Dead Won't Sleep (32 page)

He pulled away some grass and looked up at her. ‘There’s a cross here. It’s old and worn, obviously been here a while, but you can still make it out. It’s got your mother’s name on it. Come closer. See?’

Rosie stepped forward and crouched down beside him.

‘Annie Gilmour. Died September 9, 1969. Aged 37. Beloved.’ It was barely legible, but it was there.

Rosie closed her eyes. She could see her mother in the kitchen, her welcoming smile when she turned around as Rosie burst in from school. The tears came and she stood up. The priest put his arms around her.

‘Somebody cared enough, Rosie.’ He patted her back. ‘Somebody put the cross. I have no idea who, and we have no way of checking.’ He laid a hand on Rosie’s hair. ‘We will probably never know.’

Rosie composed herself. ‘Thanks, Father. It means such a lot to me. I never forgot her, Father. I never forgot her for a day.’

‘I know.’ He touched her arm, and looked at the grass. ‘And she knows too, Rosie.’ He smiled. ‘She’s always known. She still knows.’ They stood in silence. Then he looked at her, and at his watch.

‘I’m just going to leave you here now. Have some time alone. To reflect.’

Rosie nodded.

He shook her hand. ‘And now, at last, you have somewhere.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

‘I hope we’ll still see you at St Gregory’s, Rosie. Even if it is only on All Souls’ Day.’ He turned and walked away.

‘You will, Father. Thanks,’ she called after him.

When she heard the car drive off, Rosie shivered as the greyness of the late afternoon grew darker. Soon the gravestones would be eerie shadows again.

She crouched down and her fingers lightly caressed the words etched on the cross.

‘Oh, Mum,’ Rosie said softly. ‘I missed you. Every single day. I have missed you so much.’

Rosie closed the door of her flat behind her and stood with her back resting against it. For a moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the peace of being in her own home, away from everything. She could clear her mind of the last few days and think about nothing but her future. She switched off her mobile phone, then went down the hall and into the living room to turn off her house phone. She looked at the television and picked up the remote control. She was tempted to put the news on, just to see what they were saying about Fox, and about Lord Dawson’s resignation. No. Forget it. She tossed the remote on the sofa and kicked off her shoes.

She went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of red wine and drank a delicious mouthful. She felt better already. She padded into the bedroom, threw open the curtains and stood sipping her wine, watching the people in the driving rain on the street below. It was already dark.

‘Bitch.’ The arm was around her neck before she was even sure if she’d heard the voice. Her glass dropped to the floor. ‘Bitch.’ The hand went over her mouth and strong arms dragged her backwards. She heard herself making muffled sounds through the hand that was squeezing her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe. Panic. She was going to pass out. Suddenly the hand was away from her mouth and she gasped. Then she felt the coldness of the metal against the side of her head. A gun. She groaned in pain as a hand jerked her backwards by the hair. She was face to face with him, the gun still at her temple. There was a moment when she thought she recognised the face. Then she crumpled, dizzy, as the fist hit her face. Her cheek made a shattering sound. Blood poured from her nose.

‘Please,’ she managed to say. ‘Please, don’t hurt me. Please.’ The face in front of her was a blur.

‘Hallo again.’ The voice sounded in the distance. ‘Thought you’d seen the last of me, ya fucking bitch.’

Rosie blinked. She was seeing double. She blinked again. It was the fat man, whom Adrian had stabbed. Her legs gave way. He grabbed her with his other hand and dragged her across to the sofa. He threw her down and she lay there, blood gushing from her nose. Her whole body was shaking.

‘The Big Man’s no happy with his picture in the paper.’ The fat man sat beside her, leaning over her. She could hear him breathing. He smelled of sweat and alcohol.
His eyes scanned Rosie from top to bottom. He traced her with the barrel of the gun, from her chest to her groin. He grinned.

‘He said I could do what I want with you before I finished you.’ He licked his lips. ‘But I just like hurting people.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then dug in his pocket and took out a small wrap. Rosie knew without looking it would be cocaine. He opened it with one hand, stuck a finger in it and shoved some up his nose. He sniffed hard, then sat back on the sofa with the gun still aimed at Rosie.

‘Your big pal shouldn’t have knifed me, you know,’ he said. ‘That was downright cheek.’

