Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 (6 page)

‘Really? So somebody did him in?’

‘It’s looking like it. But we’ve got nothing so far. The prints didn’t come up anywhere, so it could be anyone. But put it this way, if my trouser belt went in for forensic examination right now, the only fingerprints that would be on it would be mine.’ He gave Rosie a mischievous grin. ‘Unfortunately nobody has been rapidly unbuckling my belt to get into my pants of late.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, pet,’ Rosie chuckled. ‘But you’re not home yet.’

‘You don’t need to throw yourself at me like a floozy.’

‘Yeah, in your dreams, pal. But you never know who might walk in here looking for a macho detective with a lived-in face and a great line in patter.’

Don shrugged. ‘Sure. I won’t hold my breath. But anyway, back to the facts. Somebody had their hands on the belt. And –’ he grimaced at Rosie – ‘I don’t want to put you off your drink, but tests on his penis show saliva. So unless he was also in the circus, then said saliva belongs to another person.’

Rosie chortled.

‘Fascinating. And I take it you’ve no idea who?’

‘Nope. And fat chance of us finding it either, unless we did swab tests of half the population in Glasgow – women
and
men.’

‘I suppose he might have got a hooker or rent boy?’

‘That’s what we’re working on. But it could be anyone. And why kill him? The other thing is . . . bags. There’s nothing in his room – no wallet, no mobile. Only a holdall with a few things in it. But the hotel receptionist who checked him in says she remembers him carrying an aluminium case. So we’re trawling through CCTV at the moment to see if we can see somebody with that.’

‘Good story, Don. I hope you’ll give me a shout if you get anything from CCTV.’

‘The problem is the CCTV is only in the foyer area, and not in the corridors to the rooms, so we can’t see who went in and out of his room.’

‘That would have made it too easy,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s all about nitty-gritty detective work – at least it is in the movies. So why are you involved? The Serious Crime Squad?’

‘Because of the diamond smuggling. And who he is. Malik was a racketeer, well known for supplying fake passports, mostly to restaurant workers who came over here illegally. He was a real slippery character. Left Glasgow around six years ago but is mixed up with some joker down south – Sahid Khan. Big-time Pakistani dealer of everything from supplying people to work in restaurants to fake documents. And, of course, heroin. But these days, he’s also a figure in the diamond smuggling industry. I don’t know much about it, though I once did spend nearly a grand on an engagement ring for my ex-wife. Money wasted!’

Rosie smiled.

‘I like the diamond-smuggling angle – makes it more exotic. I’m going to be speaking to an expert myself in the next couple of days. But when are the police going to officially issue a bit more on who Malik was?’

‘Not for twenty-four hours – so you can break it yourself before the press release.’ He winked. ‘Don’t say I’m not good to you. But Rosie, I want you to keep me in the loop if you hear anything. I know you have people you talk to on the ground that I don’t get to, so I’d appreciate it.’

‘Goes without saying.’

Nikki had only agreed to go on tonight’s job because Julie said it would look suspicious if she knocked it back. Better to keep up a bold front for the next few weeks then gradually just phase yourself out. Fine, Nikki thought. I can just about live with that. But getting all kitted out in her working gear was the last thing she felt like doing right now. Her heart was still going like an engine half an hour after she’d slammed the phone down on Paul.

*

It had started off as a civilised conversation, when he’d called her out of the blue to ask if she’d received his text message that he was moving on with his life.

‘Yes, I got it. Good luck to you.’

She hoped she sounded as uninterested as she was. She was surprised at how much she actually despised him now. Even the sound of his voice made her burn with rage. He had ruined her life. She lost the baby she’d longed for
because of this selfish bastard. As far as she was concerned, he was already dead. Nikki put the finishing touches to her make up and looked at herself in the mirror while she listened to him. There were a few more lines around her eyes over the past eighteen months, and her face had lost a lot of its glow. When she was six months pregnant, she had just begun to put on a bit of weight around her middle and her face was fresh and full of hope. People talked about how vital she looked, and she loved it. Paul didn’t even seem to notice – he was already lost in his gambling addiction, secretly emptying their bank account. She sighed, studying her face in the bathroom light, half listening to him. With her make up heavier on the eyes and blusher on her cheekbones, her features were more pronounced and she looked well. She hoped she wasn’t too tarty – though that was what she was. Nobody was more aware of it than her. But it was only for a few more weeks. Paul was still droning on.

