Betrayed (37 page)

She told him about the Spanish cops bursting in and saving their lives, and about Adrian shooting Flinty.

‘Fuck me! That big Bosnian’s never happy unless there are dead bodies everywhere.’ He laughed. ‘He’s a spooky bastard.’

Rosie smiled wistfully, thinking about Adrian getting into his car and driving off.

‘He’s actually a really good guy. You’d like him. But he doesn’t take any prisoners.’

‘Okay, so tell me where we’re at.’

Rosie reeled off the full story. McGuire punched the air with delight when she told him that Javier had stolen the video of the handover of the drugs from the cops, plus the pictures inside McGregor’s hotel bedroom. It was copperbottomed.

‘Fucking beauty! So we’re all set,’ he said. ‘Right. I want full chapter and verse of our inside story. Everything from the secret UVF meeting place to how we tracked these bastards from Glasgow to Eindhoven to Seville; the dodgy coke that caused the deaths of seven people here; the innocent fans on the buses who know bugger all about them being used as a vehicle for smuggling drugs. And especially the great line that this police inspector is their weapons man – the quartermaster inspector. I fucking love that!’

‘Well. There’s a problem with that, Mick.’

‘What?’

‘Cops are saying he was undercover.’

‘Undercover, my arse.’

‘I know. But what can we do? We can’t disprove it. Undercover is just what it is. Only a select number of people are aware of it.’

‘It’s a load of fanny from the cops because they don’t want it to come out. Have you any other source you can go to who’ll tell us the truth?’

‘Yeah. I have a guy with good Special Branch connections. He’s into everything. He’ll at least be able to make some discreet inquiries and give us a steer.’

‘Right. Well get on it. I want that story as much as anything. Bastards are lying to us. I hate that.’

‘Sure.’

‘So, what about your arm. Can I see it?’

‘I can take the bandage off a bit, but it’s sticky.’

She peeled it back a little, wincing in pain as the gauze tugged at the wound, and McGuire screwed up his face when he saw the ripped, angry flesh.

‘Oh fuck, Rosie! That’s bad. You must have been in agony.’

‘I was. They said they’d keep burning us until the pain was so bad we’d jump off the building ourselves.’ To Rosie’s surprise, tears came to her eyes as she had a flashback of the horror of that moment. She looked at the floor, trying to compose herself.

‘Christ.’ McGuire reached across and touched her hand. ‘You need to stop taking chances. You said that Spanish cop Garcia told you not to go to where these guys were meeting. Sometimes you should listen to people and not be so hotheaded.’

‘I know. I’m going to change.’

‘Yeah. Sure you will.’

Marion brought tea.

‘Okay. Get to the hospital and go home tonight. Just have a rest, get this treated and work out the stuff in your head. It won’t take you long to write once your mind’s clear and you’ve had a decent sleep. We can hang onto it for one more day. We’ve already had a few calls from punters on the bus, and there’s been a snap of it on the telly. We’re going to puff it on the front page tomorrow – read the
Post
on Thursday for the full exclusive investigation. We’ll get at least two big days out of it. Plus, it’s the kind of story that will run
and run.’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You look wrecked.’

She nodded. ‘I am. I’ll be fine in the morning.’ She didn’t tell him that as knackered as she was, she dreaded putting her head on the pillow tonight.

Later, in her flat, Rosie ran a bath and sat in it with a glass of red wine. When she came out she wrapped her bathrobe around her very carefully. The consultant told her she would need several skin grafts and there would probably be some permanent scarring.

She flicked on the television and stared, catatonic, at the screen. After a few minutes she picked up her mobile and dialled TJ’s number.

He answered after three rings.

‘Hey, scoop? Where the hell you been? I haven’t heard from you in a week.’

‘I was in Seville, TJ. I told you.’

‘I know. But I thought you might have called me. Howsit going anyway? Did you get all the bad guys?’

‘Yeah. Most of them.’

‘You sound a bit down. What’s wrong? Was it bad?’

‘Yeah.’ Rosie felt a sudden wave of emotion, wishing that he was here on the sofa beside her so she could offload everything. ‘I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Don’t know when that will be though.’

‘Tell me now, Rosie.’ He paused, then said softly, ‘I miss you, sweetheart. More than you know.’

