by Anna Smith
‘So, what’s happening? I don’t think anyone’s interviewed Mitch yet. To be honest, nobody seems to be that bothered about it. Junkies get beaten up for all sorts of reasons – debts, thieving.’
Rosie puffed out her cheeks. ‘I’m sure the city’s junkies will sleep easy in their cardboard boxes knowing that Strathclyde’s finest have them high on their list of priorities.’
Don chuckled. ‘You know what I mean. They’ll never tell us anything we can act on anyway. Guy probably doesn’t have a clue who did him over. Have any of our guys been in touch with you yet for a statement, given that your number was on Mitch’s mobile?’
‘Not so far, thankfully,’ Rosie said. ‘I don’t want to talk to the cops yet. Well, apart from you.’ She changed the subject. ‘Anyway, Mitch was helping me track down the brother of Bella Mason – the model? We’ve been working on the tip that she didn’t kill herself, that somebody threw her off that roof.’
‘So why are you involved? She’s from London.’
‘No. She was born here and brought up in a children’s home after being abandoned by her mother. She was taken to live in London when she was thirteen. Got fostered by some couple. Some model impresario saw her and the rest is history.’
‘So what’s the big story there?’
‘Several things. She has a secret brother, a junkie, living rough in Glasgow. Amazing story, Don. We tracked him down.’
‘Ah. So that’s why Mitch was involved.’
‘Yes. But that’s not all. You know Colin Chambers – remember? The former Tory Home Secretary.’
‘Yeah. I remember him.’
‘Well. You won’t believe this, but his wife was on the roof of the hotel that night in Madrid.’
He was incredulous. ‘What? You kidding me?’
‘No. She was going to commit suicide.’
He half smiled. ‘So was it a suicide convention? Are you sure you’ve not been drinking?’
‘Seriously, Don. She was on that roof. She came to Spain to kill herself, but then she witnessed what happened.’
‘Really witnessed it?’ His face turned serious. ‘You’re not kidding me, are you?’
‘No. She told me herself. I’ve got it all.’ Rosie put her hand up. ‘Look, it’s a long story, but she didn’t go to the police and kind of freaked out after what she saw. I can’t go into all that right now. All you need to know is that she saw it. I don’t want you to do anything official about this, not right now. But she will talk to the police when the time is right. And she can identify the guys who did it.’
‘Rosie, you really can’t sit on this kind of information.’
‘I know. It’s already proving too hot to handle.’ She pointed to her swollen eye. ‘I know we’ll have to involve the police, but the problem is whether we can trust them.’
‘Christ! What are you talking about? Can you trust us!’
Rosie explained to him about the child abuse, and about Dan, what he’d said had happened to them in the home. He listened, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I see what you mean.’ He drained his coffee cup. ‘You need to talk to your editor. I’m not even going to mention our discussion to anyone because I know what will happen. They’ll be down at the Post before lunchtime, beating the soles of your feet with rubber hoses.’
Rosie smiled. ‘Thanks. I just wanted to alert you. I’m going to the office now, so we’ll be making a decision later. But that Mervyn Bates character – you’ve seen him in the papers, some kind of agent for models. He’s a pervert, and we’re going to nail him to the wall. Then the cops can have him.’
Don stood up. ‘Okay. I’m fine with that. I need to go. I’ve got to meet the procurator fiscal about a court case. Give me a shout as soon as you can. Just don’t leave it too late, Rosie. If there’s any truth in all these things you’re telling me, all sorts of people will be trying to smother the story.’ He leaned down and kissed her head, then was gone.
A few minutes later, Rosie left the cafe and walked quickly to where her car was parked in a side street. By the time she noticed she was hemmed in by the black Mercedes parked across her, it was too late. Someone was behind her, poking what felt like a gun into her back. She stopped in her tracks, feeling the blood drain from her face, as the rear door of the Merc opened.
‘Get in,’ a voice said behind her. ‘Don’t turn around. Just get in the car.’
