Betrayed (17 page)

‘Paul?’ she said, looking in.

‘You Rosie?’ He barely looked at her.

‘Yeah. Want to come out and we can have a seat over here at the water?’

She didn’t want to get into the car.

He didn’t reply, but opened the door and got out. A stickthin figure in faded tight jeans and a pair of black and white baseball boots, he looked like a reject from a boy band. He tossed a foppish blond fringe away from his eyes as he came towards her with a stride that could only be described as defiant.

‘Right. What the fuck’s this all about?’ He stood squarely in front of Rosie.

She looked straight at him, and for around eight seconds she didn’t speak, just stared him out. It worked. He shifted his feet and looked away from her.

‘Do you want to have a wee seat over here?’ she said,
calmly, turning her back on him and going towards the wooden benches.

Her gut instinct told her he would follow. He might have thought he was Marlon Brando with his skintight T-shirt and fag packet stuffed under the bicep, but she could see he was a kid, or he had been, before the cesspool he swam in now had all but swallowed him up. He still had the big blue eyes of a sweet little boy who at one time would have stared innocently out of a school photograph. Now his eyes were hard and intense on a skinny face with the razor-sharp cheekbones of someone who has long since lost the urge to eat. He was a cokehead all right, and Rosie figured he’d just had a line, hence the big-shot exterior. But inside he’d be shitting himself.

Rosie sat down and he sat beside her on the bench, facing the river.

‘So, Paul,’ she began. ‘I want to talk to you about your dealer. Where you got the crack cocaine that you took to Jamie Coleman’s house.’

‘Did Jamie tell you that?’ He stared straight ahead.

‘Jamie’s in the Priory. Went in two days ago. He’s wrecked. But at least he’s alive.’ Rosie turned her body towards him, crossing her legs. ‘That stuff you gave him nearly exploded his heart.’

Silence.

‘Did he tell you I gave him it?’

‘Paul. Wake up. Guys in your line of work talk like budgies.
You must know that. I’m surprised nobody’s dobbed you in to the cops yet.’

Silence. Paul stared at the murky water, his eyes unblinking. She saw his Adam’s apple slide up and down in his scrawny throat as he swallowed.

‘Nobody can prove anything.’

‘Not yet,’ Rosie said.

Silence.

‘What do you want?’ he said, glancing from the corner of his eye.

‘It’s quite straightforward, Paul. I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. That’s your business. I’m not writing about you or Jamie.’ She paused. ‘I want the name of your dealer. I’m working on a specific investigation.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t need to know what I mean. Who did you buy the crack cocaine off?’

He folded his arms and his mouth tightened.

‘Are you paying me money? If you pay me money, I can tell you stories that would make your toes curl. And not just about Jamie Coleman. Plenty of people. Celebrities, lawyers, judges even.’ He gave her a sideways glance and smirked.

‘No. I’m not paying,’ Rosie snapped. ‘Let me tell you something, son. You’ve been paid. You’ll get paid again. You’ll make enough money to buy as much coke and crack as you need. Until one day, some bastard punts
you
dodgy stuff and
that’ll be your last line. Like the four guys already dead with that shit you’re passing around.’

There was a little tremor on his bottom lip.

‘I’m not passing it around. Fuck’s sake! I didn’t fucking know.’

‘Well how come you’re not dead from taking it?’

‘Because I didn’t take it. I don’t take crack. I just sometimes move it on.’

‘So you trying to tell me you didn’t take coke that day with Jamie?’

‘No. Fuck’s sake! I didn’t take it, because there wasn’t even fucking time to take it, even if I wanted to. I’d already had a few lines of coke at my mate’s house before we came, then at Jamie’s we got some champagne and then … we got … well … you know … He was paying us to be with him. So we were getting down to business. Doing a game. He wanted crack. I told him I just got this stuff. He insisted we used it. He had none in the house. He was smoking it. But in about five minutes, he just collapsed.’ He turned to Rosie and his face suddenly looked wizened. ‘I didn’t fucking know, right? I’m telling you the truth.’

‘What did you do with the stuff?’

‘What do you think? My mate flushed it down the toilet. Then we phoned an ambulance and fucked off.’

‘Fucked off and left him dying.’

Silence.

‘So, Paul. Let’s not mess about here. If the cops get hold
of you, this is all over. Tell me your dealer’s name. That’s all. The cops will only be interested higher up the chain.’