Rosie allowed the silence to hang between them. She wanted to say she had called him, and that Kat had answered the phone, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted to confront him, but was scared of the consequences. It was stupid, she knew. But right now she couldn’t deal with it if he said – or even hinted – that he wanted to finish.

‘So what you up to, TJ? Anything happening?’

‘Not much. Just working. Bit of practice with Gerry and Kat some afternoons.’

Rosie’s stomach jumped a little. She took a sip of wine and then it was out before she could stop herself.

‘TJ,’ she swallowed. ‘I did call you a few days ago.’

‘When?’

‘When I was in Seville. Would have been late afternoon your time.’ She paused. ‘Kat answered the phone.’

Silence. She could hear TJ breathing, and the sound of her own heartbeat.

‘She didn’t tell me.’

‘I didn’t speak. I just hung up.’

‘Why?’

Silence.

‘Why, Rosie?’

‘What?’ Rosie was still picturing Kat in TJ’s apartment. ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I was a bit taken aback.’

She could hear a long intake of breath and then a sigh.

‘Rosie. How many times do we have to go through this?’

‘You didn’t say. About Kat being there, that’s all. I was wondering if she was staying at your place. Is she?’

‘No. Well. Yes. She was for a few days last week. She’s moving to a new apartment and had to be out by the weekend, so I put her up. That’s all.’

‘You didn’t say.’

‘I didn’t say because I hadn’t spoken to you. And anyhow it’s not important. I might not have said anyway. Jesus, Rosie. Stop all this crap. Have you any idea how much it irritates me to be questioned about stuff? You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I told you, I love you. If you can’t accept that because I’m away, and you’re paranoid at every turn, then this is seriously not going to work. Honestly. Come on, sweetheart. Get a grip.’

Rosie was silent for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to be so strident.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually. ‘I … I’m just knackered. It was a hard trip. Some bad things happened.’

‘Are you injured? Did something happen?’

‘Yeah. But I’m okay. Listen I don’t want to talk about it now. When you coming back? Any ideas?’

‘Two more months. They haven’t said anything about staying on, so I suppose I’m out of here in two months. Unless …’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless something else comes up here and I get offered more work.’

‘But I thought you were coming home?’

‘I am. I mean I will be. I want to come home. Really I do. And be with you. I don’t think there will be any more work in the pipeline right now anyway. So I should be back when this contract is up.’ He paused. ‘Rosie. I want to be with you.’

‘Good. I can’t wait to see you.’

‘Me too. And stop with the paranoia, for Christ’s sake. I need to go. I’ll call you in the morning.’ He paused. ‘I love you, Rosie.’

She sensed an edge to his voice. Something was missing. They were saying the right things to each other, but there was a little twinge in her stomach that didn’t feel right.

‘Yeah. I know,’ she said, a little choked. ‘I love you too.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Rosie was wrecked with tiredness and it was only two in the afternoon. She’d flaked out on the sofa, the combination of painkillers, exhaustion and red wine knocking her out. But she woke herself screaming, in a nightmare that she was falling off the edge of a cliff. She’d gone to bed, and when she wakened again at six she knew if she lay there any longer she wouldn’t get up at all. She’d got out of bed, had breakfast and started working at her laptop. The main story for the first day’s spread and splash was done, and she pinged them across to McGuire before the taxi came to her flat to take her to the hospital.

Her mobile rang as she was on her way back to the office. It was Don.

‘Hi, Don. How you?’

‘Better than some people, I’d say,’ Don replied.

‘Why? What’s going on?’

‘The cop. Your UVF man. Thomson. He’s just been found dead.’

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Nope. Hooded and shot in the back of the head. Some cyclist down the Kilmaurs road found his car and looked in.’

‘Christ almighty! That was quick.’

‘I know. All the hallmarks of a paramilitary killing.’

‘Or made to look like one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe the cops bumped him off.’

‘Fuck’s sake, Rosie. You’ve been watching too many movies.’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘So you think Strathclyde’s finest did one of their own in, paramilitary style, to make it look like he had been rumbled by the UVF because he was working undercover?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. Either way, even if it was the UVF bumping him off before he started to spill his guts now that he’d been rumbled by us as well as the cops, then it’s still a brilliant story. What’s the word on it at HQ?’

‘They’re saying bugger all. Don’t even know how they’re going to handle it with the press.’

