Screams in the Dark Page 18

  ‘So if they’re your clients, then where are they, Frank?’ Rosie looked at him coldly. ‘They’re not at these addresses. Haven’t been for months. But then you know that, don’t you?’

  Frank pushed his drink away from him and moved to stand up. A bit of bluster, Rosie thought, trying to put her off.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you have a list of some of my clients. I don’t know where you got it or what nonsense you’re talking, but I’m not listening to any more of this.’ He stood up and stepped away from the table.

  Rosie got up and stood closer to him, so he would need to push past her.

  ‘That’s why Tony hanged himself, Frank, isn’t it?’

  The words stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard, Frank. Tony couldn’t cope any more with what you two were doing.’ Rosie kept going as he pushed his way past her. ‘We have the story, Frank. We know it all,’ she bluffed. ‘And this Josef murder. Tanya’s man. It’s all connected, isn’t it?’

  He turned briefly and squared his shoulders.

  ‘Well, go ahead with your story then. But you’d better have your facts right before you go around accusing lawyers of getting rid of their clients.’

  Rosie couldn’t believe he’d said that. By the look of shock on Paton’s face, he couldn’t believe he’d said it either. For a second, he didn’t know what to do. Rosie had to bite her lip to stop her from smiling.

  He turned on his heel and scurried out of the bar like the cornered rat he was. When he was gone, Rosie put her hand into her pocket, took out her tape recorder and rewound it just to make sure he’d actually said ‘lawyers getting rid of their clients’.

  *

  The dinner invitation at Cameron House from Al Howie was at short notice, but Frank Paton knew it was an offer he couldn’t refuse. There were a couple of business associates, who’d been playing golf at Loch Lomond earlier in the day and were staying over at the hotel, that Al wanted Frank to meet. Al told Frank it was a wee thankyou for his good work. He asked him to drive his own car down, but he could still have a few drinks, and Clock would drive his car back up to Glasgow. Frank’s wife was furious when he told her he was going to be busy for the evening. It was school parents’ night, and he’d promised he would go. She was still shouting at him when he put the phone down. He put on a fresh shirt he always kept in the office for emergencies, splashed water on his face, and headed for the dinner. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Not by any stretch.

  *

  He drove up the sweeping driveway into the secluded country mansion hotel, a one-time retreat for old money and class but often now the haunt of chav footballers and their appalling entourage of birds and minders. But nothing, not even the drug dealers and thugs who had lowered the tone, could detract from the lavish hotel and splendid surroundings nestling on the banks of Loch Lomond. How the other half live, Frank thought to himself, as he pulled up outside the hotel where Clock Buchanan stood on the steps waiting for him.

  ‘I’ll put your motor in the car park, Frank.’ He jerked his thumb to the building. ‘Al and the boys are in the bar. You’ve to join them for a drink before dinner.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Frank said, tossing him the keys. He took a deep breath, climbed the wide stairway and pushed open the heavy stained-glass swing door.

  ‘Frankie boy!’ Al was leaning on the bar with a drink in his hand. His coked-out eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree.

  ‘Hey, Al.’ Frank nodded at the two other men standing alongside him and strode across the room.

  ‘Frank, this is Milosh, our main man up here.’ Frank turned to the squat man with the dark close-cropped hair. Frank guessed he was about the same age as him.

  ‘How you doing?’ Frank said, shaking Milosh’s hand.

  Milosh nodded and looked at Frank but said nothing. His expression was flat, and Frank could feel his dark eyes scanning his face as he gripped his hand.

  ‘And this is Goran.’ Al turned to the other man.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Frank said to the tall, middle-aged, weedy-looking man with the same deadpan look as his mate. They both gave him the creeps. He waited for some kind of explanation from Al as to exactly who they were. He’d heard the name Milosh before, and knew he was the guy in charge of things at the plant, but he’d made it his business never to ask questions about who was who and what role they had in this despicable operation that he and Tony had got themselves swallowed up in. Frank was well aware of what they’d become; he didn’t need reminding by meeting the personnel at the heart of it.

