Read Online Rough Cut: Rosie Gilmour 6 by Anna Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna Smith
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can clap your hands.’
Rosie headed for the door.
Chapter Eight
It was risky to pursue the girl again when the knockback had been so emphatic. But there was something about Sabiha’s eyes, the desperation, the very fact that she had agreed that Rabia hadn’t committed suicide. All Rosie’s instincts were telling her that she was bursting to talk but was too terrified. McGuire’s words kept coming back to her – that she hadn’t told him anything good yet. It wasn’t that she was under pressure, but she was acutely aware that she wasn’t the only one who was impatient that nothing was moving on her stories. She was as desperate as the editor to get a handle on the background to Rabia’s death, but these days, with the press trying to regulate itself so that they didn’t step over the line, it was dodgy keeping on going back to someone if they’d already said they didn’t want to talk. If they were a criminal you just waded in, regardless of the rules, as long as you were satisfied you could expose them all over the front page for what theywere. But Sabiha was innocent, young and clearly damaged from whatever was going on in her life. Rosie knew it would only take the girl breaking down and blabbing to one of the elders in her family that she was being harassed by a newspaper reporter for lawyers’ letters to start flying all over the shop. You had to tread carefully – even more so with ethnic minorities. I shouldn’t even be here, Rosie thought, draining her coffee cup, keeping a close eye on the newsagent’s across the street. Then she saw Sabiha coming out of the shop. One last shot, Rosie thought. One last shot.
She jumped up, left money on the counter and dashed out of the door and into her car, which was parked just a few yards away. To her surprise, the girl did not turn the corner to take the long straight road up to her house, but she crossed the street and went in the opposite direction. Rosie switched on her engine, turned the car and followed her slowly along the road. She kept well behind her, but could see her cross at the traffic lights, then walk towards the gates of the massive Queen’s Park. Rosie pulled her car in to the side of the road and got out, following a long way behind her but keeping her in sight. She watched as Sabiha went into the park and walked towards the benches around the boating pond. From what she could make out, there was someone on the bench who stood up when approached. A young girl dressed in traditional Pakistani garb embraced Sabiha as she approached. Rosie glanced around the park, looking for somewhere to watch for a few moments withoutbeing noticed. A couple of joggers came up behind her and padded past her down towards the girls. Beyond where they sat, the park was quiet, except for one man walking his dog in the distance and two women pushing prams. Rosie walked on to the grass away from the girls, but where she could still see, and stood under a tree, watching. But she felt edgy. In a place like this you looked conspicuous if you just stood around under a tree. She had to make up her mind, fast. She strained her eyes and could see that the younger girl was crying, her head in her hands. Sabiha put her arm around her shoulder and leaned into her, comforting her. Rosie automatically found her feet taking her towards them. Just do it, she told herself. As she softly approached the bench, the girls glanced up at her and a flash of fear registered in Sabiha’s eyes.
‘Please, don’t be afraid,’ Rosie held out her hands in a calming gesture. ‘Just, please, hear me out. Listen, I can see something is upsetting you. I know you are frightened, and I apologise for barging in. But please let me talk for a moment.’
The girl who had been crying suddenly stopped, looking bewildered, and turned from Rosie to Sabiha. She said something in Urdu, and Sabiha squeezed her arm as though she was reassuring her.
‘What are you doing following me like this? Please.
Rosie headed for the door.
Chapter Eight
It was risky to pursue the girl again when the knockback had been so emphatic. But there was something about Sabiha’s eyes, the desperation, the very fact that she had agreed that Rabia hadn’t committed suicide. All Rosie’s instincts were telling her that she was bursting to talk but was too terrified. McGuire’s words kept coming back to her – that she hadn’t told him anything good yet. It wasn’t that she was under pressure, but she was acutely aware that she wasn’t the only one who was impatient that nothing was moving on her stories. She was as desperate as the editor to get a handle on the background to Rabia’s death, but these days, with the press trying to regulate itself so that they didn’t step over the line, it was dodgy keeping on going back to someone if they’d already said they didn’t want to talk. If they were a criminal you just waded in, regardless of the rules, as long as you were satisfied you could expose them all over the front page for what theywere. But Sabiha was innocent, young and clearly damaged from whatever was going on in her life. Rosie knew it would only take the girl breaking down and blabbing to one of the elders in her family that she was being harassed by a newspaper reporter for lawyers’ letters to start flying all over the shop. You had to tread carefully – even more so with ethnic minorities. I shouldn’t even be here, Rosie thought, draining her coffee cup, keeping a close eye on the newsagent’s across the street. Then she saw Sabiha coming out of the shop. One last shot, Rosie thought. One last shot.
She jumped up, left money on the counter and dashed out of the door and into her car, which was parked just a few yards away. To her surprise, the girl did not turn the corner to take the long straight road up to her house, but she crossed the street and went in the opposite direction. Rosie switched on her engine, turned the car and followed her slowly along the road. She kept well behind her, but could see her cross at the traffic lights, then walk towards the gates of the massive Queen’s Park. Rosie pulled her car in to the side of the road and got out, following a long way behind her but keeping her in sight. She watched as Sabiha went into the park and walked towards the benches around the boating pond. From what she could make out, there was someone on the bench who stood up when approached. A young girl dressed in traditional Pakistani garb embraced Sabiha as she approached. Rosie glanced around the park, looking for somewhere to watch for a few moments withoutbeing noticed. A couple of joggers came up behind her and padded past her down towards the girls. Beyond where they sat, the park was quiet, except for one man walking his dog in the distance and two women pushing prams. Rosie walked on to the grass away from the girls, but where she could still see, and stood under a tree, watching. But she felt edgy. In a place like this you looked conspicuous if you just stood around under a tree. She had to make up her mind, fast. She strained her eyes and could see that the younger girl was crying, her head in her hands. Sabiha put her arm around her shoulder and leaned into her, comforting her. Rosie automatically found her feet taking her towards them. Just do it, she told herself. As she softly approached the bench, the girls glanced up at her and a flash of fear registered in Sabiha’s eyes.
‘Please, don’t be afraid,’ Rosie held out her hands in a calming gesture. ‘Just, please, hear me out. Listen, I can see something is upsetting you. I know you are frightened, and I apologise for barging in. But please let me talk for a moment.’
The girl who had been crying suddenly stopped, looking bewildered, and turned from Rosie to Sabiha. She said something in Urdu, and Sabiha squeezed her arm as though she was reassuring her.
‘What are you doing following me like this? Please.
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