‘Well they’ll need to get something sorted fast, because this will be our splash tomorrow. Guaranteed.’ She paused. ‘I need to go. I’ll give you a buzz later.’

Rosie went straight to McGuire’s office, knocked the door and walked in. McGuire was behind his desk with a cup of coffee at his lips.

‘You’ll never guess what, Mick.’

McGuire looked up from the cup.

‘Ah, that’s better, Gilmour. You look more like your old self today. Somebody important has obviously either been bumped off or given themselves up. Which is it?’

‘Got it in one. The UVF copper’s been found dead. Bullet in the back of the head. Hooded and shot, paramilitary style.’

‘Oh fuck me! What a result!’

‘I’m sure his missus doesn’t think that.’

‘Fuck him. He was as dirty as they come.’

‘Well, technically we don’t know that for sure. I’m waiting on that pal to give me the absolute lowdown on it. But I’m sure you’re right. No way was he undercover.’

‘I wonder who did it though.’

‘Has to be the UVF.’

‘Don’t be too sure. The cops are just as capable of doing this.’

‘I thought that at first, but now I just don’t think they would. They could ride a storm of a cop being dirty, even being involved with UVF. It would be a huge scandal, of course, but it’s a bit of a leap for the cops to go bumping people off to make it look good. What if that ever came out? I talked to a cop pal, and he says no way would they do that.’

‘Well, we might never know, but one thing’s for sure. That’s our splash tomorrow. That and all the pics we have of him and what you’ve been told about him being the weapons man. Fuck him. At least he can’t sue us. You can’t libel
the dead.’ He grinned at Rosie. ‘Looks like you’ve got at least an extra day out of this. By the way, the stuff you sent over is great. But we need to rush it into the paper by tomorrow because my instinct is that the cops will be all over this now and working towards getting McGregor charged.’

‘If they do, then it’s great background for the trial. But that won’t be for a long time – depending on how they go bringing him back here. I’m told there’s all sorts of legal stuff to go through because he’s also being held in a foreign country for murder and drug smuggling. It’ll take a while to sort that out. But we’ll have loads for a trial.’

‘Fuck the trial. If it’s left to that, everyone will get it if it comes out in court. I want it now. To ourselves.’

Rosie’s mobile rang. It was Mickey Kavanagh.

‘Hi, Mickey. Guess who’s just been found dead.’

‘It has to be our UVF cop.’

‘Got it in one.’

‘Jesus. They didn’t waste much time.’

‘I know. So what do you hear intelligence-wise on the undercover line?’

‘Not a snowball’s chance he was undercover. That’s complete crap from the cops. If they say that officially they will be in big trouble.’

‘But would your people admit it anyway? I mean, if he was undercover?’

‘No. Technically they would not admit it. But I have connections who are always straight with me, and I just talked
to one. He checked things out and made a few enquiries. Nobody’s even heard of this bastard. He’s a rotten cop. End of. And I’ll tell you something else that will never come out. This is why I know you’re right. They found weapons in the basement of his house – an arsenal: rifles, pistols and a couple of short-stocked AK-47s, which are fairly standard in paramilitary territory, plus some small submachine guns. He is who you say he is. Well done. But the cops will never admit it. Put it this way, they can’t afford to.’

‘Brilliant. Thanks, Mick. It’s an amazing story,’ Rosie said, delighted Mickey had confirmed Don’s line about the weapons being found.

‘Not half. It’s a safe bet that UVF will have wasted him. They’ll know by now about McGregor and the other guys being arrested. And about that Flinty fucker getting killed. They had to mop up as much as they could. What exactly happened to Flinty, by the way?’

‘Long story. I’ll tell you over dinner in the next few days.’

‘Fine. I have to go. But listen, Rosie. Don’t believe anything the cops tell you if they try to say this guy was undercover. Trust me.’ He hung up.

Rosie put the mobile on the desk and looked at McGuire.

‘My contact. He says no way was the cop undercover. Not a chance.’

‘Terrific. How sure can he be?’

‘Copper-bottom sure, Mick. He knows everyone from London Road cop shop to the corridors of MI6. Don’t ask
me why, because I don’t know. But he’s very connected. He says nobody’s even heard from this guy. In theory he could have been working undercover in a broader way for the UK serious crimes agency. They collaborate with forces across Europe and use key police figures. But this guy wasn’t one of them.’