Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 Read online

  Rosie leaned forward and stretched her hand over the table, so that she touched his wrist. He looked down as she held it. ‘Listen, Mitch. I want you to know something so we’re absolutely clear. I didn’t come up the Clyde on a banana skin. I’m no soft touch. I know plenty of junkies who would tell me the sky was falling in, like Chicken Licken, just to get a few quid for a fix. Now, so you know, I’m not that kind of reporter. So if you’re making any of this up in the hope of upfront cash, then forget it. But if you’re telling me the truth, I’ll look after you. Don’t worry about that.’ She paused for effect. ‘And the deal is, you don’t talk to a single soul about this or you get nothing.’ She’d find a way to tell McGuire about the cash.

  ‘Aye, right. I get your drift, man.’ He scooped out more ice cream. ‘But I had a wee toot about an hour ago, so it’s beginning to wear off. I need something to sort me out in the next wee while or I’ll be fucking useless. Can you not give me something now?’

  Rosie ignored the request, sipping her tea. ‘Tell me the last time you saw this guy Dan. Tell me everything you know.’

  He stared at the table for a few beats, as though he were trying to piece it together in his head. ‘Right. Okay, then. Here’s the sketch.’ He took a long breath and let it out slowly. ‘It was about two months ago, maybe three. I don’t know, really, because I lose track of time. The weeks and months all roll into one. Sometimes you only know what season it is if you’re sleeping outside and freezing your balls off.’

  Rosie waited patiently. She didn’t need to hear tales of a junkie’s lifestyle. She’d seen and heard it all before.

  ‘So,’ he continued, ‘I was in the hostel the first time I saw him. He’s just a wee guy, a bit younger than me. Twenty-one, I think. Blond hair. Nice-looking wee guy. He got a bit of a doing from some cunt that was just out of jail, and his face was all bruised. I jumped in to help him and broke a chair over the cunt’s head. We all got thrown out, so me and Dan slept under the bridge that night. Fucking freezing. Then in the middle of the night I heard him greetin’. Sobbing, so he was. After that we used to cut about together. He used to sleep next to me in the hostel and that’s how I got to know him. He woke up one night sobbing again, and I had to try and calm him down. He’s a bit fucked-up. He does a bit of rent-boy stuff, he told me, and he gets picked up a lot because he looks young.’

  Rosie nodded, afraid to say anything now that Mitch was in full recollection mode. She stuck the tape on, and Mitch looked at it and shrugged as he continued.

  ‘So I got up and we went into the wee corridor for a fag. Because if you make a lot of noise they just turf you out. I mean you do hear the odd guy greetin’ or something at night, but mostly it’s just farting.’

  He sniggered and Rosie saw a dimple in one cheek. His face might have been beautiful once, a grin in a school photograph, sweet and innocent. She felt a wave of sympathy for the boy he had been. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We were talking outside and he said he was greetin’ because he had all these nightmares about when he was a wee kid. Said he got abused by loads of people. He was in a children’s home in Glasgow. Said he was with his sister for a while in the same home, but they got split up. They took her away . . . Then he started sobbing again. I mean, he’s well fucked-up this boy. Been smoking heroin for a few years now.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Rosie said. ‘Did he say which home?’

  ‘Eastwood Park Children’s Home. It’s down in the East End. Or it was. It’s not there any more. I know a few boys who were there. I see them in here or in the houses where I get my kit.’

  ‘You mean a few of them are heroin addicts?’

  ‘Well, put it this way, Rosie. Everybody I know is a heroin addict. I don’t know normal people any more. I haven’t seen my family in eight years. My da’s dead and my maw’s not well. My sister died from heroin two years ago and my maw’s never been the same since.’

  Christ! Rosie thought. The city’s schemes were littered with stories like this, so many victims, no matter what hard line the government peddled to deal with the aftermath of the nineties heroin explosion that had swept the country.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mitch. Must be tough for you. But you need to start looking at a programme to get off this shit.’

  He nodded wanly. ‘Aye. I’m going to get on methadone. At least it makes it easier – you’ve always got something to get you started in the morning if you’ve got a meth script.’

