Dead Won't Sleep (22 page)

She went towards the two short-haired guys. They were wearing double-breasted suits, the uniform of every copper who was trying his best not to look like a copper.

Reynolds introduced her to both men. One was a DS, and the other a DI. They made small talk and chatted about an upcoming court case that both were involved in. Then they were making jokes about how important it was to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth in the witness box.

‘I’ve never met a copper yet who could lie straight in his bed.’ Rosie couldn’t resist the dig.

The cops laughed, but the DI didn’t look happy.

‘Of course. You’re the reporter who never gives us guys a minute’s peace.’

‘Me? Not at all. As far as I’m concerned, all cops are
honest and true upstanding figures. Where would we be without them?’ She looked the DI straight in the face. He glared at her.

‘I’ve got to have a word with the editor,’ Rosie said, turning away. ‘Excuse me, gents. Nice meeting you.’ She smiled at the DI. ‘Enjoy yourselves, guys. The disco’s due to start. Reynolds here was the Hucklebuck champion in 1967.’ She could feel Reynolds’s eyes on her back as she walked away.

McGuire was drinking a pint with one of his assistant editors when Rosie made her way across. He excused himself and took her to one side. He bought her a drink and another for himself.

‘So how’s it going? How’re we doing on the cops story?’

‘Well, you’ve seen the picture and the suicide note. I’m ready when you are, Mick.’

Rosie hadn’t told him about the men who chased her, or the stabbing. She would keep that one for her memoirs. She looked at McGuire. ‘It’s pretty much up to you now, Mick, I can start writing it up any time you want. There’s a lot of stuff. We could run it over two, maybe three days. The rest of the papers will be into it as well. Especially Prentice’s confession about the guys who got framed – the fit-ups.’

McGuire beamed. ‘I haven’t even run it past the lawyers yet. I’m not going to until I see the copy. Then, of course, you’ve got to go knocking on Gavin Fox’s door. I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that caper.’

‘What about the paedo ring? Lord Dawson and the rest?’ She watched as McGuire’s mood seemed to change.

‘That will be the hardest one. Honestly, Rosie.’

‘But we’ve got him actually taking pictures of kids from a children’s home.’ Rosie sensed he was beginning to buckle already.

‘I know, I know, but we have to be very careful with this one. Ultra careful. This is a High Court judge, and one or two more of the guys in that room may also be top people.’

‘So fucking what?’

‘Just calm it, Gilmour.’ His voice was soft. ‘We’re not there on that story yet. Okay? We’ve got the pictures, but we need more. I don’t want to be the editor who has to go to Lord Dawson with this unless it’s absolutely one hundred per cent.’

‘Maybe you don’t want to go to him with this at all.’ Rosie knew she was pushing it. ‘Tell you what. I’ll be happy to knock at his door, any time at all.’

McGuire raised his eyebrows. ‘I know, Gilmour. Look – let’s just get this cop story in the bag and we’ll take things one at a time.’

‘We have to get the paedo stuff in the paper, Mick. We can’t betray these kids.’

‘I know. But just remember one thing, Rosie. We’ll get fucking hammered when they find out how you got this information. How you were acting unlawfully by
interviewing minors. You could be the one in the pokey. And me.’

‘You just say you didn’t know anything about it,’ Rosie said.

He laughed. ‘Oh don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be the one standing in the witness box saying, I know of no Rosie Gilmour, nor what she does.’

McGuire slapped her on the back and went to the bar to order more drinks. Rosie watched him. Still, deep down, she wondered what would really happen if the chips were down.

For nearly three hours Rosie and Matt had watched caretaker Paddy Quigley go from pub to pub. They’d sat outside the children’s home since early that evening, waiting for him to finish his shift so they could see where he went. Earlier in the afternoon Rosie and McGuire had put their heads together and decided their best option to get to the paedophile story was to intimidate the caretaker by telling him they knew enough to incriminate him, and that he would be the one who’d be facing jail for what he’d done. Chances were he would crumble and spill the beans to protect his own skin. It was a risky strategy – if a guy was prepared to take children from a home and offer them to paedophiles, he wasn’t big on integrity. McGuire and Rosie knew that this could blow the whole story out of the water and they could be left with nothing. Rosie told Mick she would go with her gut instinct and make a decision once she’d figured what kind of guy the janitor was.

