A Cold Killing (Rosie Gilmour) (18 page)

Rosie was wrecked from lack of sleep. She’d spent most of the night drifting from one fevered nightmare to another. Vivid images of Marilyn Monroe’s face, bloodied and battered, merged with horrific pictures of a little girl being raped and a house on fire, with the mother reaching through the flames for her children. And suddenly, she was the girl trying to save the woman from the blaze and the arms stretching out to her were her own mother’s, her face smiling from her lipsticked mouth. She woke up, moaning, her eyes wet with tears.

*

‘You’re a bit quiet, Rosie.’ Matt glanced from the corner of his eye as he drove the car towards North London. ‘You all right?’

‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘Fine. Had a bloody sleepless night. All that shit I was telling you about the girl being kicked to death became one epic nightmare. But I’ve had two stiff coffees, so I’m starting to function. We must be nearly at this place by now.’ She checked her notebook again for the address.

They drove up the long, winding hill towards Pinner, a picture-postcard English town with massive mock-Tudor black-and-white houses and red-bricked villas standing in manicured lawns at the end of leafy driveways. Everything screamed of affluence, privilege and order.

‘Some place, this,’ Matt said. ‘Look at these houses. I wonder what they do with the poor people. They must hide them away.’

‘I think I saw a sign on the way in: “No Poor People Here,” ’ Rosie said as they drove through, past the old-fashioned shopfronts and little pavement cafés. ‘They call the roads “boulevards” down here. Kind of like Possil Boulevard back home – well, without the junkies and jakeys. In fact . . . nothing like Possil! It must be quite interesting to be brought up in a place like this, so far removed from how people live in the most deprived areas of the UK. If this is all you know, and your friends have grown up the same way, I suppose you’d probably think everyone lives like this.’

‘Aye,’ Matt said. ‘But I wouldn’t trade my shitty childhood, punching my way out of primary school in Drumchapel, for any of this splendour.’

Rosie chortled.

‘Oh yeah. Me neither. You can’t beat a single-end tenement flat and a shared lavvy for giving you a sense of self-worth.’

Rosie pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror, wondering what was going through Adrian’s mind as he gazed absently out of the side window.

‘Here’s the industrial estate,’ Rosie said. ‘Turn in here, Matt.’

They stopped at the billboard at the entrance and scanned down the list of companies.

‘There it is. J B Solutions,’ Matt said. ‘Game on.’

‘So, Matt,’ Rosie said, ‘when we get there, don’t forget to get out and open the doors for us. You’re the chauffeur. Don’t look in anyone’s direction.’

‘Don’t worry, pal. I’m all over this.’

The estate was mostly made up of small businesses and units – printing works, tyre suppliers, computing and office supply companies, plus a couple of larger places that looked like warehouses for some of the bigger department stores. Delivery lorries and vans passed them as Matt drove around the maze of roads until they saw the sign. J B Solutions sat at the corner of the estate, next to a haulage company with a few massive trucks in its car park. There was nothing beyond the two buildings but open fields and woodland.

‘It looks closed up,’ Matt said as he got nearer the buildings. ‘Look. Gates are padlocked.’

Rosie rolled down the window and sucked in a mouthful of air. Her stomach tightened as they got near the high perimeter fence, which was topped off with razor wire. Two cars – a blue Mercedes and a black Range Rover – were in the car park close to the main door, and she spotted at least two CCTV cameras. She was about to ask Adrian to ring the number he’d been given on the email when the main door opened and two burly men came out and strode towards them.

‘Christ! I hope I don’t have to fight them big bastards,’ Matt said. ‘Remember. I’m just the driver. Any rough stuff and I’m out of here.’ He winked at Rosie.

‘If there’s any rough stuff in a place that sells guns, it’ll be a short fight.’ Rosie replied as the men opened the padlocked gate and one of them slipped outside.

‘Ready, guys?’ Rosie reached inside her blouse and switched on the hidden tape recorder then eased the switch on the hidden camera on the button of her jacket.

‘Will I get out?’ Matt said as the man approached.

‘No. Sit tight. Open your window.’

Matt eased down the window as the man drew near.

‘Hello.’ Rosie leaned across, smiling up at him. ‘Mr Kovac for Mr Dunn. He has an appointment.’ She gestured to the back seat. ‘I’m his assistant when he’s in the UK. Mr Dunn is expecting us.’

