The Hit Page 20

  ‘I understand.’ She reached across and touched his wrist, and he seemed to flinch a little.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He swallowed. ‘I’m tired. I been sleeping in the street at night and one night in the homeless place. I think now I want to go away. Maybe abroad to somewhere else in Europe and live. I have to go and hide from these people. That is why I was asking for money for the story.’

  They sat for a few moments in silence, listening to the cups clinking and chairs being dragged over the floor. Watching people coming and going, the freedom to do these small day-to-day things suddenly struck Rosie as incredibly potent. Whatever we think we don’t have, in this society we have this single thing: we are free to do what we want, go where we want, work or not work. We are part of a system, and though it might be groaning under the strain, unless you really messed up, someone would pick you up.

  ‘So, Viktor. What kind of proof? You said you have proof?’

  He nodded, and finished his coffee, again playing with the cigarette packet. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled his chair so he was alongside Rosie. She could smell stale sweat, tobacco and grubby clothes. He took out a grimy envelope and opened it, pulling out three photographs. He placed them on the table in front of her, and Rosie’s eye immediately went to one of the big charity trucks, ‘Hands Across Europe’ emblazoned on the side. She scanned the picture, and could see the boss of the charity, Robert Morgan. Then another picture, at a port somewhere, what looked like the Dutch flag fluttering in the distance. The truck was open at the back, and the photograph was of half a dozen or so men crouched in the back, dark eyes, frightened looks. But it proved nothing. It could have been workers taking a break after unloading their cargo. Another picture was of two transit vans, and some people going in the back. He told her he had taken the pictures with a cheap camera he had and had kept them hidden.

  ‘Can you explain the pictures?’

  ‘Yes. You see, here,’ he pointed to the charity truck, ‘this is the truck after we deliver the aid in Romania. We went to a place called Cluj, and then we go to a place on the border of Romania and Hungary and we pick up some people. Albanians. And the other one is the people in the back of the truck we pick up. The other pictures of the vans are people going in. The same people. You see this? They are all illegal.’

  ‘But it doesn’t prove anything really, Viktor. These people could be just workers coming home. Where are they now?’

  ‘I know only three of them who are in Scotland. The others went somewhere in the UK.’

  ‘Do you know their names?’

  ‘Yes. One is in the flat where I lived. But he doesn’t know I’m doing this. Another two boys also here, but they don’t live with us.’

  Rosie’s mind was buzzing. If they used the pics and these men’s faces they could all be in trouble. They could blank the faces out and tell the story but it still didn’t prove anything. Not enough to make the kind of accusations he was making about corruption on a grand scale. Her heart sank.

  ‘I need more proof, Viktor. It needs to be backed up with someone else talking. What about your friend from the flat? Or the other two?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t seen any of them for a week.’

  ‘Are they unhappy?’

  ‘Yes. Like me. They know they will never pay the debt for coming here. They work in the car-wash business. Many car-wash business workers are just the slaves who come here.’

  ‘Would any of them talk to us without being identified?’

  ‘I don’t know. Will you pay them money? Maybe they can disappear before the story comes out.’

  Again the money. She knew McGuire would be against parting with money, but she also knew that time was not on their side. If they wanted to really go for this story, they had this man on the run to back it up, along with the pictures. If his friends went along off the record, the story was in the bag. But they had to act fast. Also, the more people in the chain who knew about it, the more danger for the informants, especially Viktor.

  ‘Would you consider going to the police?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Never. I don’t want that. If you want the story and the pictures I can speak to my friends on the phone. But they won’t want police. You pay us and we go.’

  ‘Can you trust your friends?’

  He sighed. ‘I hope so. The one who lives with me, I can trust. But we are not gangsters. We are like puppets. They work the strings. We are not free.’

  ‘But can you trust your friends not to inform the bosses?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about all of them. I speak with the boy in my flat first. But if I tell my two other friends, if I can find them, we have to do things fast.’

  ‘I know. I will speak to my editor.’ Rosie finished her tea. ‘Where will you be later? Can you talk to your friends and meet me somewhere if any of them agree? Tonight or tomorrow, if possible?’

  ‘I will try. I will talk to them. First the boy in my flat.’ He bit his lip and looked at her. ‘Rosie, I have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat. I have no money. I’m sorry. I am not a beggar like some people you see. But can you give me some money to find a hostel or somewhere and get some food? I’m sorry to ask this.’

  His face reddened.

  ‘Okay, Viktor. I’ll help you out for the moment. But I need to know I can trust you.’

  ‘You can trust me. I came to you. I want to talk. But I need to get away.’

  Part of Rosie didn’t know if it was an elaborate plan of his to con her out of money. But she found herself reaching into her pocket and fishing out two twenty-pound notes and a tenner. It would be a lot to him back home, but it would barely get him a hostel bed and some food for the next day or so. She needed to keep him onside.

  ‘Take this. Get somewhere cheap to stay. There’s a place down near Glasgow Green and it doesn’t cost much. I need to be able to speak to you as soon as you talk to any friends. Can you do that today?’

  He took the money and scrunched it in his hands before stuffing it in his jeans pocket. ‘Yes.’

