Betrayed (5 page)

‘That’s more like it,’ Don said, as he sidled up to the bar without her noticing. ‘Proper drinking. What happened to the skinny lattes?’

‘Sometimes I can be a bit of a rebel.’ Rosie smiled, glad to see her old friend.

‘Good. I’m always deeply suspicious of people who don’t drink.’ He ordered a pint of lager and leaned closer. ‘So, howsit going? You’re looking well. We need to go for dinner some night, Rosie. A proper night out. Get
really
rebellious.’

‘I couldn’t keep up with you over a whole night.’ Rosie handed the barman a tenner.

‘Yeah, but you could have fun trying.’ He lit a cigarette and offered her one, but she declined. ‘So did you get any joy with the Wendy story?’

‘Little bit. I talked to her pal, Liz.’

‘Oh yeah? The barmaid. Hard as nails. Takes a right good drink, I’m told. How was she? Talk much?’

‘A bit.’ Rosie had decided to be economical with the truth. ‘She’s upset that there hasn’t been much in the papers for the past few days.’ She spread her hands. ‘Newspapers just lose interest after a while, unless there’s a good line being punted every day. You know what it’s like. Are you getting anywhere your end?’

He drew on his cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘We get the feeling we’re not getting told the truth. We think Eddie McGregor – the guy who dropped her and Liz off – knows more than he’s saying. Just a feeling. But we can’t turn him over because we’ve got no solid reason to.’ He took a long drink from his pint and loosened his tie. ‘Then there’s the boyfriend. Dunlop. Jimmy Dunlop. We’ve checked Wendy’s mobile out with the phone company and the last call she made was to him. We know it was Glasgow. Probably her house, given the timeline.’

Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? And the phone hasn’t been used since?’

‘Nope. Hasn’t turned up. Hasn’t been used. And neither have the bank cards.’

‘What about the boyfriend? What’s he saying about the phone call?’

‘Admits he took a call from her, saying she was at home. That’s all. He says he was in his bed.’ Don ran his hand across his chin. ‘Not sure he’s telling the truth though.’

‘So what’s the thinking? Does he know more? Has he done something?’

He puffed. ‘Don’t know. I don’t believe him though. He’s holding back. But we can’t really put him under any pressure either because we’ve only got the final phone call to him and nothing more. He was in the house with his father who he said was drunk in bed and sound asleep. So we don’t know if after the phone call he went out of the house and went to see her. He says he didn’t, but he’s got no real alibi.’

‘So is he a suspect?’

‘Suspect of what? We haven’t even got a crime yet. We’re keeping an open mind. But that McGregor’s a dodgy bastard. He’s got some kind of building and plumbing business – houses, conversions and stuff – but it’s all drug money. Coke mostly. He was below the radar for so long he was able to build up quite a little empire. Now his drug money is so well laundered nobody has ever been able to get him on anything. Clean as a whistle. Smart bastard accountants see to that.’ Don lowered his voice. ‘He’s also UVF – which has made him fairly untouchable among the rest of the drug-dealing pricks in this city. Special Branch know about him. He’s back and forward to Belfast a lot. But he’s got no convictions.’

‘So how come nobody pulls him in – for the UVF in itself?’

‘Can’t prove it. It’s not as if they have coffee mornings
to discuss their business,’ Don said. ‘But that aside. He was the last to see Wendy.’

‘Do you think she’s going to turn up dead?’ Rosie scanned Don’s craggy features that had seen too many late nights and too much booze over the years. But at forty, he was still attractive, in a lived-in kind of way.

‘I’d say it’s a safe bet.’ He looked at her almost empty glass. ‘Another drink?’

‘Sure,’ Rosie said, draining her gin. ‘But just one for the road. I need to get an early night.’

She didn’t tell him that even the early nights weren’t bringing her the sleep she needed these days. Since the stabbing in Glasgow two months ago that had left her hospitalised and off work for weeks, Rosie had been plagued by nightmares, waking up unable to catch her breath, gasping until she got it under control. Her GP friend, who’d known her for years, told her it was the stress of the attack on top of everything that had happened to her in Belgrade during her last big investigation, where she’d been kidnapped and managed to escape, running for her life. Rosie’s dreams had always been frightening, vivid affairs, mostly dominated by images of her mother and the childhood trauma that continued to haunt her. And the doctor said that lately there had been one ordeal after another, and her subconscious mind was having trouble trying to arrange them into some manageable order. It would get better in time, but he warned her not to seek sleep by drinking alcohol.
That would only make it worse. She’d already proved that to herself.

