To Tell the Truth by Anna Smith

how he was on first-name terms with everyone from doormen to Cabinet ministers.
    ‘The government’s next week, Vincent. I’m getting some sun on my back first. Howsit going?’
    ‘Great, Rosie. You should have seen their faces here when I hit them with Carter-Smith and the Russian mafia. They were scurrying around like rats up a tight drainpipe.’
    ‘Great. I love it when that happens. Thanks for getting the reaction for us. Lesser men than you would have been fobbed off by some spin doctor. So thanks, pal.’
    ‘No sweat, darlin’. Any time. Plus I’m sure there will be more to come. That Woolard fucker, he’s got business dealings stretching right into Eastern Europe according to my sources. I talked to McGuire on it and we’re going to have a serious look at him. If we’ve got the Home Secretary introducing his rich British pal to this Daletsky character, then we’ll make a meal of that.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘But we don’t really know what went on in the yacht, Vincent. All we know is they went on, and they came off with Daletsky like a couple of old mates. Long way to go. But I’ll leave that down to you. I’m chasing the missing kid here, as you know.’
    ‘Aye. Nightmare. What the fuck happened there, Rosie?How does a wee thing just get stolen from her house or the beach or wherever it was? It’s not right.’
    ‘I know, it’s awful,’ Rosie said. Vincent obviously didn’t know about Carter-Smith and the rent boy, so she would keep it that way. ‘It’s a terrible story, and it doesn’t look good for the kid, the longer she’s missing.’ Rosie changed the subject. ‘Where’s Carter-Smith now?’
    ‘I’m told he’s on his way home this afternoon. The pack will all be at the airport, so we’ll see what he has to say.’
    ‘Great. I’ll watch the news to see his face.’
    She thought of his House of Commons ID card tucked into the lining of her suitcase.
    ‘You know him. He’ll brass his case big time. Just wait till you see him. Keep it up, and give us a shout if you need any help. Have to go, pet. See you.’
    ‘Okay. Bye Vincent.’
    Later, in the roof-terrace restaurant of Andy’s hotel, Rosie listened, intrigued, though a little crestfallen, as Andy told them what exclusive line he had for his paper in the morning. Deadlines were well past, so he was relaxed enough to reveal his story. She looked at her watch as Matt filled up her glass. They exchanged glances and he shrugged.
    ‘There’s shag-all we can do, Rosie. You win some you lose some.’ Matt took a mouthful of his beer, then lifted the glass of wine to his lips. He was a never-mind-the-quality-feel-the-width man when it came to booze.
    Rosie considered the impact his story would have. She wouldn’t get a hard time from McGuire for not havingthe line, because he knew they were onto the massive world exclusive if they could manage to nail it down. But Andy’s information would change things, that’s for sure, and he was relishing being the reporter who set the agenda.
    He’d always been the same, ever since Rosie’d known him. Something to do with being a Scottish hack in London. There was that chip on their shoulder, outsiders in a city full of English smartarses. It might have been insecurity that made the Scottish hacks feel they had to be better than the rest of the Fleet Street big hitters, but the truth is, most of them were. Rosie had never felt the need to move down to the Big Smoke to prove herself. She was top hand anywhere in the world in the best and biggest of company, and her name had the same respect as any of the big shots – including Andy. So when he was able to get one over on her and the rest of the pack, Andy was really going to enjoy the moment.
    His line had been picked up from his Spanish translator, who had contacts in the Guarda Civil. Tomorrow, everyone would be chasing it.
    A windsurfer, a Spaniard, had gone to the police with the story of what he saw the morning Amy disappeared.