  He collected his pictures and put them in the envelope. Rosie touched his wrist.

  ‘Viktor, I need the pics. Can I keep them till we meet again?’

  He blew out a sigh. ‘I don’t know. Is all I have.’

  ‘If we have trust, mutual trust, you will give me them. Or even if you let me copy them, that’s okay.’

  ‘How you mean?’

  ‘I have someone with me. A photographer.’

  ‘What, here? Inside?’ He looked shocked.

  ‘No. Outside. Don’t worry. He’ll take a copy of them. Is that okay?’

  ‘But no picture of me in the newspaper.’

  ‘No. Not if you don’t want.’

  ‘I don’t want.’

  ‘Okay.’ Rosie stood up, and he also got to his feet. She shook his hand, which felt soft and fleshy.

  ‘How old are you, by the way?’

  ‘I am twenty-seven.’

  ‘Okay. I just wondered.’ He looked older. ‘When we go outside, my friend will come across and take a picture of the photos.’

  He nodded, and they walked towards the door.

  ‘Thanks for coming to see me, Viktor. I will do everything I can to tell the story.’

  ‘Is wrong what they do. I know I am wrong too, because I am with them. And I am asking for money. But is not my choice any more. I just want to be free.’

  ‘I understand.’ Rosie found herself putting a comforting arm on his shoulder. She glimpsed Matt in a doorway across the precinct and beckoned him over.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘I know it stinks, Gilmour, but we don’t have proof that Hands Across Europe were aware about the selling of orphans, hence the reason we said so in your piece. And right now, we definitely don’t have an iota of proof that they’re also part of a people-smuggling racket.’ McGuire folded his arms across his chest and sat back. ‘I know you’re well aware of all of that, so what do you want me t
o do here? We can’t even think about publishing allegations made by some random Albanian, who, by his own admission, is a criminal himself.’

  When it was laid out like that in front of her by the editor in his usual devil’s advocate fashion, Rosie knew it was hard to argue. But she’d known anyway from the moment Viktor showed her the pictures and told her of the people-smuggling that this wasn’t proof enough.

  ‘I’m not disputing any of what you’re saying, Mick. But if the charity is so innocent, then how come they haven’t made a single statement since my story came out? Okay, it didn’t accuse them, but their name was all over it, because it was a UK charity and because Alan Lewis is attached to it. Why did they not come out with a statement? What have they got to hide? All the papers followed my story, but still nothing from them. If they had nothing to hide they’d have come out shocked and fighting.’

  ‘What about the boss? Where is he? Robert Morgan, is it?’

  ‘Yes. He’s never been seen. I sent Declan there yesterday and the place is all locked up. At the warehouse they use, the workers said they just store clothes in a locked room, but nobody has been around for a couple of weeks. I even got a stringer to check their depots in Hull and Manchester – but nothing. It’s all locked up. It’s as though they’ve disappeared.’

  ‘Where does Morgan live?’

  ‘Declan went to his house too. All locked up. No sign of life. No cars. Nothing. It’s a bungalow on the outskirts of Glasgow, down towards Helensburgh. He lives by himself. Neighbours haven’t seen him since the story hit the paper.’

  ‘That’s suspicious in itself. I mean all of it is, and we know that. But maybe Morgan is up to his neck in talks with some lawyer as we speak, trying to find a way to come back at us legally because we’ve linked his charity to the international baby trade.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. He’s done a runner. The smart money is on that.’

  McGuire looked pensive as he stared at the blank pages of the dummy newspaper pages on his desk.

  ‘How did you leave it with Viktor or whatever he’s called?’ He waved a finger. ‘I’m not parting with any money until I can get this story past the lawyers at least.’

  ‘I know, I know. I told him there would be no money unless his story can be corroborated. I’m waiting for him to get back to me once he speaks to his mates. But the boy is shitting himself because he knows the gang masters will be looking for him – especially now, when they’ll be trying to cover all their tracks.’

  ‘Did you talk amounts with him?’

  ‘No. Not yet. I was going to deal with that when we see what we’ve got.’

  ‘I’m not giving them a fortune. The bean counters will crap themselves if they know we’re paying out to people like that. After all, they are criminals too.’

  Rosie ran a hand through her hair.

  ‘You can say criminals, but I’d be more likely to say victims.’

  ‘Aye, of course you would, Gilmour. They’re all victims, but they learn pretty fast that being a victim gets them nowhere.’

  ‘You can guarantee that the bastards at the top of this empire won’t be the ones dragged into custody. Even in Romania, where the cops are supposed to be trying to bust this criminal gang, the guy whom I spoke to at the adoption agency and his cohorts will be up somewhere well out of the way when the heat is on.’

  ‘They’re probably here, or somewhere else in Europe. They’re not going to hang around and wait for a corrupt Romanian plod to knock on their door.’

  ‘I know. So that’s why we can’t let up on this, Mick. We’ve got a chance here to bust the UK end of this if these guys agree to talk. I’ll be honest with you, if it was up to me, and we can get proof from them that will get this story into the papers, I’d be happy to pay them plenty of money.’