Quigley had been in the first bar for a while before Matt went in for a drink in order to eyeball him. The man was at the bar alone, drinking a pint with straight whisky chasers. He had three in twenty minutes. When he came out of the second bar, he was unsteady on his feet. He stopped outside and lit a cigarette, then spat on the pavement and made his way to a small bar on the corner of the street. It was one of the roughest bars in the East End of Glasgow.

Rosie remembered the bar from her childhood, as the place where her mother sometimes went on a Saturday afternoon for the sing-along. Sometimes Rosie would stand outside with a bag of chips, waiting for her to come out, watching the door in the hope that the next person to leave would be her mother. Even if she was staggering, it wouldn’t matter, just as long as she came home. The smell of stale beer, tobacco and dampness that hit her every time the door swung open, had stayed with Rosie all her life. She could smell it even now, sitting in the car with the windows closed.

‘That’s a shithole of a pub,’ she said.

‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a place the likes of yourself would hang out,’ Matt replied.

‘No.’ Rosie looked out of out of the side window. ‘But I remember it from years ago. I lived around here a long time ago, Matt. A lifetime ago . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Yeah? I was a West End boy. Top floor of a tenement. It was quite nice though, even if we didn’t have any
money. There was always somebody polishing the banister and bleaching the close. It was as if they were trying to bleach and polish some respectability into their lives to make up for the shame of being skint. Never quite understood it.’

‘Know what you mean.’ Rosie never had Matt down as being profound before.

‘Mind you’ – he chuckled – ‘the closes were great for a bit of a shag against the wall. Some of the knee tremblers I had in there! Jesus!’

That was more like the Matt she knew, thought Rosie, and just then spotted Quigley coming out of the pub. ‘Look here he comes.’

Quigley staggered along the pavement towards the broken neon light flickering on and off outside Mario’s fish and chip shop, and went in. They drove closer to the shop so they could see him standing inside.

‘What happens now?’ Matt said. ‘Fancy a puddin’ supper?’

‘No. I’m watching my waistline. Just let’s see where he goes.’

‘We’re going to have to hit him soon, or he’ll be going home.’

Rosie felt a twinge of nerves.

Quigley came out of the shop, opening his chip bag as he went into the street. He looked up and down, stuffing chips and lumps of fish into his mouth. Then he walked towards a bench close to the bus stop.
He sat down and continued wolfing down his fish supper.

‘Paddy’s eating out tonight,’ Matt said. ‘These jannies really know how to live.’

‘Well . . .’ Rosie buttoned her coat. ‘I hope he doesn’t mind a bit of company, because I’m about to join him.’ She told Matt to snatch pictures while she approached Quigley, but to stay at the car.

‘Don’t come until I give you a wave. I want to be first to let him know that his world’s about to come tumbling down.’

She got out of the car and went towards Quigley. He looked up momentarily, then went back to his food. Rosie stopped at the bench and stood in front of him for a moment, then sat down beside him.

‘Howsit goin’, doll?’ Quigley said, giving her a sideways glance. ‘Awright?’

‘Aye, fine.’

‘This is no a bus stop, by the way, doll.’ Quigley spoke with a mouthful of food. ‘I mean the bus doesnae stop here. Not even at the bus stop. Fuck knows why. So if it’s a bus you’re waiting for, you’re in the wrong place. Awright, doll?’

Rosie looked him in the eye for a few seconds.

‘I’m not waiting for a bus.’

‘Oh.’ Quigley looked her up and down. ‘You on the game? If you are, you must be new, ’cos it’s only a fiver for a hand-job down here in the cheap seats. And the
birds that hang about here can hardly stand up, they’re that smacked out their tits.’

Rosie said nothing.

‘Sorry, doll. Sorry, darlin’. I mean, I’m just sayin’ what it’s like. Know what I mean?’

‘I’m here to see you, Mr Quigley.’

Quigley’s face froze.

‘How do you know my name?’ He seemed to sober up. ‘Who are you. Polis? Or what?’

‘No, not police. I just want to talk to you, Paddy. You and me are going to have a wee talk.’

Quigley glanced around him. He put his chips down on the bench. His face looked grey.

‘Talk about what?’ he snorted. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

Rosie kept looking at him in silence. He stood up.

‘Sit down, Paddy,’ she said. ‘Don’t make this hard for yourself. You’re in enough trouble, believe me, pal, and that’s why I’m here. To give you a chance to get out.’