‘Wh-what’s going on?’ She glanced along the street, cars parked nose-to-tail, but not a damn car actually moving. She could make a run for it. Nobody was going to shoot her down in the street.
‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘What? You going to shoot me in broad daylight?’
‘If I have to. Get in the car.’ The gun poked harder and she jerked at the pain in her back. She had no option. Christ almighty! This was really happening. She took a step forward, her legs like jelly. In the back she could see a well-dressed man in a dark Crombie coat, silver hair, looking out at her, his mouth tight. She got into the car.
‘What is this? Who are you? My boss will be phoning me in about five minutes, wondering where I am.’
‘Then switch your fucking phone off, sweetheart.’ The Cockney accent sounded like something from a soap.
Sweetheart? Rosie watched in horror as the guy with the bleached-blond hair got into the passenger seat.
‘I see you recognize Ricky.’
Rosie said nothing. She couldn’t peel her tongue off the roof of her mouth.
‘Dan Mason,’ the man next to her said. ‘You’ve done a good job hiding the little fucker. My boys here have ripped up this fucking shithole of a city looking for him.’
Rosie tried to swallow, tried to keep her nerve.
‘So,’ the man said. ‘Is he dead?’
Rosie felt a flush of rage rise in her. ‘No, he’s not, but it’s not for the want of these two bastards trying.’ She turned to him. ‘You won’t get away with this, I’m telling you. Or what your chimps did to Mitch. Cowards. I don’t know who you are. Some big-shot from London determined to kill an innocent wee guy who’s got nothing. That’s real balls, that is.’
The Cockney reached across and slapped her hard on the face. It stung and she fought back tears. They were going to kill her and dump her somewhere. But she wasn’t going out without a fight.
‘Fuck you!’ Rosie spat, desperate to touch her face, but refusing to show him her pain.
‘No. Fuck you, Rosie Gilmour. One thing you don’t do is talk to me like that. You don’t know who I am, do you?’
Rosie swallowed. ‘What do you want with me? You can’t make me disappear. People will be all over the place looking for me. I was having a coffee with a police detective not ten minutes ago in the cafe round the corner.’
‘Yeah. We saw him come out. He looked like the filth.’
‘So, what do you want?’
He sighed. Looked a little bored. ‘Let me tell you something, Rosie Gilmour. I’m going to give you a break.’ He went into his coat pocket and brought out a recording device. Matt’s recording device: the one he’d fitted to Dan before his meeting with Mervyn Bates. She looked at it, puzzled, then at him.
‘Your boy Dan dropped this in that shithole he was in, and one of my lads picked it up.’
Rosie said nothing. She waited, barely breathing.
‘I listened to it. His meeting with big Merv. You know Merv? You met him?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘He’s a pervy cunt,’ the man said. ‘I only found that out the other day. This tape here confirms what I was told.’
‘So what’s he got to do with you?’ Rosie asked, but she already knew. Whoever this character was, he’d been sent by Mervyn Bates to track down and dispose of Dan, the only link to Bella and the abuse she’d suffered. Dan could ruin Bates.
‘Are you going to expose this fucker Merv, then? He’s got a lot more coming to him than that. But exposing him is a good start.’
Rosie didn’t kno
w how to react. This guy had just slapped her in the face and now he was talking as though he was on her side. She said nothing. He handed her the device.
She looked at him and at the backs of the heads of the chimps in the front.
‘Go on. It’s not a fucking trap. Take it. Expose this fucker. But make it fast, because you’re running out of time.’
Rosie looked at him, confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ll know soon enough. Get Mervyn Bates all over your paper. I want to see him publicly ruined, first and foremost.’
Rosie sat for a moment.
‘Why?’
‘Fuckin’ hell. You don’t half push your luck, girl. Just do as I tell you and fuck off out of here. Oh, and don’t even think about reporting this to the cops, or I really will get rough with you.’
He reached across her and opened the door – she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Rosie didn’t stop to take a look, but got out and teetered away on shaky legs as she closed the door behind her. She looked around her as the Merc pulled into the traffic and down the street. She stood with the tape recorder in her hand, then got into her car, her hands shaking, and locked all doors. Her mobile rang and she jumped.
