Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (3 page)

‘Yes, of course.’ Rosie knew she had no intention of writing a story.

As the front door closed behind her, she took in a lungful of frosty air. The late afternoon sky was growing dark, the houses in the distance beginning to look like silhouettes along the skyline. She went down towards her car, where Matt sat up quickly and started the engine. As she approached, she turned around and could see the young girl in the yellow dress at the window. She was staring at her. Rosie thought her lips moved, but then she disappeared and the curtain was drawn.

‘How did it go?’ Matt said. ‘Did they give you any food? No doggy bag with a couple of samosas or anything?’

Rosie suppressed a laugh.

‘Christ! You never change.’

‘I’m starving. But how was it?’

‘Place gave me the bloody creeps. Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

Nikki stared out of the taxi window, her mind re-running the scene they’d left, the body on the hotel room floor. Julie had warned her it was crucial that they looked just like any other guests. Once the body was discovered – no doubt by a chambermaid in the morning – the cops would be all over the place, she’d said. The Albany had been a decent enough city centre hotel in its day, but it wasn’t top-drawer now, and was the kind of place random couples often booked into for the night if they’d got lucky at a club. Nikki had taken one last look over her shoulder at the naked body of her punter as Julie gently prodded her towards the bedroom door. They’d strolled down the long corridor in silence and stepped into the empty lift. When the lift doors opened she was glad that the foyer leading to the bar area was crowded. It looked like some kind of organised reception, and guests were being handed a glass of champagne on arrival. They’d made their way through
the throng, and Nikki couldn’t believe the cheek when Julie took a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray and knocked it back, leaving her empty glass on a table close to the exit. They’d jumped into one of the waiting taxis, and as it pulled out of the car park Nikki started crying.

‘Right. Calm down, you.’ Julie handed Nikki a tissue. ‘It’s alright. Nothing’s going to happen.’

Nikki sniffed and wiped her nose with trembling hands.

‘Christ! I’m shaking like a leaf.’

‘Come on now,’ Julie squeezed her arm. ‘You’ll be fine when you get a stiff drink.’ Julie leaned forward to the glass partition and spoke to the back of the driver’s head. ‘Cranhill, pal.’

‘Have you got drink in the house?’ Nikki asked.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Julie replied with a sarcastic grin. ‘See. You’ll be fine, Nikki. Just stop panicking.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, and continued. ‘What we’re going to do is convince ourselves that shit back there didn’t happen. Okay, we’ve got the case, but who is ever going to know that? As far as any punter lying stiff on the floor, forget it. It didn’t happen – okay?’

‘Easier said than done,’ Nikki sniffed.

In the driving sleet, the black Hackney weaved its way through the city centre and briefly on to the motorway before taking a slip road into Cranhill, a sprawling housing scheme in the city’s East End. Julie told the taxi to pull
up at the last house on the corner of a row of drab council maisonettes.

‘Home, sweet home.’ Julie gestured to Nikki to get out of the car as she paid the driver. Then she climbed out, clutching the attaché case, and slammed the car door shut.

The white Christmas that had seen the city clothed in six inches of snow had turned to brown slush in the constant icy rain. The dawn of the new millennium had been so exciting just twelve days ago, when Glasgow and the rest of the world hailed its arrival amid a spree of wild partying and hopes for a new beginning. Right now, all of that seemed a long time ago, as Nikki and Julie carefully trod over the slush and puddles, the freezing sleet slapping their faces. A blue carryout plastic bag swirled through air and attached itself to a naked tree where it fluttered like a flag. Two of the street lamps were out, and only the occasional chink of light from windows in the six-storey block guided their way up the steps and into the dark entrance.

‘Fucking streetlights have been like this since the start of December. It’s like the blackout. If it was posh Bearsden, the council would have been out smartish, but they don’t give a shit about people up here.’

‘I know.’ Nikki picked her way up the steps, through the debris and discarded lager cans. ‘I’m bloody freezing.’

Julie flicked a light switch when they stepped inside her hallway, then strode on ahead to the living room, switching on lamps and a gas fire. It immediately began to glow
over imitation coals and the room came to life, as welcoming as a warm hug on a miserable night like this.