‘Fuck are you talking about? What? What the fuck is this all about? Look, doll. I don’t know what kind of psycho you are, but I’m going home. Now get yourself tae fuck.’ Rosie caught him by his sleeve and tugged him back.

‘Sit down, Paddy.’ Her voice was calm. ‘I want to talk to you about your Friday night bus runs to the big house in Peebles.’

Quigley rocked back on his heels. Rosie thought he was going to faint.

‘Look, I know all about it, Paddy. You. The kids from the home. The judge’s house. Every single bit of your stinking little scam I know.’ She waved to Matt. ‘And I’ll tell you something else, Paddy. See that guy behind you?’ Matt was coming towards them. ‘He’s got it all on film. Everything, the lot. Including you, pal.’

Quigley turned around so fast he staggered and almost fell. He came face to face with Matt, towering above him, smiling. He spun around again and looked at Rosie.

‘So sit down, Paddy,’ she said. ‘Before you fall down.’

Paddy slumped onto the bench. Matt lifted his bag of chips, ate one, then put them on the ground and sat beside him. Quigley fumbled furiously in his pocket and brought out his cigarettes. He shoved one between his lips, but his hands were trembling so much he couldn’t light it.

‘Wait and I’ll get that for you, wee man.’ Matt took Quigley’s lighter off him and clicked it under the fag quivering in his lips. He puffed hard, then took the cigarette out and held it in his trembling hands.

‘Look. What the fuck’s going on?’ His voice was shaking.

‘Paddy.’ Rosie swivelled her body so she was facing him. ‘We are your worst nightmare. We’re about to expose you for what you are, so let’s be clear here. We have been watching you and we know what you’re up to. But you’re only a bit player in this, Paddy. You’re nobody. It’s not you we’re after, so if you
help us we’ll make sure you get left out of it.’

There were beads of sweat on Quigley’s upper lip. He stared at them.

‘Are you with the papers?’

‘You should be on
Mastermind
, Paddy,’ Rosie said. ‘We’re working on the story about the kids going to the judge’s house and the stuff that goes on in there. You know, the pictures of the kids etc. We’re going to blow it all sky high.’

Quigley stared at the ground. Eventually he spoke.

‘And me? What happens to me?’

‘Nothing. If you help us. Tell us everything that’s going on. Every detail. If you do, we’ll not use the fact that it’s you who organises the Friday nights and drives the kids to the big house.’

Quigley looked from one to the other.

‘That’s right, mate,’ Matt said. ‘We’ve got it all on film, from the moment you leave the children’s home.’ Matt produced a digital camera from inside his jacket and showed Quigley a picture of himself outside the big house, holding the door of the minibus open as kids climbed inside.

Quigley buried his head in his hands. For a moment there was no sound. Not even his breathing. Rosie looked at Matt. Quigley’s shoulders started to shake.

‘Oh fuck! Oh fuck! I’m fucked! I’ll end up at the bottom of the Clyde! It’s not me who organises it. I just drive the bus.’

‘You help us, Paddy,’ Rosie said, ‘and nobody will know your involvement.’

Quigley drew on his cigarette. Tears ran down his face.

‘Don’t give me that shit. How’re you going to do that? Who are you going to say takes them to the house? Fuck’s sake! If you’re going to tell the whole story, how the fuck can you leave me out? Do you think I’m buttoned up the back?’

Rosie was quiet. She knew it would be impossible to tell the story without exposing Quigley’s part in it. The fact that it was the caretaker of the home who drove these kids to the judge’s house was one of the crucial parts of the story. But she had to convince him they would find a way out for him, even if at this stage she had no idea whether she could or not.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘If you can help us all the way down the line, then before we’re ready to go with the story we’ll make sure you know in advance, so you can get off your mark. Disappear.’

He sat puffing his fag, breathing fast. He wiped away tears, shaking his head. He looked pathetic.

‘I was only doing it for the money, ‘ he said. ‘I’m up to my neck with the moneylenders. These fuckers are into me for thousands. It’s my laddie. He’s a smackhead. He owes so much to the drug dealers they were going to kill him. If I don’t keep up the payments they’ll do me in.’ He turned to Rosie, his face streaked with tears. ‘Don’t you think I’m fucking disgusted at what I do?
These sickos make me want to kill them every time I go there. You say you could destroy me? That you’re my worst nightmare? My whole life is a nightmare, but I had to do it. My laddie was going to die.’