To Tell the Truth (12 page)

Even if the windsurfer had been lying, it suited the Spanish agenda. They were pissed off that their family holiday resort was now known worldwide as the place where a toddler could be snatched from the beach in broad daylight. It wasn’t good for tourism. Any sympathy they had for Jenny Lennon was evaporating fast, replaced by anger and distrust.

Jenny’s face was grey and there were dark shadows
under her puffy eyes. She looked as though the flesh had dropped off her in just a few days. The loud haranguing had continued when she emerged two hours later, and it was just as bad when O’Hara arrived, his face set hard against the abuse being hurled at him. ‘Sonofabitch’, someone shouted in Spanish as O’Hara strode down the cobbled street defiantly square shouldered, looking straight ahead. But he was ashen-faced.

When he emerged after a couple of hours, he ignored the questions that were shouted by the journalists, got into his car and drove off. Rosie wondered who would crack first – Jamie or Jenny. If either, or both, of them did, and changed their statement, the Spanish press would crucify them. And the British pack wouldn’t be far behind.

‘I just don’t believe them,’ McGuire was saying. ‘And it’ll be a lot worse for them now they’ve been given the chance to clarify their statements and are still refusing to do it. They’re lying, Rosie. They’re fucked.’

‘But—’ Rosie tried to get a word in.

‘I know, Gilmour,’ he interrupted, and she could see him pacing his office. ‘There’s a bigger picture here. A missing kid. Listen. My eye’s still firmly on the ball there. But these bastards are lying. They know it, and they’re ripping the pish out of us. It’s not on.’

‘But I can’t make them admit it, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I want you to put it to them that they’re lying. Go to O’Hara. He knows you and he knows us. He’s a fucking lawyer and he knows about damage limitation. Tell him in no uncertain terms that if he loses our support, he’s fucked. His time is running out.’

Rosie sighed. ‘Okay. I think he’ll already know that. They both will, but I’ll try and give it to him right between the eyes. I can’t do much more than that. I’ll give it my best shot, but they’ve already rubbished the statement.’

‘See what you can get, Gilmour.’

It wasn’t until the last media car had gone from outside O’Hara’s villa that Rosie and Matt decided to go back. There had been no answer at the door, either there or at the Lennon house when the press pack knocked. Whatever was happening to Jenny and her husband, they were keeping it under wraps. Rosie could only imagine what kind of mess Martin Lennon was in. He’d not only lost his only child, he had probably lost his wife. How could they ever come back from what had happened?

There was no sign of life at the O’Hara apartment, just a few scattered toys in the garden and a football. Rosie guessed they might all be holed up at the Reillys’ house for the afternoon, probably trying to get some normality for the sake of the kids.

‘Let’s take a walk on the beach, Matt,’ Rosie said, getting out of the car. ‘Pass some time while we’re arsing around here. There’s a little beach bar along past the rocks. You can buy me a beer.’

‘Okay,’ Matt said. ‘I’ll not bring all my toys. Only one camera.’ He shoved the smallest of his cameras into his safari waistcoat pocket.

It was Matt who saw him first.

‘Fuck me, Rosie. There’s O’Hara. Look. On the rocks.’ He grabbed Rosie’s arm.

Rosie strained her eyes. ‘I see him. He’s on his own.’ She scanned the beach towards the bar which had a few lunchtime punters.

‘Let’s just take it slowly,’ Rosie said, looking at O’Hara who was gazing out to sea.

She watched as he drank from a bottle of beer. There was no sign of the rest of the family. Rosie and Matt walked away from him and out of his eyeshot, so they could eventually come up from behind.

‘Looks like he’s deep in thought,’ Matt said.

‘Wouldn’t you be? Right now, he must be sitting there looking at his life disintegrate before his eyes. And for what? An illicit shag. What is it with men?’

‘I know. Brains and dicks. Maybe they’re too far apart to function together.’

He was already taking pictures after putting on the slightly bigger lens.

‘I’m getting good shots here, Rosie. Even if nothing else, the picture tells a story.’

‘You’re good, Matt, I’ll give you that. That’s why I like going on holiday with you.’

‘I can’t wait to see where we’re going next.’ Matt fired off several more shots.

‘You wait here,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m going to slide up and try to tackle him myself.’