‘Can you hear me, Nikki? I’m really doing well now.’

‘Great. I said, good luck to you. Listen, Paul. I’m busy right now. I’m going out.’

‘Oh aye. It’s all about you, isn’t it? Never mind me, and the fact that I’ve turned my life around. It’s all about you. It always was.’

‘Look. I don’t need this. I haven’t needed it for a long time, so can you just piss off and get on with your life and let me get on with mine?’

‘Your new life.’ Paul’s voice was a snarl. ‘Out every night. Some mother you’d have made anyway.’

‘Piss off, Paul, you useless bastard,’ she snapped. ‘How dare you say that?’

‘No!
You
fucking listen. I know where you go at night. You and that big fucking tart, Julie. You’re whoring it.’ He sniggered. ‘A bit fucking past it if you ask me, the two of you. You must be offering discounts.’

She could see the red in her chest rise up her neck to her face, and the rage made her breath catch. How the hell did he know? She couldn’t risk saying a word, because she knew her voice would quiver.

‘Aye. You’re quiet now, alright.’ His voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You think because I’m not around the scheme I can’t see what you’re up to? I know what you’re up to, you wee slut. I know who you work for and where you go.’

‘I’m hanging up, Paul. You’re talking a load of crap and I’ve not time to listen to you. Don’t call me again. If you do, I’m going to get the cops to you. I’ll get a fucking restraining order, you twisted bastard.’

‘Yeah, right. Go to the cops then. Tell them you’ve got a new job. You think they’ll listen to a fucking word you say.’ He paused. ‘I’m watching you. Don’t you forget it.’

The phone clicked off and Nikki stood staring at herself in the mirror, her lip trembling. She swallowed. ‘I won’t let
him do this to me,’ she said out loud. ‘I can do this. He won’t beat me.’

*

In the taxi into the city centre, Nikki didn’t mention Paul’s phone call to Julie. When Julie asked her why she was so quiet, she said she was tired and hadn’t slept much last night. She wanted to get this over and get back to the house. It was a hotel outside the city they were going to, Julie had told her. They were being picked up by Alex – Gordy’s right-hand man – which was unusual in itself, as it was normally Davey, a pervy little creep, who drove them on jobs if they were out of Glasgow. He was waiting for them at the top of Renfield Street, and they got out of the taxi and into the car.

‘So where is this hotel?’ Julie asked.

‘Just outside Paisley,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve got to get some petrol first on the way down.’ He turned around to face Julie. ‘But there’s been a change of plan, darlin’. Did you get a phone call?’

‘No.’ Julie gave him a surprised look. ‘What change?’

‘You’re to go up to the Thistle Hotel for a punter. Room two-six-seven. One of the birds had been booked earlier on, but she’s called off. The babysitter didn’t turn up or was pished or something. So she can’t come. You’ve to go. So I’ll drop you and I’ll take Nikki to her punter.’

‘But I didn’t get a call. Usually, Georgie would call me.’ She took her mobile out of her bag and scrolled down her call list.

‘She’s off tonight. It was Denny who phoned me. He said I’d to tell you. Do you want to phone him? He’ll not be happy. He was just about to sit down to dinner with his wife when he phoned me.’

Julie sighed. Denny was one of Gordy’s hardmen who occasionally worked at the agency if Georgie was off. She glanced at Nikki’s worried look.

‘So am I just to go on my own down to Paisley?’ Nikki asked, looking from the driver to Julie.

‘I’m taking you,’ Alex said, indignant. ‘Did I not just say that? I’m dropping you and I’ll wait outside for you.’

Nikki looked at Julie.

‘It’ll be alright,’ Julie said. She prodded Alex in the shoulder. ‘Make sure you wait for her.’

‘Fuck off,’ Alex said, pulling the car up outside the Thistle Hotel. ‘Your punter will be waiting for you.’

‘I’ll phone you,’ Julie said, opening the back door. ‘You’ll be alright. I’ll call you in about an hour. And any problems, you phone me.’ She reached across and squeezed Nikki’s shoulder, then got out of the car and tottered across in her high heels to the hotel entrance.

