Free Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 by Anna Smith

you’d topped yourself.’
    Dan sniffed, his eyes focusing in the dark. He took a breath, but it hurt his chest and he started to cough.
    ‘Fuck’s sake, man. You got some kind of lurgy? You sound like my da before he died of fucking emphysema.’
    Dan stopped coughing and took a short breath. ‘Don’t know. Think I’ve got some kind of infection.’
    ‘You need to go to a doctor.’
    Dan sat up. ‘Aye, fine. Can you just phone my doctor and ask him to do a house call?’ He shook his head, sweating but freezing. ‘I don’t have a doctor. I don’t even have a fucking address, man.’
    Mitch lay down close to him, pulling his own blanket over him. ‘Well, we need to see the doctor tomorrow. We’ll go up to the hospital.’
    ‘I was coughing blood this morning,’ Dan said matter-of-factly.
    ‘Fuckme, man! I hope I don’t catch anything from you.’ Mitch sniggered and snuggled in. ‘Come on. Back to sleep.’
    *
    From the park bench in Glasgow Green, Dan and Mitch watched the customers come and go into the People’s Palace, an elegant city landmark straddling the line between the prosperous city centre and the run-down East End. They’d attempted to go into the cafe in the Palace’s Victorian glasshouse for breakfast an hour ago, but were turned away at the door by a receptionist who could tell a mile off they were a couple of junkies. They’d bounced away with a one- finger salute, and headed for the cafe off London Road that served the best Coca-Cola iced drinks. They’d smoked some heroin in one of the boarded-up squats in the Calton, after Mitch had returned triumphant from Argyle Street with a padded jacket he’d shoplifted for Dan.
    ‘It’s nice this,’ Dan said, admiringly running his hand down the sleeve. He zipped it up to the neck and sat back, his face upturned to the sun. ‘Feels really warm.’
    ‘No worries, Dan. I don’t want you peggin’ out on me.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Listen, mate. I’ve got something I want to talk about.’
    Dan turned to him, blinking one eye against the glare of the sun. ‘Aye? What?’
    ‘It’s about your sister. Bella.’
    Dan said nothing for a while and they sat in silence. Then he looked at Mitch. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Doyou really think somebody might have shoved her off that roof in Madrid? Like, murdered her?’
    Dan sighed. He put a hand into his jacket pocket, took out a cigarette, lit it, and coughed as he inhaled. He spat on the ground.
    Mitch leaned forward. ‘There’s fucking blood in that, man!’
    Dan sniffed and composed himself, taking another draw. ‘I know. Fucking hurts too.’ He took a few shallow breaths, then turned to Mitch. ‘Aye. I do think somebody killed Bella.’ He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘But listen, Mitch. Nobody knows she was my sister. That’s how it was, how it had to be between us.’
    ‘How come?’
    ‘It just did, right? Bella . . . I didn’t see her for twelve years. She was already famous when she found me. I was a fucked-up wreck, a junkie. That’s why.’
    Dan could still picture the moment he’d seen Bella after they’d been apart since he was nine years old. The image gave him a physical pain in his heart. He stared straight ahead.
    ‘Listen, mate. I want to tell you something. Er . . . I don’t want you to get mad at me. It was after that day when you saw the paper and collapsed and stuff. I was really shocked. And, well, I talked to somebody.’
    Dan shifted his body to face him. ‘What? You fucking told somebody? Fuck me! Who?’
    Aftera few beats, Mitch answered: ‘A reporter. From the Post. ’
    It took a few seconds to sink in. Then he leaned back, looking up at the sky.
    ‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, man! You spoke to a reporter? Are you fucking kidding me? What if the papers find me? That can’t happen. It’s too dangerous.’
    Mitch was confused. ‘What do you mean, too dangerous?’
    ‘Just is.’ He shook his head. ‘Listen, Mitch. There’s