Rosie moved up behind O’Hara, and coughed before she reached him so as not to startle him too much. It didn’t work. He jerked his head around as though
someone had shoved a cattle prod into his back, and she heard his sharp intake of breath. She put her hands up apologetically when she saw the expression on his face. It was somewhere between rage and tears.

‘I’m sorry, Jamie, I’m honestly not following you. I just happened to be out walking here. Please, can I have a minute? I know this is difficult, but please. I have something important to say to you.’ She rattled out her pitch.

She expected him to get to his feet, ready for attack. But he didn’t. He turned his head away from her and looked out to sea. Rosie counted four empty beer bottles strewn around the sand where he sat. He sniffed and shook his head. He wasn’t drunk, not on four bottles of beer. But he wasn’t sober either. Rosie knew that O’Hara drank a lot anyway. In another world, another life, the one that he used to live before he screwed it all up here on the Costa del Sol on a family holiday, O’Hara could be found holding court in O’Brien’s of a Friday early evening along with all the other movers and shakers. A few beers in the afternoon wasn’t going to waste him.

‘Rosie,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘I know you’ve got a job to do, but Christ almighty. Can you not see there are people’s lives falling apart here?’ He shook his head.

She’d caught him at the right time. He was weak. He’d come out of that police station knowing that his world was being dismantled piece by piece, and even a smart-arse brief like him knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was written all over his face, the knowledge
that he would never again have a night of normal sleep. His face had aged ten years in the last week. Rosie sensed she could win this.

‘I can see all of that,’ she said.

She toyed with the idea of sitting down beside him. No. Standing would give her the edge.

‘I can see that lives are falling apart, Jamie. I see it in Jenny Lennon’s face. I saw it in yours on that first day when you opened the door to me.’ She took a breath. ‘Don’t think I get any enjoyment out of doing this job when it comes down to something like this. I don’t. I can promise you that.’

He said nothing. He looked down and lifted a handful of sand, watching as it ran through his fingers.

Just do it, Rosie told herself.

‘Jamie,’ Rosie said. ‘This windsurfer’s story is true, isn’t it?’

She felt a little explosion in her stomach. He would either get up and start ranting or he would say nothing.

She pressed on. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

He said nothing.

‘The thing is, if it
is
true, then you and Jenny both know that this isn’t going to go away. And three months from now, even if it can never be categorically proved – if it’s true now it will be true then. And Amy might still be missing. But by that time …’

She bent down a little towards him. ‘Trust me on this Jamie. By that time, everyone will have turned against you, because if you lie to people about what happened that morning they will think you have something to hide.
There’s no escaping from that. And if you are hiding something, then people will just get angry. The Lennons will have lost the public’s support and sympathy, and the media will tear you to pieces both here and back home.’

Still he didn’t speak.

Rosie kept going, while she was getting away with it.

‘Listen. Seriously. I’ll be honest with you, Jamie. It might already be lost, probably is. But if it’s true, you have to find a way to limit this damage. I don’t know why the two of you would lie, only you do. But I’m giving you a platform here. You and Jenny. Everyone. Find a way to limit the damage, then everyone can go back to making Amy the story.’

She stopped. She took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was getting away with this.

‘Because Amy is all that matters now,’ she continued. ‘Everything else is finished. You know that. Jenny knows that. It can’t be undone.’

O’Hara stood up slowly, as though he had a ton of lead on his shoulders. He turned to Rosie and fixed her with his steel-blue eyes. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. Rosie knew she had him. She held his stare.

‘The lies will just get worse. The hole will get bigger. Time to stop digging.’

Rosie felt the rush of adrenalin that made her hands tremble by her sides.

O’Hara sighed and swallowed hard. Rosie thought he was going to burst into tears.

‘I need to speak to my wife.’

‘It doesn’t need to be done with a big press pack interview.
I’ll do it. Just me. And I’ll cover it for everybody. Limit the damage, Jamie, before it’s too late.’

O’Hara shot her a glance. ‘I have to talk to my wife,’ he said again. He walked away, his shoulders slumped.

CHAPTER 15

‘Christ,’ Matt said as he pulled the car into the middle lane. ‘These bastard Spanish. Way they drive. This guy’s been up my arse since we left the beach.’ He glanced in his rear-view mirror.