  ‘Oh, aye, I’m sure you would. You’ve been throwing my money up and running under it for years.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s just wait and see what we’ve got from them before you start changing lives. Now bugger off, I’ve got a meeting upstairs.’

  As Rosie was walking out of the room, she almost bumped into Declan who was looking breathless with excitement.

  ‘Rosie. I was just coming to see you. Morgan’s car has been found up in the Old Kilpatrick Hills with a body in it.’

  ‘Christ! Is it him?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. Police have just put out a statement on the wires saying a car with a body in it.’

  Rosie stuck her head around McGuire’s open door.

  ‘I hear it,’ he shouted. ‘Let’s hope it’s him. It’ll be a great splash tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls.’

  Rosie noticed a missed call from DI Morton and cursed under her breath when she saw her phone was on Silent. She immediately pressed the callback number.

  ‘Rosie. How are you going to be first with the news if you’re not answering your phone?’

  ‘Sorry, James. It was on Silent for some bizarre reason and I missed it. I was in with the editor. I’ve just been told Morgan’s car has been found out in—’

  ‘That’s why I was calling you. I was giving you a heads up.’

  ‘I really appreciate that. Sorry I missed your call.’ Rosie paused, still annoyed with herself. It didn’t look very efficient when she was trying her best to impress a new contact. ‘It’s on the police wires, but it’s not saying whose body. Is it Morgan’s?’

  ‘It sure is. Stone cold dead.’

  ‘Suicide? Hosepipe?’

  ‘Nope. From what I hear from our boys, it’s a single gunshot to the head.’

  ‘Christ!’

  ‘No weapon found at the scene.’

  ‘Jesus. He’s been murdered?’

  ‘Certainly looks like it. Executed. Hard to hide a weapon after you’ve shot yourself in the head.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘We’re all over it. Forensics are out there at the moment combing the car. They’ll bring it in, and his body too. They’re also at his house, picking up his computer and all his files. Though I wouldn’t expect he’s going to keep a diary of anything he’s involved in that isn’t charity work.’

  ‘Astonishing stuff. When will you be confirming it’s his body and about the gunshot wound?’

  ‘Well, here’s the situation, Rosie. We won’t be releasing the details about the gunshot until tomorrow, and definitely not for this evening’s news. So you can get first bite. It is, after all, your exposé, so I’m giving you a break.’

  Rosie tried to keep the excitement from her voice.

  ‘Really? That’s a real turn you’re doing me, Jim. My editor will be delighted.’

  ‘Well, make sure you watch how you word it.’ He paused. ‘It’s not something I’d be doing every day for any reporter, and that’s the truth. But I can see the work you put in on this, and you’ve helped bring this case to us if we can get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘I owe you a big dinner.’

  ‘I can’t be bought. And certainly not for a bagel. But I’ll hold you to that dinner.’ Silence for a moment. ‘Oh, and Rosie, I hope if you’re getting anywhere on this story and anyone else around it, you’ll reciprocate the heads up.’

  Rosie hesitated a second. ‘I will, if I can.’

  ‘Which, translated, means, you’ll pass it on to me once you know your story is in the paper.’

  Guilt washed over Rosie that she was hoping to meet two men who could be key to this entire operation. But they were terrified of cops and there was no way she was ready to throw them into the mix.

  ‘I’ll do what I can. You can count on me for that.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you.’ He hung up.

  *

  Rosie waited in the same café where she’d met Viktor yesterday, her stomach tightening every time the door opened. It was packed out again, but she’d managed to get a table at the back, away from the window, while Matt had come in and taken his coffee outside to his vantage point at the shop doorway. She’d already cleared it
with McGuire to give the boys enough money to put them into a reasonable hotel for a couple of nights, if they both spoke out. Things were ratcheting up. McGuire was much more onside now that she’d told him her inside information that Morgan’s body had been found with a gunshot wound to the head. He was even more impressed that it would be the Post’s exclusive splash. So he was willing to push the boat out a little to accommodate the lads, if she thought Viktor’s mate was genuine. Her mobile pinged with a message and she could see it was from Matt.

  ‘Two boys coming your way now.’

  Rosie felt a little surge of adrenalin. When she’d spoken to Viktor earlier he’d said his friend was refusing to talk but he’d work on him, and he would meet her anyway, even if it was on his own. It was up to her now to make this happen. She watched the door as it opened and saw Viktor scanning the room until their eyes met. She glimpsed the smaller, skinny, dark-haired boy behind him. He looked young, and was dressed in a tracksuit zip-up top and jeans. He had the haunted look so many of these young men had, when they arrived in a strange country with nothing but hope and the fear they’d be sent back. Viktor came across and sat down at the table as his friend hesitated behind him.

  ‘Sit, Pavil. Is okay.’

  He pulled out a chair and gestured to his friend. Rosie looked at Pavil and smiled, but was leaving it to Viktor to introduce them.

  ‘This my friend Pavil,’ he almost whispered. ‘He is very nervous.’

  ‘I understand,’ Rosie said, looking at Pavil long enough for their eyes to meet. ‘It’s okay, Pavil. Don’t be afraid. My name is Rosie.’

  Pavil glanced over his shoulder and licked his lips as though his mouth was dry. He nodded.