Rosie’s English accent was perfect. The big man eyed all three of them and for a second said nothing. Rosie could feel her heartbeat. The big man took out a walkie-talkie.

‘Boss, a Mr Kovac and er . . . some bird, I mean woman.’ He spoke in a broad Cockney accent.

The device crackled, then a voice came back.

‘Bring them in, Dave.’

He took a step back and beckoned them towards the gate.

‘You should be on the stage,’ Matt quipped to Rosie as they drove through the tall steel gates.

‘Shut up. I’m concentrating,’ Rosie said in her English accent, her face straight. ‘You ready, Adrian?’

‘Of course,’ he murmured.

Matt got out and went around to open Rosie’s door, then the back door for Adrian. Rosie’s stomach jolted as the men pushed the gate closed and padlocked it. They walked behind them to the main entrance, where one of the men pushed a button and the big security door opened.

Inside, the hallway was dimly lit with grey bare walls and no proper reception area. The men led them down a corridor to a black door at the end and knocked on it softly.

‘Come in.’

Rosie glanced at Adrian, who was staring straight ahead. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

As they came through the doorway a tall man in a dark pinstripe suit who was seated behind his desk stood up and gave them a practised, painted smile, showing off his bleached teeth. He ran a hand over his mop of lush, greying hair. He looked somewhere between a slick City trader and a dodgy car dealer. Rosie immediately clocked the fresh grazes on his knuckles, and a chill ran through her. They’d come to the right place, and she wished she could turn on her heels and go. She blinked away an image of him punching the face of the defenceless young hooker.

‘How’s it going, folks? Thanks for coming.’

He stepped from behind his desk. Controlled, charming, flashing the teeth again. A wolf that could tear you to pieces. Rosie swallowed, holding her nerve.

‘Mr Dunn.’ She stretched out her hand. ‘Melissa Parker . . . I believe Mr Kovac told you that I’m his assistant when he travels in the UK.’

‘Yes, he did. Pleased to meet you, Melissa.’

‘And this is Mr Kovac.’ Rosie gestured a hand towards Adrian.

‘How you doing, Mr Kovac? Thanks for getting in touch, and for coming all the way over from Sarajevo.’ He glanced at Rosie. ‘Actually, I would have made the trip over to Sarajevo, no problem. I’ve always been interested to see how things have panned out since all that terrible carry-on during the war.’

Adrian nodded. ‘Is much better now, Mr Dunn. Is a very beautiful city these days. Many people from all over Europe now visit.’ He paused. ‘But I had some business already in the London, so it suit me better to come here.’

‘Excellent,’ Dunn said, turning to Rosie. ‘And I’m curious as to why you have an assistant here. It’s not as if you need a translator. Your English seems very good.’

‘Not perfect. But is improving.’ Adrian glanced at Rosie. ‘Melissa works in my company in Sarajevo. As I told you in the email, it is growing all the time. Is a new world now in Bosnia, and many, many opportunities. Melissa is involved in – how you say? – in the public relations.’

Rosie smiled.

‘I’m kind of a personal assistant, but I’m also involved in creating a good image for the company,’ she enthused, beginning to believe it herself. ‘The security and bodyguards industry is also growing, especially in the Balkan region and beyond. So I’m helping to promote it.’

‘So, you based in Sarajevo?’ Dunn asked.

‘A lot of the time, yes.’ Rosie winged it. She had expected to be questioned closely. So far, so good. ‘But if there is a new client to see for business, I usually accompany Mr Kovac.’

‘Good.’ Dunn gestured them towards two chairs. ‘Take a seat. Please. And we can get down to business.’ He went back behind his desk and sat down, pushing back on the leather office chair.

Rosie and Adrian watched as Dunn looked at the back of his raw knuckles. He flexed his hand as though he’d seen them looking at it, and grinned.

‘I do a bit of boxing training at the gym,’ he said, patting his firm stomach. ‘Keeps me in shape. But I got a bit carried away punching the heavy bag the other day.’

Rosie said nothing.

‘So.’ He turned to Adrian. ‘Talking business, Mr Kovac. What are we looking at here, in terms of hardware?’ He paused. ‘I’ll show you some of what we’ve got in a few minutes. But what exactly are you looking for?’

Adrian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, clasping his hands together, looking at the blank wall above Dunn.

‘Well, I am thinking. We will be requiring say, thirty to forty handguns. Probably Glock, as they are very reliable. I also like the Smith & Wesson, so maybe we would look at six or seven of them. Are you able to do that? And ammunition, of course. And silencers – for all of them.’