‘Will you tell the cops about me?’

‘No. Cops aren’t interested in you. They’re not even really interested in who you bought the stuff off. It’s who your dealer bought the stuff from. It’s who brought this deadly shit into the country that the cops are after. That’s what I want to know.’

‘But I don’t know that.’

‘What
do
you know?’

‘I just know that my dealer gets his stuff from someone bigger. I don’t know who it is but he’s one of the big boys. I heard he’s UDA or something. UVF. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t ask. And if I did know, I wouldn’t go throwing these guys’ names around.’

‘UDA? UVF?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But who do you deal with, Paul? Just a name. That’s all.’

He pulled a cigarette out of his sleeve and lit one, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

‘His name’s Wilson. Tam Wilson. He’s from Govan. That’s all I know.’

He shifted around, his leg shaking like a piston. Rosie could see he was itching for another hit.

‘Look, I need to go. I’ve got to work. I don’t know any more.’

‘Sure,’ Rosie said. ‘Thanks.’

He stood up.

‘You’ll not write anything I said, will you?’

‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘I hope I never have to write about you. I feel sorry for you, son. You’ve wasted your life.’

He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly moist and his mouth hardened as though he was biting back tears.

‘Hard to waste something that was already fucking wasted.’

Before Rosie got a chance to speak, he turned away from her and went towards his car. The swagger had gone from his stride.

Donna lay with her head resting on Andy’s naked chest. She could hear his heartbeat – calm and steady as he stroked her hair. She wished they could lie forever like this, under the setting sun.

‘I feel like a teenager.’ Donna reached across and clasped his other hand in hers. ‘I didn’t even do this kind of thing when I was a teenager.’ She giggled.

It was Andy’s suggestion they go for a drive in the country when Donna told him Eddie had a meeting and wouldn’t be home until after ten. He’d taken her to the Campsie Hills to watch the sunset, and they’d walked to a secluded spot on the fells and lay on the grass as the light faded.

He sat up on one elbow, buttoning his shirt.

‘We’d better be getting back. Just in case Eddie lands home early and you’re not there.’

‘Okay, I suppose so,’ she said, adjusting her skirt and looking at her watch. ‘But I told you, he thinks I’m at the gym after work.’ She knelt up and took Andy’s face in her hands. ‘I miss you so much when we can’t be together.’

‘Me too,’ Andy sighed. ‘We’ll find a way. I promise.’ He stood up.

They made their way down the hillside hand in hand and in silence. She dreaded going back to Eddie, and the stolen moments like this made her feel even more depressed when they ended.

‘Andy,’ she said, as they got to the car, ‘this isn’t just about sex for you, is it?’

‘Don’t even say that.’ He came round from the driver’s side to where she was standing and put his arms around her. ‘Don’t even think that. You know how I feel about you.’

Donna looked into his eyes.

‘It’s just that sometimes … Sometimes I feel that after we have sex, you want to get away. And it makes me feel … well … Just a feeling in the pit of my stomach.’

‘If I want to get away, it’s because I’m thinking of you. I’m worried all the time that Eddie will find out.’ He gazed out across the countryside. ‘I don’t like this sneaking around any more than you do. But I need to protect you, make sure we don’t get caught.’ He opened the car door. ‘Come on. Get in. I shudder to think what would happen if Eddie suspected something.’

The cars were thinning away from the car park at the
gym by the time they arrived back to where they had left Donna’s car. But it was still busy. And as she got into her own car checking the phone for messages, she looked up and just for a second she thought she saw a blue Mercedes like Rod Farquhar’s leaving the car park a couple of cars behind Andy’s. Christ. She was really getting paranoid.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Don was standing at the bar reading a copy of the
Post
when Rosie came up behind him.

‘Top paper, that.’ She gave him a nudge.

‘Don’t know so much,’ he replied without taking his eyes off the newspaper. ‘I hear some of the journalists are well suspect.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘How’re you, Rosie? What you having?’

She surveyed the wine bottles behind the bar, and did a sharp intake of breath.

‘I’m very tempted to have a glass of good red, but I’ve got such an early start tomorrow. So make it a mineral water.’

‘Christ. Would that be a sparkling mineral water or still?’ He frowned. ‘You’re a real lightweight.’