  Rosie knew that was part of the problem. Half the junkies were hooked on heroin, stealing to get it, and the other half were hooked even deeper on methadone, using it as a crutch till they got their next fix. It was costing millions, and nobody was getting any better. It was just a more organized way to get spaced out, and it made social services feel they were tackling the problem, which they weren’t.

  ‘So where is he now? When did you last see him?’ Rosie was as convinced as she could be that Mitch was genuine, however desperate he was for money. She’d been here before and she could usually detect a bullshitter, even a good one.

  ‘A couple of nights ago. We ended up in a house down the Barrowfield. He was smoking heroin and was in a bit of a mess. Place is stinking, but at least it was a roof over our heads. We slept on the floor.’

  ‘Did you see him in the morning?’

  ‘Aye. About eleven or twelve or something we woke up and had another wee toot. Then we went out to go up the shops and see what we could blag. That was when he saw the paper.’

  ‘The newspaper?’

  ‘Aye. All the papers had the front page about this Bella Mason killing herself. Wee Dan just fucking went to bits. He collapsed and everything. I had to pick him up and drag him to a side street. That’s when he started going on about stuff happening to the two of them. He said he should tell the cops again. Apparently he did when he was younger, but nothing happened. And now . . . I mean, who’s going to believe a fucking wee junkie claiming he’s the brother of a famous model? It’s just not going to happen, is it?’

  ‘It’s difficult, I’ll say that.’

  ‘Aye. More like impossible.’

  ‘Did he say when he’d last seen her?’

  ‘Aye. He said they’d lost touch years ago. They took her away when she was thirteen, but she came back to Glasgow one time and found him. She was trying to help him with the drugs and stuff, but he was a junkie big-time by then. I don’t know what happened after that. But he’d seen her a few weeks ago, he said, and they’d been talking about the stuff that happened years ago. The abuse.’

  Rosie had to find Dan. Of course he might be a fantasist, making up stories about a sister, but her instincts told her different. ‘So, Mitch, how are we going to find Dan now? I really want to talk to him.’

  ‘I was looking for him the past couple of days, but to be honest, I got caught up in a few things. I was arrested for shoplifting and spent a night in the cells, so I haven’t had a real chance.’

  ‘Have you any way of getting in touch or digging him up through friends?’

  ‘Nobody knows who he is or what his story is. We don’t really have a lot of friends in this fucking set-up. We only have people who’ll give you the time of day if you share your stash with them, then rob you once you fall asleep.’

  ‘Can you start looking for him now? Take me to some places? Or at least have a serious look for him, and as soon as you see him, call me?’

  ‘Aye. I can do that. But I don’t think you should be walking into some of the shitholes we hang around in.’

  ‘I’ve been in them before, Mitch. As I said, I’ve been doing this a long time.’

  ‘You don’t look it. You look quite young.’

  ‘I’m flattered.’ Rosie smiled. Even a down-on-his-luck junkie had the guile to try a bit of charm. Top marks for effort.

  She noticed that he had started to look even more pasty-faced, and sweat was appearing on his top lip and hairline. He needed more heroin.

  ‘Listen, Rosie. I have to go. I’ve got to g
et myself sorted, know what I mean?’

  Rosie knew exactly what he meant. She went into her bag and took out twenty quid. It was more than enough to see him through the day. Half of her believed she might as well set fire to it for all the good it would do her. But something inside told her that she could put a glimmer of trust into the pathetic shambles in front of her. Right now, she didn’t have a lot of options.

  ‘Here’s the deal, Mitch, and listen good. I’m going to be looking for you later this afternoon and tonight. I want to talk to you and you’ll need to tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve seen. I need you to do that. Just text me on your mobile.’ She asked him to let her see it, then keyed in her number and stored it. ‘Are you understanding me?’

  ‘Aye. Of course I am. I’m going to find wee Dan for you and I’m going to bring him and get him to talk. I want paid, mind you, but I don’t want him fucked about because he’ll need paid too.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Just find him for me, and we’ll take it from there.’