‘Gilmour. Where the fuck are you? I said nine thirty.’
‘I’m on my way, Mick. You won’t believe what just happened.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Marion looked up from her screen as Rosie walked towards the editor’s office. She pointed at her cheek and gave Rosie an enquiring look. In her rush to get back to the office, still barely believing she had Dan’s tape in her pocket, she’d completely forgotten about the stinging pain in her cheek where she’d been slapped.
‘Me and my big mouth,’ Rosie said to Marion, touching her still-burning cheek.
‘I’d like to see the other guy.’ Marion smiled and went back to her screen.
Rosie went into McGuire’s office as he finished a phone call.
‘What’s with the face?’ he asked.
‘I got a right hard slap, Mick.’
‘What? Who from?’
‘You won’t believe it when I tell you.’
‘Sit down.’ McGuire motioned her to the sofa, then got up and came round from behind his desk. ‘But before you tell me about that, Gilmour, here’s the sketch. We’re going with Dan’s story tomorrow. Chapter and verse as he told it to you. If we had the tape to back it up the lawyers would be a lot happier but, fuck it. I’m not hanging onto this any longer. Time to rattle cages.’
Rosie pulled the tape out of her pocket. She put it on the table and couldn’t help the triumphant smile on her lips.
‘What’s that?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘A tape?’ The editor’s eyes widened. ‘Dan’s tape? Please tell me it is.’
‘It is. I haven’t listened to it yet, but I’m told it’s great.’
McGuire sat back, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Fuck me, Gilmour! Where the hell did you get it? Is somebody dead?’
Rosie grinned. ‘No. If you give me a second, I’ll tell you.’ She touched her face. ‘That’s where I got the slap.’
‘Tell me.’
Rosie described how she’d left the meeting with her cop contact only to be kidnapped briefly into the back of a Merc. She explained what had happened.
‘And this fucker just hands you the tape? That’s insane. And these two bastards who chucked Bella off the hotel roof were in the car? You must have been shitting yourself.’
‘Well, it was a bit nerve-racking,’ Rosie said.
‘Who the fuck is he?’
‘I don’t know. Gangster from London. Obviously he handles the gorillas who did Bella Mason, so I think it’s safe to assume that he was behind it. Doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out that he must have done the hit for Mervyn Bates.’
‘Fuck! That’s dynamite. You’re sitting in the back of a car with him, and you got out alive? What is this bastard doing helping a reporter?’
‘It’s the most bizarre situation I’ve ever been in. I couldn’t believe it when he handed the tape to me. But he must have plans of his own for Mervyn Bates, because he said he wants the newspaper to ruin him first. He’s using us to get what he wants. But I don’t know why.’
‘I don’t give a fuck that he’s using us. We need that tape.’
‘But what if this guy is the man who organized the hit on Bella?’
‘We’ll leave that to the cops to sort. Right now, he’s done us a good turn. Switch the tape on, I want to hear it. This is totally off the wall.’
‘We need to get him done, Mick. He’s as guilty of shoving Bella off the roof as his two henchmen.’
‘We will, Gilmour. That’s for later. We’ve got a splash and a spread ready to jump into the paper, thanks to this bastard. It’s a means to an end.’ He paused. ‘And the tape is actually our property anyway. We’ve only got back what was rightfully ours.’
‘That’ll sound great in the High Court, Mick.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’
Rosie switched on the tape. Thoughts of Bella’s final moments were already kicking in, as was guilt: Rosie appeared now to be working with the model’s killer. She wished she could justify the means to the end as readily as McGuire.
*
The foyer at the Holiday Inn was busy with a crowd of Japanese tourists checking in. Rosie and Bertie picked their way around the throng at the reception desk, returning the friendly nods and smiles of the queue.
‘I have this terrible urge to start whistling “Colonel Bogey”, but I don’t suppose it would go down too well.’
‘Not a good idea.’ Rosie stifled a laugh. ‘That’s all behind us now.’