‘There. That’s better. All cosy now. The central heating came on two hours ago.’ She put the attaché case down and turned to Julie, standing in the doorway. ‘Come on. Let’s get a bloody drink. G and T alright?’

‘Thanks. It’s nice and warm in here,’ Nikki said, following her into the kitchen: marble worktops and top-of-the range units. ‘Your house is really great, Jules. I think that every time I come here. Must have cost you a packet.’ She smiled.

‘Yeah. Would have done, but as you know, most of it was blagged.’

She took out a bottle of gin from the cupboard and two heavy crystal glasses, then a block of ice cubes from the freezer. Nikki watched as the ice cracked when Julie poured two good glugs of gin into the glasses, and the bubbles hissed and danced as she added the tonic.

She handed Nikki a glass. ‘Sorry, we’re right out of limes, pet,’ Julie said. ‘That bloody butler’s getting fired in the morning.’

They both burst out laughing and clinked glasses.

‘To us,’ Julie said. Then she looked at Nikki wistfully and nodded. ‘To friends forever.’

‘Friends forever,’ Nikki said, biting her lip to hold back the tears, suddenly remembering the first time they’d got drunk together, fifteen year olds before the school disco. It
seemed a lifetime ago, and look at them now. She swallowed hard and smiled.

‘God, I needed that,’ Nikki said, taking another gulp, enjoying the alcohol warming her all the way down her gut. ‘I wish I could be as calm as you. I keep seeing that guy lying dead on the carpet.’

Julie handed her a cigarette and they both took their drinks into the living room and plonked themselves onto the sofa. Next to the comforting hiss of the fire and the warmth of the room, they could have been two old mates relaxing after a hard day’s work. If only, Nikki thought. Life would never be the same after tonight.

‘So,’ Nikki said. ‘This is lovely, Julie. But . . . but we can’t really just pretend that shit an hour ago didn’t happen. There’s a guy lying dead on the floor of the Albany.’

‘I know there is. And he’ll still be dead in the morning. We’ll think of something.’

‘What’s going to happen once they discover him?’

‘What do you mean? Is it going to lead back to us?’

‘It won’t. Unless that arsehole Georgie at the agency spills her guts. Like I said, the guy would have booked his escort under a different name than the name he gave at the hotel. Most punters do that. At least, let’s hope so. I mean there’s no evidence that a girl was in the room with him. It looks like one of these sexual things guys sometimes do themselves, when they’re having a hand shandy. It’s dangerous, but apparently that’s part of the thrill. Whatever floats your boat, I
suppose.’ Julie shrugged, then looked at Nikki. ‘I hope you didn’t drop anything out of your bag, or anything like that.’

‘No,’ Nikki said, ‘I don’t think so.’ She tried to remember her movements in the room, in case she’d left anything behind. Don’t even go there, she told herself.

The alcohol was helping to calm her down and they sat staring at the flames for a long moment.

‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll not be doing too many jobs like that in a hurry.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be doing any more at all, Julie. I’m just no good at it.’

‘Nonsense. Look how much you made last weekend. The old guy loved you. Left you an extra thirty quid for nothing. Some guys . . . they phone for an escort for the evening and nine times out of ten it’s sex they want, and even if it is, most of them are just ordinary guys, but some are just lonely and want a woman to talk to. It’s a matter of getting used to it. There’s seldom a problem, think of it as a job and don’t get all hung up about it. It has to beat the shit out of stacking shelves in the supermarket, or working in the old people’s home as a skivvy.’

Nikki nodded, but her gaze fell on the attaché case. Julie gave her a mischievous grin.

‘Will we open it?’

Nikki let out a sigh.

‘Might as well.’

Julie brought it across the room, then knelt down and
fiddled with the lock, pressing the clips. Nothing. Then she fished around in her handbag and came out with two small keys on a ring. She held them up.

‘I forgot about these. In his wallet.’ She brought out a mobile phone. ‘And this.’ She handed it to Nikki. ‘Here. Have a look through it. See if there’s any numbers we recognise.’

‘How do you mean? The agency? That’ll be on it. But not my number. My number won’t be on it, will it?’

‘Just kidding. Lighten up, woman.’

She fiddled with the lock and key, and one lock snapped open. The other followed, and Julie lifted the lid. There were a couple of new white shirts, still in cellophane, and two pairs of underpants. She rummaged around, pushing them to the side.

