Screams in the Dark (25 page)

‘Who knew?’

‘Just me, the DI – by the way, he’s fucking jumping on his hat with rage – the boss and the Deputy Chief Constable – plus the team they had watching Emir. Not sure exactly who, but when we’re putting someone in police protection like this, especially on a big inquiry, and a prime witness that was given to us by the press, then the very top gets to know about it. They have to. Chief Constable’s on holiday, so the deputy was in charge. Apparently they’re all going crazy back at HQ. It’s going to get out, that we fucked up. There’ll be an internal investigation.’

‘Don, listen.’ She looked at him intently. ‘I need your help in this. I really do. This is just wrong. What’s happened here is so wrong, and if there’s someone on the inside who’s part of it, I hope I can rely on you to help me.’

‘You don’t need to say that, Rosie.’ Don looked a little offended. ‘I help you because I trust you. Whatever I get, you’ll get. But somebody wanted this guy dead, and some bastard inside our place was prepared to accommodate them.’ He tossed his cigarette butt away. ‘We’ll find them.’

‘Can I see Emir?’

‘I talked to the DI. He said he’ll get his arse felt if anybody finds out, but you’re to go in.’ He turned to walk inside with her, then he touched her arm. ‘Rosie … He’s not going to make it.’

Rosie shook her head and walked behind him.

Going up in the lift, she was reminded of a few months ago, when she made this very journey to say goodbye to her dying father, who had been a virtual stranger most
of her life. She’d held his hand while he breathed his last and said he was sorry. A picture of him lying in the bed flashed across Rosie’s mind. The lift doors opened and as she stepped out in the corridor, the DI met her, his face ashen.

‘Sorry, Rosie.’ He shook his head. ‘What can I say? I just don’t know. But I’ll find out.’

Rosie nodded. ‘Can I see Emir?.’

‘In there,’ he pointed to the side room off the ward. ‘He hasn’t got long. Lost too much blood.’ He looked beyond her. ‘It’s not fair. None of it.’

Rosie sensed she had an ally. Don had told her the DI had been born and bred in the Highlands, the son of a cop. He was old school, and straight as a die.

‘I hope you get to the bottom of it.’

‘Too fucking right I will.’

The door opened and a nurse came out. The DI said nothing and ushered Rosie inside.

Emir lay hooked up to machines monitoring his heartbeat, his eyes closed, his face even more sunken than it had been. Rosie stood over him. She took his hand, warm and soft.

‘Emir,’ she said softly. ‘It’s Rosie.’

After a second he squeezed her hand. His eyes flickered and opened.

‘Rosie,’ he whispered, his lids heavy. ‘Why?’

Rosie leaned over him and automatically stroked his forehead and hair.

‘I don’t know, Emir.’ She fought back tears. ‘But I will find out. For you, and for Jetmir, and for the others.’

He squeezed her hand. ‘I want to go home, Rosie,’ he murmured. A tear trickled out of his eye as he looked at her. ‘I want to go home.’

Rosie gently touched his face.

‘I know, Emir. I know.’

‘Rosie. I need you to help me.’ His breathing was shallow. ‘Can you go to my grandmother. In Macedonia. Tell her I am happy here. I have job and my life is good. Please. Can you tell her.’

‘Yes, Emir. I will go and see her when I go to Bosnia. I will visit.’

His lips moved to a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Rosie.’

‘I’m so sorry, Emir.’

‘No. You help me. Only you.’ He held on to her hand, his eyes locked to hers, pleading. ‘I’m frightened, Rosie.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said, stroking his face. ‘Don’t be afraid, Emir.’

His grip slackened. Then nothing. Rosie watched, swallowing her tears, as the life drained out of him.

She came out of the room and saw Don and the DI sitting in the corridor. They jumped up and came towards her.

‘He’s gone,’ Rosie managed to say.

Nobody spoke. Don patted her shoulder, then walked briskly to the nurse’s station. Rosie glanced around for somewhere to flee to, because she knew she was about to break down. She saw a nurse coming out of a staff toilet, and made a beeline for it.