‘I’ve still never forgiven them for what they did to Alex Guinness in Bridge Over the River Kwai.’
‘Don’t mention the war.’ Rosie smiled, nodding to the tourists. ‘Right. Let’s see where you’re going to sit.’
‘Are you sure this Merv’s going to be around?’
‘Not really, but my contact said he was here half an hour ago, then disappeared to his room. He’s not been out of the hotel since yesterday, according to my man. He’ll be waiting to see how his boys get on hunting for Dan.’
She told Bertie to sit a few tables away from them, in case anyone got rough. She ordered some tea, but didn’t have to wait long because Mervyn Bates emerged from the lift and strode across to the bar, barking into his mobile phone. Rosie exchanged glances with Bertie, who nodded and went back to his newspaper. She watched as Bates sat down, still talking, then mouthed to the waiter to bring him some coffee. He put an attaché case on the table, opened it and brought out some papers. Rosie was nervous and took a slow breath, bracing herself. ‘Don’t hang around,’ she told herself. ‘Just go for it.’ She watched as he put down the phone and the waiter brought his coffee. Then he placed a sheaf of papers on his lap and began to study them. She got up and went towards him.
‘Mervyn Bates?’ she said, as she reached the table.
He looked up, startled.
‘Mervyn?’
He was waving his hand dismissively. ‘What? Can I help you?’
‘You’re Mervyn Bates. The agent. I’ve seen you on the telly.’
He let out a bored sigh. ‘Yes, well, thanks for that. But, to be honest, I’m very busy. So—’
‘You’re Bella Mason’s agent. That’s right, isn’t it?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. But, look, dear, I’m honestly up to my eyes. I need to get on with some phone calls. I’m here on business and I’ve no time to spend in idle chat. So, if you’ll excuse me . . .’
‘I know what business you’re here on, Mervyn.’ Rosie stood her ground, letting it hang in the air for a moment. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
Bates looked across at Reception, then over his shoulder, as though searching for the concierge to throw out the intruder.
‘Look,’ he said irritated, ‘what the hell is this?
Can you not take a gentle hint? I’m busy.’
‘Okay, Mervyn. I’ll get straight to the point. Bella Mason. The sister of Dan Mason.’ She paused. ‘Are the bells ringing now? I’m Rosie Gilmour, from the Post. Right now, I’m your worst nightmare.’
His face went chalk-white above his wiry, patchy beard.
‘You do remember Dan, don’t you? He’s the kid you left behind when you plucked Bella from the children’s home.’
‘I don’t know any Dan Mason and I’ve no idea what the hell you’re talking about. Okay, so you’ve read the stories about Bella. Yes, I took her from the children’s home and gave her a life. I made her the model she was. Now, can you leave me alone? My heart was broken when Bella killed herself, and you barging in here asking questions and dragging it all up isn’t helping.’
‘She didn’t kill herself. You had her killed.’
Bates shook his head vigorously and went to pick up his cup, but his hands were shaking so much he put it down again. ‘For goodness’ sake. Are you on some kind of drugs?’
‘No, but Bella was. Drugs that you supplied. You turned her into a cokehead so you could use and abuse her, the way you did when she was underage.’ Rosie stopped for a moment, surprised he hadn’t got to his feet and demanded help from the hotel staff. ‘And when she was going to expose you, for all the years you sexually abused her and the other kids, you had her killed.’
‘You’re off your fucking head!’
‘No, I’m not. You were on the roof that night in Madrid.’
‘I’m not listening to this any longer.’
‘You were seen by someone. Someone witnessed the murder. I have it all, Mervyn, and it’s going in my newspaper. But in the interests of balance and accuracy I came up here to give you the right of reply – a chance to say something before we go to print.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Rosie raised her right hand and signalled for Matt to come across and take a picture. They would be in trouble for this as it was forbidden to photograph someone in a public place against their will, but she’d deal with the Press Complaints Commission later. She already had the encounter taped and the camera on her jacket was filming him, but it wouldn’t be great quality.
