that wee lassie Ruby. But nobody knew what had become of her for years. Then . . . wait for this . . . around eighteen months ago the Serious Crime Squad was working on a case, and my mate was on it and they stumbled across information that Ruby was working with Jackson.’
‘What? Hard to believe, that. I mean, if she witnessed what happened that night – assuming she might have. She’d hardly go and work for the men who did it, would she? Where did that information come from?’
‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying. That’s what we thought: hard to believe. But she was photographed during some undercover surveillance operation in Spain which UK police were working on with the Spanish and Dutch cops. There was nothing to link her involvement, as such, to the case, but one of the snitches tipped the cops that her name was Ruby and she was from Glasgow. They didn’t have a surname. There was some kind of search done to trace what became of Ruby Reilly, but it seems she’d disappeared off the radar screen after she dropped out of university. She’d studied accountancy but didn’t graduate. Nobody knows what became of her. Amazing, really, that she amounted to anything if she saw what happened that night to her mother and sister. And the way she was dragged up, her ma a hooker and stuff. Some start in life, eh?’
Rosie nodded, swirling the ice in her almost empty glass, remembering her own early days, the men occasionally coming to her house and the noises she heard at night. She drained her glass.
‘One for the road?’
‘No thanks,’ Rosie said. ‘Better not. I’ve a lot of work to get done tomorrow.’
Her mind turned over the story of the Scottish woman who allegedly did a runner from the King’s Cross café.
‘Listen, Don, would you be able to get CCTV footage of the street outside the King’s Cross café immediately after the shooting? I thought they might have released it by now, as an appeal for any witnesses.’
Don shrugged. ‘I think, if they haven’t put it out then there’s a reason for it. The cops won’t throw everything out there all at once. But I’ll see if I can get it. Why?’
Rosie finished her drink and put it down on the bar.
‘Just thinking. I’m going to sleep on it.’ She eased herself off the bar stool.
‘You want me to help you sleep? We could spoon.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Nah. You’d disturb my train of thought. Come on. I’m knackered. First couple of days back at work and I feel like I need a holiday.’
Don finished his pint and they walked through the swing doors and out into the street.
Rosie turned to him.
‘Would that cop who remembers the Jackie Reilly murder all those years ago talk to me?’
‘Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Curious, my arse. Why?’
‘Honestly, Don. Just a bit fascinated by what you tell me about the Ruby girl. If I make any progress with my blue-sky thinking, you’ll be the first to know. I can promise you that. Could you ask him to talk to me totally off the record?’
‘Sure. I’ll give you a bell if he’s up for it. But he’s only got two years till he retires, so he might not want to associate with a hack like you. I’ll try.’ He kissed her on the cheek and walked away.
*
Rosie opened the doors to her balcony enough so she could hear the sounds of the city revving itself into a new day. It was only eight in the morning and too chilly to sit outside, but by the look of the sun breaking through the clouds Glasgow was basking in the glory of an unusual Indian summer. She pulled her fold-away director’s canvas chair close to the open doors and sat with her feet up on a table, clutching a mug of freshly brewed coffee. The buzz of the Charing Cross traffic was music to her ears. It was good to be home.
In the beginning, when she’d fled to Sarajevo in the wake of the
Post
’s revelations about the UVF coke dealing, McGuire had suggested she sell her flat altogether. It was too risky to stay there, he’d told
‘What? Hard to believe, that. I mean, if she witnessed what happened that night – assuming she might have. She’d hardly go and work for the men who did it, would she? Where did that information come from?’
‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying. That’s what we thought: hard to believe. But she was photographed during some undercover surveillance operation in Spain which UK police were working on with the Spanish and Dutch cops. There was nothing to link her involvement, as such, to the case, but one of the snitches tipped the cops that her name was Ruby and she was from Glasgow. They didn’t have a surname. There was some kind of search done to trace what became of Ruby Reilly, but it seems she’d disappeared off the radar screen after she dropped out of university. She’d studied accountancy but didn’t graduate. Nobody knows what became of her. Amazing, really, that she amounted to anything if she saw what happened that night to her mother and sister. And the way she was dragged up, her ma a hooker and stuff. Some start in life, eh?’
Rosie nodded, swirling the ice in her almost empty glass, remembering her own early days, the men occasionally coming to her house and the noises she heard at night. She drained her glass.
‘One for the road?’
‘No thanks,’ Rosie said. ‘Better not. I’ve a lot of work to get done tomorrow.’
Her mind turned over the story of the Scottish woman who allegedly did a runner from the King’s Cross café.
‘Listen, Don, would you be able to get CCTV footage of the street outside the King’s Cross café immediately after the shooting? I thought they might have released it by now, as an appeal for any witnesses.’
Don shrugged. ‘I think, if they haven’t put it out then there’s a reason for it. The cops won’t throw everything out there all at once. But I’ll see if I can get it. Why?’
Rosie finished her drink and put it down on the bar.
‘Just thinking. I’m going to sleep on it.’ She eased herself off the bar stool.
‘You want me to help you sleep? We could spoon.’
Rosie smiled.
‘Nah. You’d disturb my train of thought. Come on. I’m knackered. First couple of days back at work and I feel like I need a holiday.’
Don finished his pint and they walked through the swing doors and out into the street.
Rosie turned to him.
‘Would that cop who remembers the Jackie Reilly murder all those years ago talk to me?’
‘Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Curious, my arse. Why?’
‘Honestly, Don. Just a bit fascinated by what you tell me about the Ruby girl. If I make any progress with my blue-sky thinking, you’ll be the first to know. I can promise you that. Could you ask him to talk to me totally off the record?’
‘Sure. I’ll give you a bell if he’s up for it. But he’s only got two years till he retires, so he might not want to associate with a hack like you. I’ll try.’ He kissed her on the cheek and walked away.
*
Rosie opened the doors to her balcony enough so she could hear the sounds of the city revving itself into a new day. It was only eight in the morning and too chilly to sit outside, but by the look of the sun breaking through the clouds Glasgow was basking in the glory of an unusual Indian summer. She pulled her fold-away director’s canvas chair close to the open doors and sat with her feet up on a table, clutching a mug of freshly brewed coffee. The buzz of the Charing Cross traffic was music to her ears. It was good to be home.
In the beginning, when she’d fled to Sarajevo in the wake of the
Post
’s revelations about the UVF coke dealing, McGuire had suggested she sell her flat altogether. It was too risky to stay there, he’d told
Similar Books