‘Sparkling. With rocks.’

Don ordered another bottle of beer and they went across to sit at a table.

‘So, what are you up to that means you can’t even have a glass of wine?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s only half seven.’

‘I know. But I’m going out of town tomorrow. Early doors. I like to be alcohol free, clear head and all that.’

‘Where you off to?’ Don clinked her glass. ‘Or is it top secret?’

‘No,’ Rosie said, ‘I’m going to Spain. Hooligan watch with the Rangers fans. Champions League match.’

‘Jesus. Do they not normally send one of the younger lads on that?’

‘Sometimes. But the editor wants me to go this time. We’re having a serious look at the troublemakers. There’s been a few rumblings that the mad casuals are back in action, and we want to get a handle on it.’ Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m not complaining about a few days in Seville, that’s for sure.’

‘You’re not going on one of these buses, are you? They’re full of nutters.’

‘No. Thankfully, we’re flying. Going with a photographer. Just people-watching.’

Rosie felt a little guilty not telling Don the truth, because over the years he’d become more than a valuable police contact. They were close friends. But he was still a cop, and they had a mutual understanding that they used each other and both of them benefited from the relationship. But knowing
Don, he probably didn’t believe she was going on hooligan watch anyway.

‘So,’ he looked at her inquisitively, ‘you said you had information? I’m all ears.’

‘Right,’ Rosie said. ‘I have a name for you. Don’t know if it’s right, but I think it might be. You guys are all over the place chasing down the dealer who’s punting this heartbursting coke, aren’t you?’

Don sighed. ‘You bet. That’s five deaths now. And the latest one is from Cranhill. So it’s already in the schemes. None of these fucking junkies seem capable of listening to the warnings. But yes. We’re still trying to track who’s moving it, and we’re not having much luck.’

‘Okay. The name I’ve been given is Tam Wilson. From Govan. Ring any bells?’

Don looked at her.

‘Tam Wilson?’ He pursed his lips and puffed, disgusted. ‘Wee fucking toerag. He’s a coke dealer all right. But our drug boys have already been onto him, and he’s adamant he’s got nothing to do with it.’

‘He’s hardly going to admit it.’

‘I know. But he says he was away for a few days and knows nothing about it. He’s got alibis.’

‘Alibis? A drug dealer? Christ,’ Rosie said, disappointed. ‘And there was me thinking I was giving you good information.’

‘Where did you get it?’

Rosie raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

‘Oh. Right. You can’t tell me.’ He looked away, then back at her. ‘Okay. Can you tell me, without naming anyone, how good the information is? A hint?’

‘I got it from someone who buys from him. Lower down the food chain.’ She shrugged. ‘So I don’t know, to be honest with you. But I think, given the circumstances I got it in, the person who told me the name wouldn’t have lied.’ She paused. ‘Sorry for being vague, Don. But you know how it is. I’m protecting my source even if I don’t like what they do.’

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though he was pondering Rosie’s information.

‘Have you seen Jamie Coleman?’ He looked her in the eye.

‘He’s in the Priory, is he not?’ Rosie hoped her face showed nothing.

‘Aye.’ He lit a cigarette, putting the packet back on the table when Rosie declined. ‘He is now.’ He took a long draw and swallowed the smoke. ‘So you haven’t seen him?’

‘Don!’ Rosie said sharply, then smiled. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment. But if you’re asking did the name come from Coleman, then the answer is no. All I have is the name Tam Wilson.’

‘He says he’s not guilty.’

‘So did Harold Shipman. And you wouldn’t have wanted him anywhere near your granny’s eightieth birthday party.’
Rosie went into her pocket and took out a piece of paper. She pushed it across the table. ‘My contact gave me his mobile phone number. That’s the number he gets his coke from. You can tap his calls. He said he got bad coke from Wilson, but got rid of it. Dumped it.’ She felt uncomfortable that her lie was getting deeper.

‘I don’t believe that crap for a minute. Dealers don’t get rid of coke because it’s dodgy. They don’t think that way. How did he know it was bad?’

Rosie sighed. ‘Don’t ask.’

Don nodded and put the number in his jacket pocket.

‘Well,’ Rosie looked at her watch, ‘That’s all I know. Might be crap right enough, as you say. But if I was you I’d be giving Wilson another pull. Or watch him closely. Who is he anyway? Is he a big player?’