  ‘Goran’s over from Germany,’ Al said. ‘Bit of golf, bit of business. He’s been at a couple of places down south, just to see the supply lines.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Frank said, not knowing what else to say.

  There was an awkward pause, then Al ordered a round of large drinks from the young barman. Frank had to stop himself from downing his in one gulp. A bit of small talk continued, and Frank was glad when the head waiter arrived to announce their table was ready. He led them to a small private dining room with all the deference of a footman from the royal household. Frank looked at his watch and felt a sharp pang of remorse, thinking of Louise at her parents’ night waiting for her daddy to turn up. He’d be glad when this night was over.

  *

  Two hours later, Frank was in the front seat, half drunk as Clock drove him out of Cameron House and down onto the main road. He’d been glad the waiter had continually topped up their wine glasses because at least it took the edge off his nerves.

  The two men, he’d learned over dinner, were both Serbs from the former Yugoslavia, who were now businessmen working at the forefront of the operation Al was fronting in Scotland for Big Jake Cox. Frank listened, stealing the odd glance at Clock, who sat sipping mineral water while the Serbs knocked back wine, then brandies.

  In their broken English they’d described the success of the international tissue trade, and how the spare parts industry was the way forward. They also made jokes about how it also solved two problems at once. Apart from making them money, some of the tissue, brains and torsos they supplied helped for medical research, while also getting rid of the refugees who were a constant drain on any country’s resources. Nobody cares about them anyway, Milosh had said. Al, who kept popping out to the toilet and coming back more and more spaced out, was laughing as he drank a toast to Frank for his tireless work in the area of refugees and asylum seekers. Everyone around the table had burst out laughing. Except Frank. He felt sick to his stomach.

  Now he sat staring out of the windscreen as Clock drove his car up the Glasgow road. He was so morose he didn’t even notice Clock had turned off the main road until he spoke to him.

  ‘I need a pee, Frank,’ Clock said, getting out of the car. ‘All that fucking mineral water.’

  In his boozy state, Frank hadn’t seen the car that was sitting at the edge of the lay-by with its lights off. He put his head back and sighed, closing his eyes, while he waited for Clock. When the back door opened he jumped, but he didn’t get time to turn around. Even if he had, all he would have seen was the masked man with the gun in his hand.

  ‘Say goodnight, Frank.’

  Then nothing. Not even time to see the image of his little girl one last time. The gunman shot him in the back of the head and his brains exploded like a water balloon across the windscreen.

  Clock came back into the driver’s seat. ‘You follow me, Marty.’ He reversed the car, pushing Frank’s slumped body out of the way as he turned the car around. ‘You made a right fucking mess here, man.’

  They drove along the single dirt-track road that led down towards the edge of the loch. Clock eased the car so it was off the road and onto the grassy bank that sloped into the water. He let the handbrake off and jumped out as the car rolled down and slid into the water. He watched as it slipped beneath the surface until all he could see was the roof, before there was a kind
of bubbling sound as Frank and his car disappeared into Loch Lomond.

  CHAPTER 23

  Rosie was surprised at how emotional she felt when Emir suddenly threw his arms around her at the police station. She hugged him back, feeling the tension in his wiry body as he held onto her. She caught Don and his boss making a face at each other, and reprimanded Don with a look.

  ‘You’ll be fine, Emir. Sergeant Elliot and Detective Inspector Johnson will look after you.’ She turned to the cops. ‘Won’t you, guys?’

  ‘Of course we will.’ The big DI patted Emir on the shoulder. ‘Come on, son. Let’s get you a coffee and we can get settled down for a chat.’ He shook Rosie’s hand. ‘Thanks for your help, Rosie. We’ll be in touch.’

  Don walked Rosie to the door of the police station. ‘The boy looks terrified,’ he said, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘He is,’ Rosie said. ‘Where will you put him tonight?’

  Don gave her a slightly perplexed look and blew smoke out.