Rosie swallowed. She tasted blood and felt sick. Her stomach retched.

‘Hey.’ He moved back from her. ‘Mind the suit, bitch. If you’re gonnae boak, do it on your couch.’

Rosie tried to breathe deeply. Keep calm. Just breathe slowly.

Silence.

Then he turned to her. He started shouting.

‘Where’s he from? That big guy? Your mate.’ He pushed the gun onto Rosie’s forehead. ‘Where can I find him? Tell me his fucking name.’

Rosie shook her head. He slapped her face. The pain brought tears.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know where he lives. I hardly know him.’

‘Fucking liar.’ He stood up. He walked to the window and looked outside. He turned around. ‘Nice view, bitch. Ever seen it from mid-air?’

Rosie shook her head. Her fingers trembled as she touched her cheek. One of her eyes was almost closed.

He came back towards her.

‘Listen.’ He sat down. Then he started shouting again into her face. ‘Tell me where I can get that big fucker. Nobody stabs me and lives to brag about it, it just doesn’t happen.’ He moved closer to her. ‘So just tell me where I can get him, and maybe I’ll not hurt you any more.’

A mobile phone rang. Rosie automatically looked for hers. Then she remembered she’d switched it off. Shit. She never did that. He took his mobile out of his trouser pocket.

‘Aye. She’s here, boss. How’s the weather over there?’ He stood up while he spoke. ‘No, not really . . . No much. She’s got a wee bit of a sore face, but that’s all . . . She won’t tell me where that big bastard who stabbed me is . . . I want him, Jake. You said I could get him myself . . .’

He stood in silence. Rosie watched. He turned to her. ‘The Big Man says hallo,’ he said, grinning. Then he put the phone to his ear again and listened. ‘Can I throw her out the window, boss? We’re three up . . .’

Rosie glanced at the window and closed her eyes. Jesus. A psycho. She wiped blood from her nose and tried to breathe.

He was silent while he listened on his phone.

‘Aye . . . Yep, right . . . Okay, boss, that’s fine.’ He put the phone in his pocket and looked at Rosie. ‘He says I’ve to take you for a swim.’ He chuckled, shaking his head. ‘He’s some fucking man.’

He walked out of the living room, and Rosie could see him in the kitchen through the serving hatch. He opened her fridge and drank from a bottle of lemonade, then opened one of the cupboards and came into the living room eating from a packet of crisps.

‘I’m starving,’ he said, sitting on the couch. He took another handful of crisps and threw the packet over his shoulder. He switched on the television. ‘Might as well settle down. It’s better to wait till first thing in the morning for a swim. Do you not agree?’ He smiled and turned back towards the television. ‘But if you can remember an address between now and then, let me know.’

Rosie eased herself up so she was sitting. She wanted to ask if she could have a drink of water, but she was terrified. She looked around the room for ideas of how she could escape. How she could possibly take him on. She knew she had a hammer under the sink. But she could never get near it. And even if she could, she wouldn’t know what to do with it.

He stood up and went towards the window. Rosie sat forward, watching. He opened the doors and went out onto the balcony and stood staring. Rosie saw him take the bag out of his pocket again and dip his finger in.
He rubbed some on his gums, and stuck some up his nose. She looked around the room, and her eyes fell on the brass candlestick on the dining table. She stood up, her legs shaking, and she was across the room in a second. She crept up to the balcony. Please don’t turn around. He lit a cigarette. Then, as hard as she could, she brought the candlestick down on the back of his head. But he didn’t fall. He turned around, his eyes blazing. He roared.

‘Bitch. Fucking bitch. Look!’ He ran his hand across his bald head and felt the blood. ‘Look what you’ve done!’

Rosie backed away, but he grabbed her and threw her against the wall. She slid down. He lifted her up and slammed her head several times against the wall. She could see him. Then she couldn’t. She tried to scream. Then blackness.

She could feel the movement of the car and hear the voices. Maybe it was a dream, but the pain shooting through her face was real. She opened her eyes. Pitch black. She pushed her hands up and they hit the metal. She was in the boot of a car. Jesus Christ! She could hear laughing and loud voices somewhere. The car was moving and she winced every time it went over a bump. Then it stopped. She held her breath. The voices were quieter. She closed her eyes as she heard the boot opening.