  They stood up and Rosie paid at the counter. Then they left, and Rosie found herself giving his bony shoulder a friendly squeeze as he half smiled.

  ‘Thanks for the iced drink. I’ll text you.’

  Rosie watched him bounce down the road towards the Barrowfield, hoping her twenty quid wouldn’t be smoking out of his brains in the next two hours.

  Chapter Six

  Millie opened her eyes but could see nothing. It was pitch black. Her eyelids felt like they were weighed down. Fear lashed through her. Where the hell was she? She shifted in the bed and a searing pain shot through her hip and back. Then she remembered. Eastbourne. The car had hit her and flipped her into the air. The squeal of seagulls before she hit the ground, before everything turned black. She brought a hand up to touch her face. Nothing hurt there, and she traced her fingers across her lips and cheekbones, then her eyebrows. There was a bandage on her forehead. She followed the path of it, wrapped around her head, and pressed lightly, wincing at the sharp pain. She began to move her feet and arms slowly, to make sure she could, then turned her head a little to the side.

  Her body was clammy, trembling every time she moved. But that was normal for Millie: every morning she woke up with the tremors. But now she could barely lift her head off the pillow. She must be in a hospital. But how long had she been out? And why was it so dark? She could hear movement in the corridor and turned her head carefully towards the chink of light under the door. Her eyes were beginning to focus and she could see that the blinds on the window were pulled down tight. She wanted to get up, but pain burned through her when she moved. She thought she wasn’t badly injured, perhaps just stiff from the accident.

  All of a sudden, the room lit up, the ceiling lights dazzling her. Slowly the window blind rose and stopped halfway, sending in streams of daylight. The handle of the door turned and was pushed open. She closed her eyes, barely breathing. She could hear someone approaching her bed. She half opened her eyes.

  ‘Good morning, Millie.’

  A broad Irish accent. Millie opened her eyes to see the bright smile of a nurse, middle-aged with a round, friendly face.

  Millie didn’t return her smile. ‘Where am I?’

  The nurse was adjusting a drip at the side of her bed, and looked down at her, again with the smile. ‘You’re going to be fine, Millie. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in hospital, pet. I’m Staff Nurse Bridget Casey. You’re being looked after well here, so don’t you worry about a thing. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.’

  Millie swallowed and licked her dry lips. Her tongue felt like paper. ‘I got hit by a car.’

  ‘Yes. You did. You were very lucky.’

  Lucky, Millie thought. Sure, I’ve always been lucky. ‘I hurt my head,’ she said. ‘And my hip. My back is very painful.’

  ‘It’s no wonder you’re sore, Millie. Your hip is very badly bruised, but nothing is broken, thank God. And you’ve a few stitches in your head. You’re on some very strong painkillers. But I’d say you’ll live.’ She grinned, blue eyes twinkling.

  The words stung Millie. Suddenly she was back on the hotel roof. All she’d wanted was to jump, to end it all, until she’d seen Bella being dragged by those brutes. Suddenly her chest felt heavy and tears spilled out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  The nurse reached down and took her hand, squeezing it gently. ‘There there now, pet. Just let it all out. It’s the shock. Delayed shock. It happens a lot after a trauma. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m so sad.’ Millie was still weeping, and the nurse took a tissue from a box on her bedside cabinet and wiped her eyes and nose.

  ‘Don’t be sad. Everything will be all right, in time. You’ve just had a bad shock and your body is traumatized. Your husband will be in shortly.’

  Panic rose in Millie’s chest. Colin would come breezing in here with his caring face on, but he’d be raging that she’d upset his busy routine. Suddenly it occurred to her that it might have got into the news that the ex-cabinet minister’s wife had been knocked down by a car. She didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to go back to Madrid, or any place she could be by herself. She wanted to find the strength she felt when she was full of alcohol, so that she could go to a police station and tell them what she had seen in Madrid: that Bella Mason had been thrown off the roof. She turned her head to the side and tears trickled into her ears as the nurse left.

  Half an hour later the nurse came in again and gave her a drink, fussing around her bed and plumping up her pillows. Millie sipped it. Being attended to like this, the simple acts of kindness, somehow made her aware of how lonely she was inside. Her eyes welled again and she had to swallow the lump in her throat.