‘Looks like it’s got a false bottom.’

Nikki got onto the floor, pulled herself closer and sat cross-legged, watching as Julie unzipped the false bottom and opened it. They both looked at the contents, and then at each other.

‘Passports?’ Julie screwed up her eyes, rumbling around in the case. ‘Jesus!’ Then her hand emerged, holding a thick wedge of money in an elastic band. ‘Look. A late Christmas present!’

She flicked through the money, fifty-pound notes and twenties.

‘There must be over three grand here. Jesus! I bloody knew he was dodgy.’

Nikki picked up a few passports. There were eight or nine of them, and she squinted at the Pakistani national crest on their fronts. She opened them up. The photos inside were mostly of men, but a couple of them were women; young faces.

‘What the fuck is this all about?’ Julie leafed through one or two of them, then tossed them on the floor. ‘They must be fake or something. Guy was obviously in some kind of racket.’

Julie’s eyes turned to two little black velvet padded pouches, each tied with red ribbon. She picked one up and held it in her hand.

‘What’s this? She opened it and pushed her fingers in, feeling around. She pulled out a couple of roundish, rough stones.

‘Stones?’ Nikki asked.

‘Maybe it was a sting or something and they were suppose to leave the jewels they’d stolen, but what the guy left is a bag of driveway chips. I think somebody’s been humped up the arse.’

‘Let me see one.’ Nikki took one. It was grainy-feeling. She got up and went into the kitchen and took a small knife from the cutlery drawer. Then she came back in and sat down, gently scraping the stone. She stopped as it suddenly glinted like glass in the light. They looked at each other, eyes wide.

‘Fuck! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

Nikki kept scraping until the glass was almost clear on one side.

‘Diamonds! Jesus Christ, Julie! I think that’s a rough diamond. Holy fucking mother of God! We’ve stolen some bastard’s diamonds.’ She slumped back against the sofa and took another gulp of her drink.

Julie emptied the contents onto the carpet. Ten stones about the size of grapes. Then she took the other pouch and emptied them out. ‘Diamonds? Oh Christ!’ She picked two up and stared at them lying in the palm of her hand.

The mobile rang and they both jumped at the same time.

‘Shit!’ Nikki looked at it ringing and shuddering on the carpet, then at Julie.

‘Leave it,’ Julie said. ‘Let it ring.’

They could see the name Khan on the screen. Then it rang off.

‘Do you think they’ve left a message?’ Nikki whispered.

‘Leave it for a minute, then we’ll check.’

The phone vibrated with a message alert and Julie picked it up and scrolled through it.

‘It’s a voice message.’

She put it on to loudspeaker. It was an Asian accent mixed with a rough northern England lilt.

‘Ahmed. Where the fuck are you? You’re not answering your phone. I need to talk to you about the meet tomorrow.’

Nikki’s hand went to her mouth.

‘Jesus, Jules! This is serious!’

‘I know.’

For the first time all evening, Julie looked nervous. They both jumped again as the mobile rang, and watched in silence until it stopped.

From her seat at the cafe’s window, Rosie watched the newsagent’s across the street. She’d been outside the Shah house, sat in the dark, since before seven this morning, watching the comings and goings, hoping for a glimpse of the girl. Mostly it was men leaving early, probably going to work. At one stage the widower came out, got into his silver BMW and roared out of the street. Eventually, two women came out with kids in school uniforms and coats, wrapped up against the bitter wind, and they walked in the direction of the primary school at the end of the road. Then nothing. After another half hour, she saw the girl leave and head up the street towards the shops. Rosie followed at a very discreet distance. When she saw her going into the newsagent and not coming out after a few minutes, she assumed she must be working there. Perhaps it was part of the family business. Rosie and Declan had run a check on them, establishing that the Shah family owned
a textile-importing business, a cash and carry and three Indian takeaways, as well as a string of corner shops. It was always difficult within the Asian community to figure out who actually owned what as business premises were often rented and the businesses run by extended families. Rosie knew she couldn’t risk going into the newsagent in case she bumped into someone from the house yesterday. She wanted to get Sabiha alone. So she waited, ordered another cup of tea, and worked out her next move.