Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (22 page)

‘Yeah. Well, I’ve been away, Adrian, and I’m on my way home from an interview now. I’m dog tired . . . Er, but sure, I’d love to see you too. You want to come to the flat for a little while? I’ll be there shortly.’

‘Thank you, Rosie. I will wait for you.’ He hung up.

Well done, Rosie, she muttered to herself as she reached the outskirts of the city. You could have played a little hard to get. She felt her face smile.

A few minutes later Rosie was about to turn off the motorway at Charing Cross, when Adrian called again.

‘I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,’ she said.

‘Rosie. One moment. There are two men in a car in your car park. You know who it is? I’m thinking of the other time a couple of years ago. Maybe someone is looking for you? I don’t want to worry you, but it’s cold here, and I think it’s strange maybe people sitting in the car park.’

Rosie felt a little stab of panic.

‘What do they look like? Can you see them?’

‘They are like Indian or something. Not white. Maybe Pakistanis.’

‘Shit.’

‘Is it a problem?’

‘Maybe. I was attacked outside my flat last week. I’m working on an investigation.’

‘Oh.’ Adrian paused. ‘Don’t worry. Listen to me. Just drive into the car park as normal. Trust me.’

‘Jesus, Adrian. Now I am worried.’

‘Nobody can see me. I’m at the edge of the car park, in the shadows. I can see everything. I’ll be here.’

Rosie gripped the steering wheel as she drove along Woodlands Road, glancing up at her flat on the third floor where the timed lights were already on, so that the place would look lived in. She drove slowly towards the car park, scanning the streets for any sign of Adrian. There was none. She prayed he was somewhere. As she drove into the car park, she recognised the cars of all of her five neighbours – except one at the far side. And now it was reversing, facing the exit. She parked her car and switched the engine off, her heart pounding. She didn’t look in the direction of the car, but walked the few steps towards the stairs to her entrance briskly. Then she heard a car door clunk open. Too terrified to look back, she quickly fumbled in her pocket for her key, but dropped it. Shit! She could hear heavy footsteps sprinting across the car park, and she stumbled as she got to the top step, dropping her bag.

‘Bitch!’ A voice behind her spat.

Rosie tried to straighten up, but her legs were like lead.
Then, suddenly, she heard the sound of a grunt and a body hitting the ground. She turned her head to see Adrian on top of someone, punching the back of his head, then grabbing his hair and thumping his forehead against the step. Every time his head came up, Rosie saw the shocked look in the Pakistani man’s eyes; his nose had burst open and face was bloodied. Rosie watched, a little horrified, at Adrian’s cold concentration as he bashed the man’s head four or five times against the step.

‘Adrian!’ Rosie said.

He didn’t look at her, but let the man slump down on to the stairs. Then he pulled him to his feet and dragged him towards the other man’s moving car, its engine revving and main beams on. The wheels spun and the car raced towards him. Adrian lifted a brick from the ground and hurled it through the windscreen. The car screeched to a halt and Adrian yanked the passenger door open and threw the man in. Rosie got to her feet and strained her eyes against the blinding light from the headlights. Adrian reached in and took a swipe at the driver – she thought she saw the glint of a knife – then the driver put his hand to his face. He must have cut him. She could hear Adrian’s voice, angry, emphatic.

‘You come here again, you are dead. Both of you.’ Adrian slammed the door and the car sped off, swerving and skidding as it smashed against the low brick wall on the way out.

Rosie opened the door and went inside, her back against
the wall, her whole body shaking. Adrian came in behind her, and his arms went around her. He held her tight and she could feel the hard muscles in his shoulders as he pressed her head to his chest. Then the tears came.

‘Ssssh,’ he said. ‘Is okay now, Rosie. Come. You must get in the house.’ He supported her up the stairs to her door.

Rosie hit the hall light and walked unsteadily down to the living room. Once inside, she slung her bag on the sofa and turned to see Adrian in the doorway. All six foot two of him, his face paler than the last time, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead.

‘Oh my God, Adrian!’ Rosie was safe now, and somewhere between hysteria and weeping. ‘Welcome back to Glasgow. He could have killed me.’