Inside, she bolted the door and burst into tears. She sat on the toilet seat with her head in her hands, sobbing.
Guilt, anger and sadness for a young man who would have been happy with so little. If only she’d left Emir alone, perhaps he could have taken his chances that they wouldn’t find him. He could have done a runner, left Glasgow, started out somewhere else. He might even still have been alive if she’d never gone up to him that day when she saw him the first time, weeping outside the flats. But no. She had to plough in, take him into her confidence, promise she would take care of him. She had failed him, and for what? For a story. She pushed the palms of her hands against her eyes and sniffed, wiping her nose and trying to compose herself. She stood up, and went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face and dabbed it with paper towels. As she did, she looked in the mirror at the flushed, puffy face looking back at her. She stood for a few moments, staring at herself long and hard, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Rosie kept on looking in the mirror, and as quick as the shame washed over her and she saw the images of Mags Gillick who had died helping her, her guilt turned to anger. Yes, it was for a story, she told herself. That’s who she was. But it was more than that. Emir was one victim – just one of the many defenceless people just like him who were at the mercy of the monsters who preyed on them because they couldn’t fight back. They were screaming in the dark. If she didn’t tell their stories then this would just keep going on – the murder, the brutality, would continue. She took a deep breath and vowed that if she did nothing else for the rest of her life, she would find these people and expose them, no matter where the
hunt took her. For Emir, for his friend, and for all the poor people on the list who had come here seeking refuge.

She opened the door and went back outside, knowing that Don and the DI would see she’d been crying. She stood facing them.

‘I hope you find these bastards,’ she said to both of them. ‘You have to.’

She felt her lip quiver.

‘We’ll find them,’ the DI said, looking straight at her.

‘Yeah, sure you will.’ Rosie turned and walked briskly away.

CHAPTER 25

O’Brien’s bar was filling up with the usual champagne set who were there to be seen with the right people in the right places, where they could rub shoulders and mingle with other like-minded tossers. In the restaurant off the main bar there were still a few lunchtime stragglers, drinking liqueurs and laughing in that three-sheets-to-the-wind way you do if you’re still having lunch and it’s past six in the evening. Rosie eyed them a little enviously, part of her wishing she could just lose herself like that for an afternoon of carefree boozing and eating in good company. She promised herself that when this was all over, she and TJ would go out one day and just forget to come back.

She sat at the bar sipping a gin and tonic, watching the door, waiting for Don. She’d already explained about her bashed-up face to the silver-haired Donegal barman who’d known her for years. She’d told so many people she had crashed her car she was beginning to believe it herself.

As she turned to the bar and ordered another drink, Don came up behind her and squeezed her shoulder.

‘Hey Rosie. You all right?’

She swivelled around. Normally there would have been instant banter, but today there was none. Don looked worn out, even for a man with his prematurely craggy features.

‘I’m okay,’ Rosie said. ‘You look shattered, Don.’

He asked for a pint of lager and sat up on the bar stool next to her. He lit a cigarette.

‘Can I have one?’ Rosie asked.

Don gave her a sympathetic look. ‘That bad, eh?’

Rosie put the cigarette between her lips as Don flicked the lighter. She took a deep draw. It felt good.

‘Sometimes, a cigarette and a stiff drink is the only thing.’ She sighed out a trail of smoke. ‘What a mess, Don. Poor Emir. I can’t get him out of my mind.’ She shook her head.

Rosie looked at Don, then down at the bar. She didn’t want to tell him she’d been awake half the night, and that every time she closed her eyes she saw Emir’s face that first day, when he stood weeping outside the Red Road flats. A desperate, sad, frightened guy, too far from home. And when she did finally drop off to sleep from sheer exhaustion, her nightmares were filled with marauding soldiers slashing their way through Bosnian villages – and then the image of her mother being taken away on the back of a lorry, her arms outstretched and calling out her name. She’d woken up, her face wet with tears.

Don took a long drink of his pint, then said, ‘There’s a lot of shit hitting the fan up at HQ. They want to talk to you, Rosie.’ He fiddled with his lighter. ‘You might get pulled in for an interview.’

Rosie bristled. ‘Stuff that, Don. Would bloody fit them better if they put their energies into finding who shot a crucial witness they were supposed to be protecting. That’s what they should be doing. What do they want with me?’

But she knew exactly what they wanted – to grill her to see how much more she knew.

‘You’re right, Rosie, but I’m just saying … They think you’re maybe withholding information.’