‘Get her out. Hurry. In case someone comes down here.’ She recognised it as the fat man’s voice.

‘There’s never anybody down here,’ another voice said.
‘Maybe the odd whore with a punter, but that’s all.’

‘Hurry up. Just get her to fuck. I need to get my head fixed. It’s fucking killing me.’ The fat man’s voice.

Rosie opened her eyes as two men reached into the boot and grabbed her by the legs. Pain seared through her body. The fat man lifted her arm and they hauled her out. They tried to stand her up, but her legs gave way.

‘Please.’ Rosie’s voice was weak. She blinked, and from one eye she could make out where she was. She could see the railings on the River Clyde walkway. The lights across the river were Kinning Park. They dragged her towards the railings.

‘Please,’ Rosie said. ‘Please don’t do this.’ She felt sick rising in her stomach. Her head was spinning. They pushed her against the railings and she could see the blackness of the water. Hail Mary, full of grace. She saw her mother’s face. Beloved.

Bang! The gunshot echoed in the darkness. One of the men who was holding her collapsed. Bang! The fat man was down. She slumped onto the railing. The other man who was holding her let go. He turned around long enough to see the gunman pointing the gun at his stomach and firing. He fell to the ground. Rosie covered her head with her hands, waiting to be shot. She lay against the railing.

‘Rosie?’ The voice was unmistakable.

‘Adrian . . .’ She could feel him lifting her, carrying her, running away from the quayside.

‘We must hurry,’ Adrian said. ‘We must hurry, my friend.’ He took her towards a car and sat her in the back. The light, as he opened the door, stung her eye.

‘You are hurt, Rosie. Oh Rosie, I am so sorry you are hurt.’ He jumped into the driving seat. ‘I will take you to hospital. The Royal. It is close by.’ He switched on the engine, reversed and screeched off the quayside onto the road. Rosie was sobbing with shock and pain.

‘Don’t cry, Rosie. You will be all right, I promise.’ He sped through the city. She passed out.

When Rosie woke up she could only see out of one eye. She squinted, trying to make out where she was. She turned her head, and through the glass partition she saw nurses in a corridor. She strained her eyes, trying to make out the figure at the edge of the bed. It was Adrian. He smiled as he touched her hand. It began to come back to her.

‘Oh Adrian.’ The tears hurt her face. ‘Adrian.’ She squeezed his hand.

‘Ssssh, it’s finish now, Rosie. They are gone.’ He gently touched her head.

‘How?’ Rosie was confused. She tried to remember what had happened. It was coming back. ‘Adrian, how come you were there? I don’t understand.’

Adrian moved close and pulled up a chair so he was sitting beside her. His voice was almost a whisper.

‘I came to your flat, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I get no answer
on your mobile, and I wanted to talk to you, to see if you were all right after last week. I saw the story about the policemen in the newspaper and on the television, so I think, okay, I will visit my old friend. And I had something to tell you. But that’s not for now.’

Rosie couldn’t believe it. She shook her head. ‘But how did you know what was happening?’

‘Well, when I came near your house, I was first of all in the street and I look up and see the fat man on the balcony. To make sure, I came into the building when somebody opened the front door, and when I come to your door, I hear shouting inside, and I recognise his voice. From last week. I never forget things like that. I listen very hard, and he was asking for me, where he could find me. I think that is what he is saying, yes?’

She nodded.

‘But you did not tell him.’

‘No.’

‘Very brave,’ he said. ‘So, I waited outside and I watch, and I see them bring you out and put you in the boot of the car. I could not believe it.’

He told her he stole a car parked outside and drove after them. ‘I had the gun. I knew I can shoot them all in the street at your house, but I didn’t want to in case the cops come. Then they would send me back to Bosnia. So I followed.’

‘Jesus, Adrian! They would have killed both of us.’ Rosie lifted her head, but the pain shot through her.

Adrian shrugged. ‘But they did not. They won’t kill anybody any more.’ He stood up. ‘Listen, Rosie, I have to go. I must go away from Glasgow for a little time now in case somebody comes to look for me. And also because I have something I must do. I told the nurses that I found you in the street. I give them a false name. I have to go before the police come, but I will be in touch, Rosie, I will see you again some day. I promise.’ He squeezed her hand, then turned and left.