‘No. If he was going to kill you, he would have done. It was to frighten you.’ He took a knife out of his pocket, holding it by the blade. ‘This was on the steps. He must have had it in his hand. You should give it to the police for fingerprints.’

Rosie nodded.

‘I thought you were going to kill him . . .’

Adrian shrugged in that way that he did that looked as though he was a little bored.

‘No. Just teach him a lesson. I think he has it now. They won’t come back here, but you should go to the police with the knife.’

‘Yes, maybe I will. You certainly scared the pair of them. Did you do something to the driver?’

Adrian shrugged but said nothing.

‘Christ! I need a drink.’ Rosie shook her head.

She went into the kitchen with Adrian behind her and picked up a half-full bottle of red wine. She tried to pull the cork out, but her hands were still shaking.

‘Let me.’ Adrian took the bottle and popped the cork, as Rosie brought out two glasses.

He poured a little wine into each of them, and handed one to Rosie.

‘I’m so glad to see you, my friend.’ He clinked his glass to hers.

‘Not as glad as I am to see you, pal.’ She knocked back a huge gulp of wine.

‘So. Tell me. Who are these people? You have made them angry enough to come to your house.’

Rosie shook her head as she crossed the room to the sofa and threw herself down.

‘It’s a long story, Adrian.’

*

Rosie began to stir, conscious of Adrian’s warm body next to her. She stretched out her legs, eyes still closed, recalling the night. They’d finished the bottle of wine and flopped into bed, not lovers, but old friends, comfortable in their nakedness. By the time he leaned across and softly kissed her on the lips, she was already drifting into an
exhausted slumber, incapable of responding. She couldn’t recollect the details of her dream, but only that she’d been struggling and gasping for breath. Then Adrian’s arms were reaching across to her, holding her close, his soothing tones telling her she was having a nightmare. Half asleep, they’d fallen into the comfort of each other, arms and legs caressing, Adrian’s tender kisses on her wounded neck, then all the way down, his tongue probing and tasting her till she moaned with pleasure and pulled him on top of her.

Now, with the morning light creeping into the room, she watched the silhouette of his handsome face as he slept peacefully. She’d come to know so much about the big Bosnian since their fateful encounter in a cafe all those years ago, yet even though he had allowed her to see his darkness, in Sarajevo last year, standing at the graveside of his wife, who had been murdered by Serbian butchers; even though some of the layers had been stripped away and they’d shared nights like this before, where their passion was unstoppable, Rosie still didn’t know who he was. Or even what this was between them. He was so much more than her friend. He was her occasional lover, but still it was nothing. He would leave in a couple of days and she would feel mildly bereft, but her life would go on and she wouldn’t pine for him the way she still, deep down, pined for TJ in her darker moments. But what could she ever do with a man like Adrian? He had saved her life and she had watched
him kill as he protected her. But there was something deep and dark about the way he’d done it, the clinical way he had shot the man in the Glasgow apartment, then went through his pockets and taken his money that day, and minutes later threw another attacker to his death from the third-floor stairwell. And last night, as she watched him pound the Pakistani attacker’s head again and again on the stairs, there was something frenzied about it. Something inside him was so angry that hurting people who had hurt others was about more than protecting the victim. It was as though he was avenging everyone who had ever been hurt, because he hadn’t been able to save his wife and unborn son that day when the Serbians came. She had noticed it more last night than ever before. He was angry. So angry. And he hid it well, in that pragmatic, quiet way of his that made her feel safe any time he was around. But sooner or later, he had to find a way not to be this angry, and Rosie didn’t know where to begin with that, or if he was even capable of getting to that place. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling her heartbeat reduce. She picked up her phone from the bedside table. It was eight thirty. She’d slept far too long. She slipped out of bed and padded along to the bathroom.

‘You’re looking a bit rough,’ McGuire said, glancing briefly at Rosie, then back to his screen, as she walked into his office.

‘You really need to work on your chat-up lines.’ Rosie threw herself on the sofa and flipped open her notebook.

‘I’m just saying . . . in a caring way.’ McGuire came from behind his desk and sat on the easy chair opposite her. ‘You need to get a few early nights.’