Rosie automatically pulled down her visor, and saw a car swerve immediately behind them into the same lane.

‘Shit. He’s still there,’ Matt said. ‘Road rage nutters are even worse here.’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ Rosie said, twisting around to clock the silver car almost touching their bumper.

She couldn’t make out the driver, other than to notice he didn’t look Spanish – more like a Brit.

‘He looks too old to be a boy racer. Did you cut out in front of him or something?’

‘No. Not that I can remember. He just came from nowhere as I was getting onto the motorway, and he’s been there ever since. I thought he wanted me to let him past, but he’s still on my tail. Nut job.’ Matt hit his brakes
and made a hand gesture that would be universally recognised as dickhead.

‘Christ, Matt, don’t get into any punch-ups. There’s a lot of headcases on the Costa, and plenty of them are Brits. It might be some coked-up psycho with a bloody gun.’

‘Fuck him.’ Matt slowed down and went into the outside lane, then sped up and crossed two lanes until he was on the fast lane.

Rosie looked over her shoulder. ‘Shit, Matt. He’s following us. Just come off at the next turn-off. I don’t like this.’

‘But we’re not near the hotel turn-off yet. This is into some kind of housing development.’

‘Just do it, Matt. I’m not playing games on the motorway with a headcase.’

As Matt was about to hit the turn-off, the car sped up at his side.

‘Fuck! He’s trying to make us crash.’ He tried to steady the car. It swerved, but he just managed to gain control and made it to the turn-off before he hit the barrier. He sped down the slip road and into another quiet road.

‘Just go along for a bit, then follow a sign for Marbella and get back on the motorway. The bastard will be menacing someone else now.’

Rosie saw the colour drain from Matt’s face.

‘No he won’t, Rosie. He’s behind us.

He’s following us.’ Rosie’s stomach lurched. They’d come off at an urbanization, where there are never any people, just rows and rows of concrete blocks of flats. Rosie looked around
anxiously for a sign of a bar or restaurant. Why were there never any fucking people in these places? She glanced behind her. He was still there, almost touching the bumper.

‘Just watch for the road back onto the motorway, Matt. It can’t be too far away. Just stay calm.’

Then he bumped them. She jolted forward, her knees banging against the glove compartment.

‘Fuck.’ Matt stepped on the accelerator.

Then everything seemed to blur. Rosie looked out of her window and the car was at her side. The window was coming down in his car and the driver had something in his hand. Gunshot. Their car swerved and the tyres screeched. She screamed.

‘Oh fuck, Rosie! The bastard’s shooting at us. Oh Christ!’ The car shuddered to a stop, mounting the pavement.

‘He shot at the tyres.’

Rosie covered her face with her hands.

‘Oh fuck, Matt.’ She braced herself for the next shot.

‘He’s gone,’ Matt said. ‘Look.’

Rosie took her hands away and could see the car speed off with a screech of its tyres.

‘He’s gone. Fucker.’ Matt got out of the car.

‘What if he comes back?’ Rosie took out her mobile phone and searched recent calls she’d made, looking for the Guarda Civil number. She was ringing the number as she got out of the car.

‘I don’t think he’ll come back.’ Matt crouched to look at the tyres. ‘Shot your front one and the back on your side. Fuck me. What the fuck was that all about?’

To Rosie’s utter surprise she burst into tears. Matt was even more dismayed. He was immediately at her side and took her in his arms. ‘It’s okay, Rosie.’ He let her go and looked at her face. ‘What the fuck is this? Tears? Gilmour doesn’t do tears.’

He smiled, holding her close and stroking her hair.

Christ. She would never live this down. Matt was one of the young team, and if he wanted to, he could dine out on a story about how he gave Rosie Gilmour a shoulder to weep on. She tried to compose herself.

‘Sorry, Matt,’ she sniffed.

She shook her head, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She tried to speak. How could she tell him that she wasn’t as tough as people thought. That ever since the shit back in Glasgow the night she nearly died, she had never been the same woman, never would be. Especially without TJ. She wanted to tell him that the last thought she’d had in her mind when she heard the gunshot was her mother. The same as it had been the last thought in her mind that night on the Clydeside when the shot rang out. She looked at Matt, her eyes filled with tears.