn’t kill those people.’

  ‘I know he didn’t,’ Rosie said. ‘I know he also took part in the robbery of the old Jewish couple, along with your husband, your son Finn, and some others. You know that, don’t you?’

  Molly’s mouth dropped open a little and she stood back.

  ‘Go away from here. Go away and never come back and never come here when my husband is in and say what you’ve just said to me. I’m warning you. Go away now, while you can. My husband will be back in the next hour or two. You don’t want to be here asking questions when he comes in.’

  She was closing the door, but Rosie put her foot firmly in it and gave it one last shot.

  ‘Tadi has told me about Bo, and what Rory O’Dwyer did, Molly. The police will get him eventually. You’ll be part of that cover-up if you hide things for him. Look after yourself.’ She let her glance linger on her bust eye. ‘From where I’m standing, it looks like you have to.’

  The door slammed shut and Rosie stood for a moment in the eerie silence. One thing she was sure of was that Molly knew a lot more about O’Dwyer than just the robberies and murder of Bo. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Rosie felt that despite Molly’s protests, her heart wasn’t in defending her husband much longer.

  *

  Later, exhaustion hit Rosie like a train. By mid afternoon she was feeling light-headed. McGuire told her he could see she was only half listening to anything he was saying, as they planned where to go next on the story of Tadi. Now that he was with the police, the media was speculating on whether he was a suspect, trying to dig up any background on him. The Daily Mail’s line was that immigrants brought more trouble than they contributed, and should all be sent home. No surprise there, as the right-wing tabloid had a xenophobic streak a mile wide. McGuire was as frustrated as Rosie that they couldn’t publish the real story about Tadi – because the bottom line was there was no proof. Plus the fact that the police were asking them to hang fire as they continued their investigation. It was out of her hands for the moment, but at least Tadi was safe, and hopefully so were Ava and the little boy. The editor told Rosie to go home and relax, as she wasn’t much good to anyone walking around like a zombie. The other newspapers and media were in a frenzy over the delivery of the severed head to Rosie’s home, and the editor’s phone was red hot with requests for interviews. Not today, he’d told all of them. The story had been confirmed by the police, so they’d have to go on what they had. Rosie was glad, and agreed to go home. McGuire only allowed her to go to her own flat because DI Morton had telephoned him to say there would be a twenty-four-hour police presence outside her house for the foreseeable future. There would also be a police car following her wherever she went. She didn’t expect to feel glad about that, but she was, and as she drove up to her flat she could see the unmarked car pull out of the Post car park behind her. There was another car outside the flats when she arrived. She gave them a cursory nod, as two officers got out of the car and followed her up to the front door, then went in after her. It felt really strange, but comforting at the same time. She let herself inside the door of her flat.

  ‘We’ll do a quick check of the place, Rosie, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, standing in the hallway.

  A couple of minutes later, they returned.

  ‘It’s all fine. We’ve been out there the whole time anyway, but we’re to check just in case.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rosie said as she led them to the door. ‘I really appreciate it – even if it does feel a little weird.’

  They didn’t answer, and left.

  She locked up and stood with her back to the door, letting out a long sigh. The choking emotion that had come after the head-in-the-box incident had gone. Now it all felt surreal, but the most overwhelming feeling was tiredness. Before she did anything else, she made a quick check of her bedroom, in all the wardrobes and even under the bed – just in case. Then she ran a hot bath, kicked off her clothes, and made a cup of tea. It was too early to drink wine. Two hours later, Rosie woke up on the top of her bed, still in her bathrobe, as the phone rang beside her. She opened one eye. It was TJ. She hadn’t told him what had happened.

  ‘Hey, you. Still working?’

  ‘No.’ Rosie yawned. ‘Just woke up.’

  ‘What? It’s five o’clock. How come you’re asleep?’

  ‘I got the afternoon off. I was knackered, so I had a bath and crashed out. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.’

  ‘What’s going on that you’re sloping off to bed in the afternoon, sweetheart?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  ‘You’ve not been sacked, have you?’

  Rosie chuckled. It was good to hear his voice. ‘No. Not yet. Something happened today, and it took the feet from under me.’

  ‘You in trouble? Tell me.’

  She yawned again. ‘You wouldn’t believe it if I did. So let’s save it for the first gin and tonic. I’ll see you at the La Trevi.’

  ‘I can’t wait. Will I come and meet you at the flat?’