‘Yeah, sure they do,’ she said, bitterly indignant. ‘They might start asking themselves that if I’ve got information, then how come they don’t have it.’

Don shrugged. ‘I know what you mean, but this is serious now, Rosie. Really serious.’

Rosie tried not to look cynical. You’re damn right it’s serious, she felt like saying. She could show him a list as long as his arm of refugees who Frank Paton and Tony Murphy had probably sent to their deaths. She took a gulp of her drink and told herself to settle down.

Don leaned closer and lowered his voice.

‘Forensics have come back with samples they found at the slaughterhouse. It’s human skin, Rosie. Tissue and bone fragments. Something fucking sinister has been going on up there. It’s beginning to look like Emir’s story of him and his mate being kidnapped was true.’

Rosie kept her face straight.

‘Really? So what’s the thinking?’

He spoke in a whisper. ‘Well, with that torso that was found in the Clyde looking like it might have been a refugee, and with asylum lawyers Murphy and Paton both dead, and now Emir … There’s no way vigilantes are doing this. We might be looking at organs or something being sold.’

‘Christ!’ Rosie did her best to sound surprised.

‘It’s big business.’ Don stubbed his cigarette out. ‘Worldwide. We’ve got guys looking at that too.’

Rosie said nothing and they sat in silence for a while, till Don ordered another drink for both of them.

‘So, what are you doing about Emir’s murder?’

Rosie had already talked to McGuire, and they were making a decision tomorrow whether to go along with the story he told her. Throw the whole thing wide open, McGuire had said. No matter what the rest of the media might do, the
Post
would always be in front because of the information they already had – and the pictures.

‘There’s an internal inquiry underway. Boss released a statement today. That’ll spark off a few questions, but they’re not making any comment. Standard quote.’

‘Somebody inside the cops must have blabbed about Emir. They obviously told whoever wanted him dead where he was being kept. You’ve got to find who that is.’

‘We will.’ He looked Rosie in the eye, his mouth curling a little at the side. ‘You know more than you’re letting on, Rosie, don’t you?’

She said nothing.

‘Your story today about Frank Paton’s murder … there
were a couple of hints in there about refugees and stuff, and the piece you wrote last week about refugees disappearing.’ He paused. ‘You do know more Rosie, don’t you?’

Rosie gave him an insolent look. ‘I’m a journalist, Don, not a cop. It’s your job to catch the bad guys. I just expose them in the paper.’

Don shifted in his seat. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Rosie. I think you’re right, but I’m giving you fair warning because you’re my friend. They’re coming to talk to you.’

Rosie shrugged. ‘Sure. I’ll talk to them.’

She excused herself and went to the bathroom, glad to find it empty. She took her mobile from her bag and phoned McGuire.

‘Rosie? What’s up? You make me nervous when you phone me at night.’

‘Nothing, Mick. Just to let you know quickly that the cops are looking to pull me in to start questioning me. I know where this could go.’

‘Fuck them.’

‘Listen, Mick. I’m going to have to go to Bosnia anyway, then to Belgrade, see if we can track this Raznatovic guy down. Why not get me out there as soon as possible?’

‘Hmm. You might be right. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’

When Rosie came back into the bar, Don had almost finished his pint. ‘One for the road?’ he asked.

‘No. Thanks, Don.’ Rosie looked at her watch. ‘I need to get a move on. I’ve got something on tonight.’ She put her bag over her shoulder. ‘But to be honest, I’m knackered.’

‘Yeah,’ Don said. ‘Me too. But tell you what, Rosie. I think we’re going to be a lot more knackered before this is finished.’

They headed towards the swing doors and walked out into the mild summer evening, standing silently for a moment and watching the dying light throw long shadows from the magnificent buildings around Royal Exchange Square.

‘I love this city.’ Rosie gazed around, feeling kind of choked. Then she turned to Don. ‘I hope you find your traitor, pal.’ She shook her head. ‘Because if there’s someone inside who’s prepared to let a major witness get bumped off while under police protection, then you guys are fundamentally useless – present company excepted.’

Don looked dejected. ‘I know. It’s grim. But we’ll get to the bottom of it. The DI’s as straight as they come. I told you that.’

He gave Rosie a bear hug and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Watch yourself, Rosie.’

She glanced at him briefly, wondering if she should read more into that. She watched as he walked away.