  ‘Rosie, he’s not your wee brother. Leave it to the professionals. Don’t worry. We’re not going to keep him in the cells. We have a safe house for him, but we need a longer talk with him first. Then we’ll get him some grub and settle him in.’

  ‘What do you think of what he’s told you so far?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘Dynamite stuff, if what he’s saying is actually true. And, of course, if we can get enough on these bastards to lift them.’ He took a long draw of his cigarette and flicked it away. ‘But we’ve a bit to go before we’ll be ready to do that.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Rosie looked away from him. She didn’t like holding out on Don by not passing all of the information she had to him.

  ‘So what’s your next piece going to be?’

  ‘Don’t quite know yet, Don. I’m working on a few lines,’ she lied. ‘But now that Emir’s with you, we’ll be doing something very soon. Things are going to start opening up a bit, with the cleaner’s man being murdered so soon after her boss is found hanged. It’s all too much of a coincidence. Lot of intrigue. The rest of the press will be all over it now.’

  ‘We need a chance to look at this ourselves, Rosie. If you go blasting it all over the place, these bastards will disappear.’

  ‘Well, it’s kind of out there now, Don.’ She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘You’ll just have to get your arses in gear.’

  ‘Everyone’s been briefed. There’s a team getting prepared to look at that slaughterhouse place. I think things will start to move pretty fast.’ He turned to go.

  ‘I hope you’ll give me a heads-up so we can be on the ball, Don.’

  ‘Course.’ He winked. ‘Stand by your mobile.’

  Rosie smiled and walked towards her car. As she got in, her phone rang.

  ‘Where are you, Rosie?’ It was TJ. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Just about finished, TJ. Took Emir to the cops. I’ve just got something to do very quickly, then I’ll be over. I’m starving.’

  ‘Good. I’ve cooked the best curry outside of the Punjab. I’ve got some decent wine as well. See you.’ He hung up.

  Before she drove off, she tried Tanya’s mobile again, but it was still ringing out. She hadn’t been able to get her on the phone since Josef had been murdered. She was beginning to get worried.

  Rosie parked her car close to Tanya’s flat and walked up to the door. She rang the buzzer, but there was no answer. She waited on the doorstep, looking at her watch. She buzzed another flat in the building and the security door clicked open. When she got to the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see the door of Tanya’s apartment was slightly ajar.

  ‘Tanya?’ Rosie knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  ‘Tanya? You there? It’s Rosie.’ She pushed the door open a little more.

  Rosie swithered as to whether to go in. Her stomach tightened at what she might find, given what had happened to Josef. She took a step forward, then stopped. Bad idea, she thought. She took out her mobile and was about to press Don’s number when the door suddenly swung open and banged against the wall. Before she could even take in what was happening, she was grabbed by the hair and dragged into Tanya’s hallway. A hand went across her mouth.

  ‘Shut the fuck up. Scream and you’re dead.’ The voice rasped in her ear.

  She was slammed against the wall, her head jerking back. For a second Rosie felt dizzy with the pain and shock, but then she was back. Her legs felt weak.

  ‘Where is the fuckin’ bitch?’ He was wearing a balaclava, but she could see his eyes blazing. He kicked the door shut.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosie managed to mumble behind his hand.

  He punched her hard in the stomach and she doubled over, gasping for breath. He took his hand away from her mouth and grabbed her hair with his other hand. For a split second, Rosie thought one hand looked smaller than the other. Maybe the knock on her head had made her confused.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘I’ve been trying to find her. She doesn’t answer the phone.’ Rosie looked at him. ‘Please. Don’t hurt me.’

  He put his hand around her throat and squeezed.

  ‘You’re Rosie Gilmour. That bitch from the paper.’ He sniffed. ‘You’re on the fucking list by the way. In fact I’d probably get a bonus if I did you over right now.’ He slapped her again and she felt a searing pain in her cheekbone. It brought tears to her eyes.

  ‘Please! Stop! Why are you doing this? I’m just looking for Tanya.’

  ‘Aye. Fuck you.’ He squeezed her neck. ‘You’re scum. You and the rest of them reporters, poking their noses into everybody’s business.’