*

Alex drove out of the city and onto the motorway towards Paisley. A few miles along the M8, he took a slip road and headed for a service station. When the car pulled in, Nikki suddenly became aware that the petrol station was deserted, with no outside lights and the car park in darkness.

Suddenly two figures appeared from the shadows, moving towards the car.

‘What is this?’ She turned to Alex.

Her words were barely out when she glimpsed one of the men getting to her side of the car and grabbing the door.

‘What the fuck? Oh, please, Alex! What’s going on? Please!’

The car door was yanked and a hand dragged her out by the hair. She grasped at Alex’s arm, trying to hold on.

‘Don’t do this! What’s wrong?’ She pleaded. ‘What
is
this?’

‘Fucking shut up!’ Alex spat, jerking her hand away from him.

Nikki stumbled as she was pulled out of the car, but was hauled to her feet by the hair. Her face was slapped so hard she felt blood spout from her nose. Then she heard the flick of a knife, and saw the shine of the blade as he held it to her throat and dragged her across the darkened car park before bundling her into a car.

‘Move one fucking muscle and I’ll cut your throat.’

The voice wasn’t Scottish. She glanced at his face, the sallow skin. He looked Pakistani or Indian. The accent was from Manchester or somewhere in the north of England.

He switched on the lights and screeched off, driving with one hand and holding the knife.

‘Now just shut the fuck up.’

Nikki nodded, sniffing and wiping tears and blood from her face.

He drove out of the car park and onto the M8 towards Paisley. After a few minutes he turned off the motorway and into a slip road leading to a deserted industrial estate. He stopped the car and switched off the headlights. Nikki looked out of the windscreen at the total blackness, her head swimming with panic.

He turned to her, the knife at her throat. ‘Where’s the case?’

‘What?’ For a second Nikki had no idea what he was talking about.

‘The fucking case you took, you bitch.’

She froze. She could feel her legs trembling uncontrollably and she swallowed the urge to throw up.

‘Please don’t hurt me! I don’t know what you’re talking about. What case? I told Gordy everything.’

‘The case you took from the Albany. From your punter’s room. We know you took it.’

She shook her head. How could they know that? She could hear her teeth chattering. This was it. She was going to die here in the middle of nowhere. She glanced down at the handle on the door. Suddenly, a mobile rang on the dashboard, distracting him, and in the moment it took for him to check the screen Nikki’s hand had slipped down to the handle, opened the door and she had rolled out. She clambered to her feet and started to run in her high heels, going over on her ankle and kicking them off, then running barefoot in the rain and slush. In the distance she
could see headlights from cars on the motorway, and she headed towards the lights, running so hard she could hardly breathe. His heavy footsteps pounded behind her, and she heard him curse and wheeze. Closer and closer. If she could just make it to the motorway, wave a car down. Then suddenly, she felt a thud on the back of her neck and everything turned black. On the ground, she opened her eyes, and he was on top of her, punching her hard on the face. She could feel the wet icy slush on her back and thighs and was on the verge of passing out again. But suddenly, something was hacking or burning at her leg and she screamed in pain with a voice she didn’t even recognise. She could feel her flesh being torn. She opened her eyes and saw a crazed look on his face. He was kneeling behind her, and she saw the glint of what looked like a machete above his head. When it hit her arm just below her elbow, there was a moment of searing hot pain, and she opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. Everything swayed above her. Somewhere she could hear the sound of hacking. She thought she must be dreaming because there was no pain any more. Then her head fell to the side, and she thought she saw part of her arm lying on the brown slush like a piece of meat.

Rosie was keying in the numbers on her burglar alarm as she prepared to leave her flat, when her mobile rang. She cursed under her breath, fumbling around in her bag for the phone while trying make it out of the door before the alarm went off. She found it and saw Don’s number on the screen. It wasn’t even nine in the morning, so if he was calling now, it must be important. She pushed the reset button on the alarm and went back into the apartment, answering the phone as she dumped her bag on the sofa.

‘You not at your work yet?’ Don joked. ‘I thought you’d have had half a shift in by this time.’