Free Dead Won't Sleep by Anna Smith Page B

used to pick up the wedge of cash every week in a brown envelope. Plus, they got girls to use.’ She could see McGuire was engrossed. She continued.
    ‘I believe that. These guys might have risen up the ranks in the police, but the bottom line is they haven’t evolved as human beings. You know what I mean? They’re still the same redneck bruisers they always were when they were young coppers, kicking the shit out of delinquents and then getting a blow-job on the way home to the wife.’ Rosie looked at McGuire, who had a wry smile.
    ‘I do like it when you talk dirty, Gilmour.’
    Rosie smiled. ‘C’mon. You know what I mean, Mick. Cops. The police force. It attracts good guys, the oldfashioned Elliot Ness heroes from the movies who want to make the world safe and all that shit, but the very nature of the job means it also attracts bullies. And crooks. That’s always been the way. Bent coppers go back to the beginning of time, it’s part of the culture. The kind of mentality that uses people for sex is part of any institution where there is power. From the clergy to politicians. The list goes on.’
    ‘Oh, Christ,’ McGuire said. ‘We’re on our soapbox now, right? Okay, Rosie, I get the picture. But you realise theywill obviously deny it on a stack of Bibles, so I’m not going anywhere near this unless we can really nail it down.’ His face was stern. ‘Watch my lips, Gilmour. Nail it down.’
    ‘I will. You know I will.’
    McGuire asked about Mags and about her heroin habit. Rosie told him about the girl’s background, and about the child. He seemed sympathetic.
    ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Fine. Let’s get on with it. Just be careful with that girl. And don’t be doing anything daft like giving her money for heroin.’
    Rosie was on her feet now, trying not to look at him. But she knew that McGuire was probably aware she had already done that. She smiled as she turned and walked out of the room. As she passed Marion, she winked. ‘He’s a pussycat,’ she whispered.
    Back at her desk, Rosie sat down and started typing. Over the top of her screen she could see Lamont watching, and allowed herself a wry smile. She went into the toilet where Annie Dawson, one of their bright young reporters was at the wash basin, slapping cold water onto her flushed face. She had clearly been crying.
    ‘What’s the matter, Annie? What’s wrong, kid?’
    She sniffed. ‘Oh, Rosie. I just got the most awful bollocking from Lamont, in front of everybody. I just don’t know if I can do this job any more. I just can’t do anything right.’
    Rosie put her arms around her, patted her back. ‘Oh, come on, Annie, don’t be silly. You know you’ve been doing really well. The subs say your copy’s great. You’re going to be a big star in the future. You’ll see.’
    Annie tried to compose herself. ‘But every time Lamont gets the chance he puts the boot in. This time it was because I didn’t get a picture from the family of the kid who drowned in the swimming pool. But nobody got one. None of the papers.’
    Rosie bit her lip. She had once been where Annie was now – trying to punch above her weight, years ago, when a newsroom floor was a bear-pit of bullies and machismo, and few female reporters ever shone. It had changed a lot in recent years, but arseholes like Lamont still lived in the dark ages.
    ‘Listen, Annie,’ she said. ‘Forget that bastard. He’s going nowhere fast. He’s getting found out quite quickly. The only thing he can do is shout at people. Someone like you, with raw talent, will see a tosser like him off the premises in a few years. Don’t let him get to you. You can’t let him win. Now, come on. Fix your face, then get back out there and get on with your work. You’re better than him. Okay?’
    Annie blew her nose. ‘Thanks, Rosie. Thanks. I really appreciate it.’
    Rosie jerked her head in the direction of the door.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    In the cafe next door to O’Brien’s, Rosie could