  Rosie said nothing, just tried to breathe.

  ‘See when my brother got jailed for murder? You cunts splashed it all over your paper. Said he was scum from a scum family in Easterhouse.’ He paused, took a breath. ‘My ma died of shame a fucking year later. Never set foot out of the house because the papers said her and her weans were scum.’ He swallowed. ‘Everybody pointed the finger at her. Can you imagine what that was like? Died of shame.’

  His eyes were shiny now, and Rosie thought for a moment he was going to burst into tears. But she knew better. Angry men like this didn’t cry. They lashed out at everyone in sight. They punched and slashed and raged their way through life, and they blamed everyone – from the system to the cops – for making them the dysfunctional toerags they were. Blamed everyone but themselves. It was just her unfortunate timing to bump into a psycho with a grudge against the press. He touched his face and from the corner of Rosie’s eye she could see the crooked, withered hand. He noticed her glancing at it and squeezed her throat again.

  ‘You see this?’ He shoved the hand in front of her eyes. ‘I was born like this. My ma said I was special. She made me special when I was wee and everyone laughed at me.’

  Rosie didn’t know what she should be saying to this damaged nutter, but it wouldn’t be a good moment to offer him a hug. She stood perfectly still and silent, trying to swallow with his hand across her windpipe. But she sensed weakness. Whatever he was supposed to be doing to her, he wasn’t focused on it.

  Suddenly she found the strength to jerk her knee up and slam him hard between the legs. She watched astonished as he crumpled to the floor. Then she amazed herself even more by giving him another swift kick in the balls.

  ‘Fuck!’ he groaned, doubling up on the floor, clutching himself.

  ‘Fuck you.’ Rosie stumbled over him and grabbed the door handle.

  In a flash she was downstairs, running towards the exit and out into the street. She didn’t stop running until she got to her car and locked the doors. Her hands trembled so much she couldn’t get the key into the ignition. She dropped it, then fumbled around the floor and picked it up, glancing fearfully over her shoulder.

  ‘Come on Rosie … Come on, for Christ sake.’ She finally got the key in and screeched away.

  It was only when she was at George Square that she pulled the car in and looked in the rear-view
mirror. Her face was red and her eye puffy. Her lip was beginning to swell. Her hands shook as she pulled her mobile out of her pocket and phoned TJ.

  ‘Rosie. Where are you?’

  She swallowed back tears, but couldn’t speak.

  ‘What’s up? Rosie? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh TJ,’ she managed to say. ‘I’ve been attacked. Can you come?’

  ‘Christ! Where are you?’

  ‘George Square. Outside the city chambers.’

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t move.’

  *

  Back in TJ’s flat, Rosie sat at his kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug of sweet tea and a packet of frozen peas against her swollen cheek. She’d declined his offer of a brandy. He sat opposite her, his elbows on the table with his hand supporting his chin. TJ watched her, with that look that had disarmed her from the moment she realised she had fallen in love with him. So much had happened since then, but the look was still enough to unnerve her.

  ‘Don’t stare at me like that, TJ,’ Rosie said, only half joking. ‘It weakens me.’

  ‘Jesus, Rosie.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

  Rosie flinched a little as he reached across and gently touched her swollen lip with the back of his fingers. She took his hand and held it.

  ‘Sorry I scared you, TJ.’

  ‘Come on. Don’t be stupid. You know I would go to the ends of the earth for you, sweetheart.’ He smiled. ‘But knowing you, Gilmour, by the time I got there, you’d probably be busy doing something else.’

  Rosie smiled, touching her cheek and wincing.

  ‘Sometimes I don’t know where I’d be without you. That’s the truth, TJ.’ Her throat felt tight with emotion. ‘I missed you so much when you were away.’ She shook her head. ‘I wish I hadn’t. But I did.’

  TJ pulled his chair closer. ‘You know what I wish, Rosie?’ His voice was soft. ‘I wish … I wish you didn’t do this shit any more.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I know you hate me saying these things, but that’s what I really feel.’