‘So what did Liz tell you, Don?’ Rosie fished. ‘And what do you know about her and Wendy? She told me they’d been pals since school.’

Don played with the beer mat. ‘Not much, really. All she said was that McGregor gave them a lift home. Dropped her off then dropped Wendy at the house where she lives with her parents. She didn’t say much more, just keeps telling us we’re not doing enough. She said the boyfriend Jimmy is crazy about Wendy, and would never do anything to harm her. Didn’t say much about McGregor at all. Also, the parents. We spoke to them, and the mum was in a right old state. They’d been up north for a week on a bus tour. But the dad’s not saying much. They won’t play for making an appeal to the media even though we told them that’s the best way to get it in the papers.’ He paused. ‘Though the mum did tell us that when Wendy was a teenager she ran away for a few days over some daft family row. Then after that she was shacked up with some guy they didn’t like, so she basically didn’t get in touch with them for a while. So I’m not sure that Wendy is the kind of girl you’d like to take home to your mother, if you get my drift.’

‘Don’t be so judgemental,’ Rosie said, giving him a dig in the shin. ‘Whatever she is, she needs finding – even if only to put her family at ease.’

‘Of course,’ Don said, smiling, and rubbing his shin.

‘Liz didn’t mention about Wendy running away and stuff to me. Does she get on okay with her parents now?’

Don shrugged. ‘So it would seem. She’s living with them … Was.’

Rosie looked at him. ‘Was?’

Don puffed. ‘Well. Put it this way, Rosie. I’ll be surprised if we see this bird alive again.’

‘Why do you say that, Don? You’ve nothing to go on.’

‘Just a hunch. I don’t trust McGregor. I think he’s a bad one. The DI wanted to bring the boyfriend in and give him a bit of a grilling, but I talked him out of it. I don’t think he’s telling the truth either, but I don’t think he’s harmed the girl. If anything’s happened to that lassie, it’s McGregor we should be looking at. From what I hear, he’s a bad bastard.’

Rosie finished her drink and got off the bar stool. They both walked out of the door, past the early evening movers and shakers that could be found in O’Brien’s oyster bar any night of the week.

‘Time to go,’ Don said. ‘Can’t stand all that pinstripe suit brigade. Champagne and a line of charlie on the side. Bunch of pricks.’

They stepped out into the warm night air, and Rosie found herself automatically turning to look for TJ playing his saxophone in the side street as he had done for so long. She smiled to herself, remembering how the friendship
had been forged, and everything that had gone on between them since then.

‘Penny for them.’ Don gave her a whimsical look.

Rosie sighed and shook her head. ‘A penny wouldn’t begin to cover it, Don.’ She gave him a hug and he kissed her cheek then left.

Rosie flagged down a black hack, almost reluctant to leave the atmosphere of Royal Exchange Square, awash with people enjoying those rare moments when you could sit in a pavement cafe in Glasgow and watch the sun dip behind the city centre buildings. She climbed into the taxi and closed the door, a wave of loneliness washing over her as they pulled out of the street and up towards her home in St George’s Cross.

Her mobile rang, but no number came up.

‘Rosie?’

‘Yeah.’ She thought it sounded like Liz’s voice but it wasn’t her number.

‘It’s Liz. Sorry to disturb you.’

‘No problem. You’re not disturbing me, I’m just on my way home. Something wrong? This isn’t your mobile.’

‘No. Phoning from my house and I always hide the number. Listen, Rosie. I’ve got something to tell you.’

The relaxing effects of the couple of gin and tonics instantly vanished and Rosie was razor sharp.

‘You want to meet?’

‘No. Can’t. About to go to work. But I was with Jimmy a
couple of nights ago. We had a few drinks. Actually we got pissed. He told me something.’ She paused. ‘Christ. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe it.’

Rosie could hear the tension in Liz’s voice.

‘What is it, Liz? What did he tell you?’

‘He told me that Wendy phoned him after Eddie dropped her off. He said she was crying … sobbing. He said that Wendy told him Eddie raped her.’

‘Christ!’ Rosie saw the driver looking at her in the rear-view mirror, as if he was earwigging. She shielded the phone with her hand. ‘Jimmy said that?’ She whispered.