  The nurse left and Millie lay back on the pillows, anxiously watching the door. She was tense, but the painkillers must have taken the edge off it. She recalled last night, being held down, hysterical, while someone injected her. That was the last thing she remembered. She’d been fighting and demanding to get out. The medication made her feel sad, but that was manageable. It had happened before. She watched the door, waiting.

  Eventually it opened and the nurse came in again. ‘You’ve got visitors, Millie.’ She beamed.

  Millie saw Colin behind her, his face changing from flint to a caring smile. A doctor in a white coat and thick black glasses stood behind him.

  ‘Millie, darling!’

  Colin’s voice was shrill, fake and cut right through her. She didn’t smile, but caught the nurse, concerned, glancing from one to the other.

  ‘My God, darling! Look at the state of you! Are you all right?’ Colin rushed to her bedside and leaned in, kissing her cheek. He held her hand.

  Millie swallowed hard and nodded. ‘I think so. I . . . I was hit by a car.’

  ‘I know! Goodness! What a thing to happen! Well, don’t worry, Millie. You’re in safe hands now.’ He looked into her eyes and she could see the smiling assassin that he was. He lowered his voice, lip curling. ‘I’m going to make sure you’re looked after this time.’

  If Millie hadn’t been mildly sedated she’d have screamed, but she just felt a dull recognition that she was imprisoned.

  The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘My name is Dr Andrew Black. How are you today, Mrs Chambers?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Millie said. ‘Pain in my hip and back when I move. My head hurts a bit. And my neck.’

  ‘Yes. The neck is the whiplash. That’ll take a few weeks. You just have to rest. I’ve had a look at your X-rays on the hip and back and it’s just deep bruising, nothing broken. The X-ray of your skull is the same. You gave that car a run for its money, I’d say.’

  Millie tried to smile, but her stomach was churning.

  The doctor moved closer to her. ‘Mrs Chambers, I’ve had a long talk with your husband. We’ve discussed your situation and had a look at your medical history.’ He was staring straight at her, and she fe
lt as if she was being accused, judged. ‘You’ve had some mental-health issues in the past. I don’t want you to worry about anything, because you will get better. You’ll be able to cope. But you need complete rest, and some therapy. In time you’ll get through this and then you’ll be able to go home.’

  Colin nodded at his side, but his expression was cold.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You’re in the Eastbourne General District Hospital, darling,’ Colin said. ‘But we’re going to get you moved so that you can have a long rest and recuperate. Where people can take care of you and get you back to your old self.’

  My old self, Millie thought, as she looked straight at him. You ruined my old self with your putdowns and your philandering, your beatings and your lies. I can never be my old self again. She felt herself shaking, but she had to stay calm. The medicine was steadying her a little. She said nothing.

  ‘Okay. I’ll look in on you a bit later, Mrs Chambers, once I’ve finished my rounds. Meanwhile, we’ll leave you with your husband.’

  He turned and nodded at the nurse, who caught Millie’s eye as she backed away.

  When the door closed, Colin waited, and for a long moment Millie thought he was building up to the red rage she’d seen so many times before, which ended with a slap. But he was managing to contain it somehow – probably because he knew he couldn’t get away with it here.

  ‘Okay, Millie. The fucking game is up,’ he snarled.

  She said nothing, waited for the deluge.

  ‘I’ve had it with this charade. This . . . I’ve had it with your drunken antics, disappearing at every turn. Taking off to bloody Madrid! Fucking Madrid? What the fuck, Millie?’

  Millie didn’t reply, swallowed the ball of dryness. She wanted to say, ‘Please listen to me. I’m so unhappy. I just couldn’t go on any more with the rejection and the lies, and I went to Madrid to go back to the places where it all seemed so possible years ago, when you were the man I couldn’t wait to see day and night. But you are gone now, gone for ever, and I hate who you are. I went to Madrid to end it all.’ But, of course, she couldn’t say it, and her chest felt tight trying to hold it in.