Free Kill Me Twice: Rosie Gilmour 7 by Anna Smith Page B

them. In fact the pictures so far show exactly what José described when I talked to him that day, before he’d even seen the CCTV. So he’s spot on with his information.’
    ‘I might have to give the guy a job,’ McGuire quipped. ‘He’s shit hot.’ He sat back in his chair, hands behind his head. ‘Of course, using these at this time will be a problem because the cops have taken the CCTV as part of their investigation, so it’s evidence.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Rosie said. ‘Evidence in a Spanish investigation. We need to speak to the lawyers and get the lowdown on how much we can use in this country. But even if we don’t use the pictures, we can still tell the story, say it was from insiders who cannot be named but who witnessed everything. From what I see here, I can get a colour piece out ofBella’s final moments. Not suggesting anything untoward, just that these are the last pictures of her alive.’
    ‘Great! I fucking love it when this happens, Gilmour. Tell your man I’m very pleased with him. And get Tom Hanlon on the phone.’
    Tom was the Post ’s hotshot lawyer, whom Rosie regularly wrestled to the floor when she was fighting to get her more explosive stories into the paper.
    ‘But, Mick,’ Rosie said, ‘We have to work out the impact of using this story at this point. It’s a fantastic line and leaves the rest of the media in our wake, but I don’t want to blow it too early. There might be even better ones to come, maybe even more pictures. I have to talk to José later. He’s keeping his ear to the ground on the police investigation. If anyone can pick up a line, it’s him.’
    McGuire nodded at the picture editor, signalling that he wanted to talk to Rosie alone. Bob left the room, saying he’d have a look at what he could do with the images.
    Rosie’s mobile rang on McGuire’s desk and she picked it up. It was Mitch.
    ‘I have to take this, Mick.’ She walked away from McGuire’s desk towards the window and put the phone to her ear. ‘Mitch? You there? It’s Rosie.’
    Silence.
    Christ! Rosie thought. He’ll be spaced out somewhere. ‘Mitch. Are you there? Talk to me.’
    ‘Rosie. Aye. It’s me, Mitch.’
    Shewas relieved to hear his voice, even if it was thick and slurring. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘Aye, man. No’ bad. Listen, Rosie. Can you come and meet us?’
    A little punch of excitement in her gut. He had said ‘us’. ‘You found Dan?’
    ‘Aye. I got him. He’s not very well and stuff. But he’s all right. I told him about you.’
    ‘Sure. Just tell me where and I’ll come right now. Do you want me to pick you up?’
    Rosie didn’t want to hear the details of what Mitch had told Dan and how he’d managed to get him to agree to see her. She wanted to be off the phone and out to meet them.
    ‘Aye, well, maybe you could come and get us. It’s pishing rain and we’d need to walk to the town.’
    ‘Where are you?’
    ‘Down in the Barrowfield.’
    Rosie grimaced. Barrowfield, a run-down clutch of council houses, was deepest heroin territory. It wasn’t the kind of place you just wandered into. Delivery men had stopped going there months ago, and GPs refused to do house calls, fearing for their safety. Rosie pushed away the memory of her last visit: she’d had to climb out of a bedroom window and make a run for it through the back gardens after some nutcase had held her prisoner, with a slavering Rottweiler watching her every move.
    ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘What’s the address?’
    Shecould hear mumbling in the background. Mitch probably didn’t even know what bloody house he was in.
    ‘Number thirty-six. Text me when you’re nearly here.’
    ‘Okay. I’ll be there shortly. Is Dan with you?’
    ‘Aye. He’s standing right here. By the way, if anybody asks, you’re my cousin, right?’
    ‘Fine. See you in fifteen minutes. Wait for me.’
    ‘Aye, right. We’re waiting.’
    The line went dead.
    Rosie took a long breath and let it out slowly, then