  ‘No, I’ll walk up.’

  She hung up. She hadn’t seen TJ for nearly a week and had been looking forward to tonight. But everything had changed now because of Boag. Somehow this bastard had avoided the entire police force of Scotland, yet he was managing to stalk her. That could mean that TJ was also in danger. The newspapers would be full of the severed head story by tomorrow, so she had to tell him about it first.

  *

  TJ listened, his expression somewhere between fear and disbelief, as she told him about the grisly delivery from Boag.

  ‘I’m totally speechless, Rosie.’ He shook his head and refilled their wine glasses. ‘This is like a horror movie.’ He reached across and covered her hand with his. ‘You must be scared out of your wits. This . . . I mean . . . Christ, I don’t know what to say. Maybe you should leave the country for a while. The newspaper would pay for that, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rosie said. ‘But I can’t, TJ. I’m in the middle of this massive story on the Kosovan and the O’Dwyers I told you about, as well as this Boag situation.’

  ‘Situation? It’s a bit more than a situation. This bastard sent the head of one of his victims to your front fucking door. With a warning note. It’s way past a situation.’

  Rosie managed a half-smile. ‘I know. Bit of an understatement. But you know how it is. I’m not going to do a runner in the middle of this.’ She took a long drink of her wine, feeling more relaxed now due to the large gin she’d downed when they came in. ‘Maybe this is the drink talking, but I hope not. Listen, TJ, I’m not going to let Boag terrorise me. Okay, that’s not quite true, because he’s already terrorising me. Big time. But if I run, he’s won, and I bloody won’t let him win. This is personal now. But believe me, I’m looking over my shoulder all the time. I’m jumpy as hell. If a door bangs I just about go through the roof. But running away to some restful beach isn’t going to make that any better. Look. The cops will get him. He’ll slip up.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t? He’s more or less said you’re next on his hit list.’

  She sighed. ‘I’ve got a police tail on me twenty-four seven. They’re outside the restaurant now. I saw them parking. They’re at my flat all the time I’m there. The only reason they’re not in the flat is because I won’t let them. They wanted to put me up somewhere, but I refused. The compromise is that they come into the flat with me every night, check all the rooms and make sure the locks are working. Then they sit in shifts outside. When I’m leaving, I’ve to phone them and they follow me. I walked up here and they were close behind me, more or less kerb crawling. I’m scared, yes. But there are a lot of people protecting me.’

  TJ was silent for a moment, staring beyond her as the restaurant began to empty.

  ‘The thing is
, Rosie, I’m supposed to be going down to London for a couple of weeks. I was going to tell you tonight – it’s just been confirmed.’

  ‘Really?’ Rosie was surprised. This came from nowhere.

  ‘Yeah. These guys I’m working with up at the Blue Note are session musicians, and they are old friends of some guy who’s making an album, and he invited them down to work on the backing. He needs a sax player and they suggested me. It’s only for a couple of weeks. But I think I’ll cancel it. I can move in with you. Or you could move in with me.’

  Rosie put her hand up. ‘No, no, TJ. Go. I want you to go.’

  ‘What?’ He looked hurt.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I don’t want you to go, but I think you should. Because right now, I’m worried that you might also be in danger. Remember the other night when we were out and then I said I wanted an early night?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I went for petrol, and in the letter that was stuffed into that poor woman’s mouth, Boag mentioned the petrol station – so I think he might have been there that night. Maybe he saw us in the restaurant? How do I know he hasn’t got his eye on you in order to get at me?’

  ‘Christ, you’re giving me the creeps.’ He laughed, but it wasn’t very convincing.

  Rosie smiled. ‘I mean it, TJ. He’s a twisted bastard. Who knows what he’s planning? I think you should just slip out of the picture for a couple of weeks. By that time, I hope the cops will have got him.’

  He puffed out a sigh. ‘I dunno, Rosie. I don’t like it. Why not come with me to London?’

  ‘I’m working. I can’t just swan off. I won’t.’

  Rosie hoped this was not going to become a row.

  ‘Okay. I understand. But I don’t think it’s me he’s coming after. It’s you. I just don’t want to leave you.’ He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll still be here when you come back.’ Rosie paused, trying to find the right words. ‘You know how I told you Adrian was here, helping with the Tadi story and stuff? Well, the editor said we should keep him on as extra protection.’ Rosie watched him, and saw a flicker of resentment.