‘Aye. And he said he went straight round to her house in a taxi, but she wasn’t there. No sign of her.’

‘Did he go in the house? How did he get in?’

‘He had a key. She gave it to him while her mum and dad were away, so he could nip in any time. He went into the house, and she was gone.’

Silence. Then Rosie could hear Liz sniffing.

‘Something’s happened to her, Rosie. I know it. I knew it from the start. Eddie’s done something to her.’

‘So what happens now? Is Jimmy going to the cops?’ Rosie already knew the answer to that.

‘No way. He can’t. He’s already told them a different story. He can’t go changing it now. Plus, he can’t grass Eddie up.’

Rosie didn’t know what to say.

‘So is Jimmy just going to live with it? Keep the
information to himself? Wendy may be in danger.’ Wendy was dead. It didn’t need saying.

‘I don’t know. I’m only telling you because I had to tell someone. I don’t know what to do. That’s why I didn’t phone sooner. I can’t go to the cops.’ She paused. ‘Look. I need to go to work. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

The line went dead.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rosie had been waiting nearly half an hour and still no Liz. She ordered another mug of tea and sat tapping at her mobile, resisting the urge to phone or text to see what the hell was keeping her. Last night Liz had called her again, halfway through her shift at the bar, and told her not to use the mobile number she’d given her. The longer she waited, the less faith Rosie was beginning to have in her. She’d been quick to rattle off the information about the UVF drugs and Rangers fans, but she’d managed to leave out the personal details that Don had touched on. She had painted a picture of Wendy’s troubled life, but it wasn’t the full picture, and it crossed Rosie’s mind that she was playing games. But despite her reservations, the call last night about the rape was enough to bring her stampeding – she still would have, even if Liz had claimed she’d once scored a hat-trick for Rangers.

Rosie looked out of the window, her mind buzzing with
the possibilities of chasing the drugs story. She’d already had a chat with Matt in the
Post
canteen, and he was bristling with excitement at the prospect. But they both knew how much of a long shot it would be without an inside track on what buses went where. Eddie McGregor was the key, if Liz was to be believed. He was the money man. And he wouldn’t be the kind of guy who’d be careless.

Just as Rosie was beginning to feel deflated, the door of the cafe opened. Liz briefly scanned the room, then raised her eyebrows when she saw Rosie at a table in the very back. She came trotting up, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor.

‘Sorry I’m late, Rosie.’ She sat down heavily, her face flushed.

‘No problem,’ Rosie said, relieved to see her.

‘I’m totally fucking wound up today.’ Liz rummaged in her handbag and brought out a packet of cigarettes.

Rosie noticed her hands were trembling a little. She wondered if she needed a drink, and hoped not. She waved the waitress over, and Liz ordered tea.

‘I need something to eat,’ she said quickly to Rosie. ‘I’m starving.’ She turned to the waitress. ‘A bacon roll, please.’

Rosie watched as Liz lit up a cigarette and sat back swallowing the smoke as though her life depended on it.

‘You look shattered, Liz. What’s the matter? Late night? Work too hard?’ Perhaps she had a drug habit. She was certainly jumpy enough today.

Liz shook her head, biting the inside of her jaw, deep in thought. Her bust was squeezed into a skintight black blouse and she pulled at it, attempting to make it long enough to cover her bare midriff poking over the top of jeans that were a size too small. She leaned forward so she was closer to Rosie across the table.

‘Listen.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with all of this. But I’ve been thinking and I’ve made a decision.’ She took a breath. ‘I need to know that I can completely trust you. I need to know that no matter what, you never tell anyone that I’m talking to you.’

‘Of course,’ Rosie frowned. ‘I told you that when we met. Look, I’ve been doing this job a long time. I’ve never betrayed a contact in my life. I never would. It doesn’t matter what you tell me. Whatever I do with your information, if it leads to me being able to run down a big investigation, the one thing that nobody will ever know is that any of the information came from you. Nobody will ever drag that out of me.’ She reached across and touched her wrist. ‘You need to trust me on that. That’s all I can say. It’s up to you.’

Liz nodded.

‘Right. okay, Rosie. I do trust you.’

The waitress came and put down a mug of tea and a roll. Liz tore off a piece and stuffed it into her mouth, washing it down with a mouthful of tea. Rosie waited as she hungrily took another chunk then swallowed.