‘Yeah, right. It’s on my forward planning agenda.’ Rosie stifled a yawn. ‘What do you have to do to get a cup of coffee in here?’

‘Marion!’ McGuire leaned his head back and shouted at the half-open door. ‘Can you bring me and our intrepid Gilmour a couple of coffees, sweetheart?’

Rosie glanced over her notes, flicking through the pages, trying to work out where to start with Julie and Nikki’s story.

‘So how did it go last night?’ He put a hand up. ‘Oh, and by the way, your copy on Pakistan is fucking awesome! I was going to phone but I got tied up with the first edition.’

‘Thanks. Last night with Julie and Nikki was great, Mick. The two of them spilled everything – just about got the story of their whole lives. I was there till half nine. Matt came and took pictures, so we have everything in the bag. It’s great stuff.’

Better to get the good news first, Rosie thought.

‘So where are they actually hiding out?’

‘In some little farmhouse outside Bannockburn. I don’t think anyone will go looking for them there. It’s a working pig and sheep farm, apparently. Some old guy, his wife and their disabled son live in the big house, and the girls are in a cottage next door.’

‘How long are they planning on staying there? They’re going to have to put their heads above the parapet sometime. What about the Nikki bird with the arm? How is she?’

‘She’s getting there. Really nice woman, actually. Well, on the face of it they both are. Julie is a bit of a hard case – looks like Nikki got talked into the escort-girl lark by Julie, who’s her best friend from way back.’

‘She must feel a bit responsible then.’

‘She does, but she’s a tough cookie. She’s the one who’s suddenly got the bravery pills to take on big Gordy MacLean.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Believe it or not, this big bastard came and visited Nikki in the hospital. Julie was there too.’

‘Jesus! After setting her up? Bet that went down well.’

‘It didn’t, at first. But he gave them all this crap that it wasn’t his fault. Came across all contrite and offered them a deal.’

‘A deal? They should have called the cops there and then.’

‘They can’t, Mick. Have you forgotten? They’ve got the bloody suitcase.’

‘Well. Yeah, but they need to do something.’

‘They are. He offered them a deal. Said that this big shot in Manchester, Johnny Vanner, is putting all the heat on him to get the diamonds back. He’s told them if they go along with him and give
him
the diamonds, he plans to stiff Vanner for them, keep them, and sell them in due course and – wait for it – split the proceeds with the two of them.’

‘Aye! They can trust that bastard as far as Nikki can throw him with her bad arm.’

‘Exactly. And they’re aware of that, but they’ve decided that they’re going to take the piss out of him. They made a deal with him. But they have no intention of honouring it. And what a deal, by the way. You know what they did? They could see that he’s is so desperate to get the diamonds that they drove a ridiculously hard bargain.’

‘A bargain?’

‘Yep. They got him to sign his club – that tacky shithole, El Paradiso, round in Mitchell Lane – over to them, before they agreed to give him the diamonds.’

‘The lap-dancing club? That’ll be right!’

‘I’m telling you. I’ve seen it in black and white. He must be even thicker than we thought. He’s only signed his club over to them, and now he’s waiting, with his arse twitching, hoping they come across with the diamonds.’

‘Gordy MacLean did that?’

‘Shows you how desperate he is.’

‘But there has to be an end to this story, so what is it?’

‘They said they want to get him done. Hand he over to the cops, once they get him to admit that it was him who set Nikki up for the attack on her. They want him done for that.’

‘If these women are so clever, they should be running some company, not working as hookers.’

‘Well, they
are
company bosses now. On paper, anyway.’

‘So let’s think how we’re going to play this.’

‘I don’t think we should get the cops involved in any way at all, Mick. I think the best thing is to get Julie and Nikki wired up and get it all on tape. Then we have our story, and then we go to the cops.’

‘And where will the girls be?’

‘We can get them away as soon as they finish dealing with MacLean.’

‘But he’ll shoot them. As soon as they hand over the
diamonds, they’re history. Are they that daft they can’t see that?’

Rosie sighed.

‘Well, that’s the problem.’

They sat quietly, Rosie turning it over in her mind, watching as McGuire did the same.