A Cold Killing (Rosie Gilmour) by Anna Smith Page B

he turned around.
    ‘Minutes before Tom was gunned down in that café he handed me a package across the table. He knew they were on to him – told me himself . . . Those was his exact words: “They’re on to me, Gerard” . . . and he knew he would be next.’ He shook his head. ‘He entrusted the package to me. And I promised I wouldn’t let him down.’
    ‘Who was on to him, Gerard? Who was going to get rid of him?’
    ‘MI6, of course. They couldn’t risk leaving him as the only loose end. He had too much information.’
    ‘MI6? You’re saying they had him killed by these Eastern European guys?’
    ‘Yes . . . Or it was made to look that way. I don’t know.’
    Rosie struggled for something to say next. She was choking to ask where the package was, but this was going so well – if a little off the wall – she had to be patient.
    ‘Are you going to tell me all about this, Gerard?’
    ‘What will you do with it if I do? Will you and your newspaper publish the story or will they be got at by the powers that be? There are dark forces at work here.’
    Christ, Rosie thought. She could hear McGuire asking her was this guy wearing a straitjacket when he told her all this.
    ‘That’s not how my newspaper works,’ Rosie said, looking him in the eye. ‘My editor is very courageous when it comes to stories involving the establishment. We don’t bow to people – not government, not cops, not gangsters.’ She sat up straight and put her mug on the table. ‘If we can get a story that is nailed down and passed by our lawyers, then we will publish. But I need a lot more than just your word and what you’ve just said. I’ll need the information that Tom gave you. I’ll need that level of proof.’ She took a breath. ‘Look, Gerard, I’m not going to mess you around, but I can tell you now that without anything material you have that can help prove this, then Tom’s murder will go down as a random shooting by some Eastern European gangsters. End of story. So if we’re going to take this forward – and I really want to – then I need your help.’
    They sat in silence for what seemed like an age, the ticking clock on the mantelpiece keeping time with Rosie’s beating heart. Gerard played with a ring on his finger, twisting and turning it, the light from the window catching the garnet set in gold. Rosie was trying not to take a deep breath, watching and waiting.
    Eventually, Gerard spoke.
    ‘Okay. I’ll tell you a story . . .’

Chapter Nine
     
    ‘Something is ringing all my bells, Gilmour,’ McGuire said as she walked into his office. ‘Is there some kind of lone vigilante out there catching up with all the bad bastards? First that old arsehole Rab Jackson in Spain, and now Malky Cameron? Two useless scumbags off the face of the earth in a week. We need to get a real handle on this. The punters love this kind of shit. Declan’s down in Ayr for the press conference. I mean, they’re both stiffs now, so we can say what the fuck we like about them.’
    ‘I know. The cops are throwing a party. I’m seeing a contact later. He’s been moved to the Serious Crime Squad, so that means he gets his finger in all the pies. He might have a bit more intelligence on who bumped them off.’
    Rosie sat down on the sofa. ‘But first, I’ve got even better news for you.’
    McGuire came out from behind his desk and stood resting his backside against it, looking down at her. He raised his eyebrows for her to begin.
    ‘I went up to Hawkins’ house last night,’ Rosie said. ‘And much to my amazement, I got in.’
    ‘No way!’
    ‘I did.’ She flashed a triumphant smile. ‘And it’s incredible stuff.’
    ‘Come on then.’ He sat opposite her, swung his feet onto the coffee table and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘I’ve got twenty minutes till the conference. Make my day.’
    ‘Okay,’ Rosie said. ‘I won’t go into everything, Mick, because we can talk later and decide how we play this, but