Dunn looked serious as he took notes on a pad on his desk.

‘Sure. That wouldn’t be a problem. If you wanted as many as forty Glocks, then we may have to wait a couple of weeks. But Smith & Wessons we have plenty of, so no problem there.’

‘Good. And rifles. I think ten. With range and eyesights. I like to use in the field . . . Can you get them? . . . Give me a price?’

Dunn nodded, licking his lips.

‘No problem.’

‘And how is delivery? You can deliver them to us in Sarajevo? Things are very different now with border controls, but of course, if you have all the licence and papers for exporting, then is no problem.’

Dunn’s lips tightened a little.

‘Delivery is good. You can trust me on that.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t know how much you know about J B Solutions, but we’ve been around a long time. We’ve sold weapons all over the shop. Europe, Africa. You leave all the delivery and papers up to me. If we make a deal, then we decide where and when, and that’s all you have to worry about. I’ll get the stuff to you.’ He paused, looking from Rosie to Adrian. ‘But I’ll be very frank with you. It’s upfront money, Mr Kovac. You need to pay 75 per cent up front when you place the order. That’s the deal.’

Adrian’s face showed nothing and there was a stony silence.

‘Is a lot of money. When we don’t see the guns till they come to Sarajevo. A lot of money.’

‘That’s how we do business here.’ He sighed. ‘There are some countries – and I’ll tell you this in confidence – there are some places we’ve made deals with and sent the arms and didn’t get the full amount of money – nothing like it. We took a hit. We’ve taken a hit in Africa, for example, with another small firm I operate. We lost our licence in that debacle, and it was basically because they fucked up . . .’ He turned to Rosie . . . ‘if you’ll pardon my French. And these African countries . . . you can’t trust any of them because they’re all bloody corrupt. They assured us they were organizing stuff at their end, but the money never materialized. We don’t risk that any more. We can’t deal with that. So that’s how it is now. But don’t worry, we will deliver. We are the experts.’

Adrian nodded.

‘Okay. I think that sound good to me. Is possible, maybe we can do business.’

‘Great.’ Dunn stood up. ‘We can sort the details later if we come to a deal. I’m sure I can offer you better rates than anyone else. Come on, I’ll show you some of the stock we have.’

He led them along a corridor and into a side room, then through to another corridor with a steel door at the end. It opened into warehouse piled high with metal boxes marked ‘Ammo’, and gun and rifle boxes. He turned to them, again with the killer smile.

‘This is our warehouse. As you can see, we have to keep it all top secret. Actually, that’s why we don’t advertise or anything any more. Our success is through word of mouth. I take it that’s how you heard about us.’

Adrian made a non-committal face. Dunn eyed him approvingly.

‘That’s good. It’s important to keep things tight. We get all sorts of shit from the powers that be trying to put guys like me out of business. Sometimes we have to bend the rules a bit. But you don’t look like a man who worries about that kind of stuff.’

Adrian half smiled.

‘I am from Sarajevo. When you live through the Bosnian War, you are used to bending the rules.’

‘That’s what I like to hear. I hope we can do business together. What’s your first name?’

‘Danko,’ Adrian replied.

‘Thomas. But people know me as Tam. Self-made. Built myself up from the streets of Glasgow when things were hard, I’ll tell you. Guys like me in Glasgow at that time could have flourished anywhere – Sarajevo, Belfast, Africa. If you’re prepared to take risks, you win. But you have to know who you’re dealing with. It’s all about trust. I hope we can trust each other, because if we can then a lot of things could open up for us in your neck of the woods. For both us.’ he winked. ‘If you get my drift.’

Adrian nodded.

Rosie watched as Dunn took Adrian across to a long bench, where there were already four metal boxes, the lids loose on top of them. Dunn removed the lid from one and pulled out a gleaming handgun, then another, smaller one. He handed them to Adrian, who weighed them and worked at the trigger and safety catch, loaded the clip as quick as lightning. Rosie tried not to look surprised. He said nothing, just nodded approvingly at Dunn. Then he went to another box, and then another, then to the rifles. He examined some of them closely, glancing at Dunn, who was scrutinizing him. The only thing Rosie knew about guns was the business end of them, having had one or two pressed to her head. She stood back as Adrian went through his cache, examining bullets, ammunition and silencers.