Adrian Magson - No Tears for the Lost

‘There have been no demands,’ he said finally, placing the glass on the desk. ‘No requests, nothing. So far I’ve absolutely no idea why they’re doing these things. Or what they want.’

‘They?’ Riley asked.

He shrugged. ‘They. He. Whoever is behind this.’

‘What about the letters. What do they say?’

‘Very little. They’re crude, aggressive and to the point. My life is in danger and so forth. But no demands.’

‘Can we see them?’ Riley wasn’t sure what they could gain from them, but they might provide clues as to the type of people they were dealing with.

‘I’m sorry. They were destroyed.’ Sir Kenneth’s eyes flickered with what might have been embarrassment.

‘Destroyed?’ Riley didn’t need to look at Palmer to know that he was as surprised as she was. Whatever evidence there might have been was gone. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘We thought they were crank letters at first, and dismissed them. It’s not unknown for a person in my position to receive letters like that.’

‘Really?’ Palmer spoke quietly, his eyes firmly on Myburghe. ‘In spite of the chance that it might be serious?’ His tone was edged with scepticism, and Myburghe picked up on it, twin spots of red flushing his cheeks.

‘What are you saying?’ he countered.

‘I’m suggesting it’s odd that Keagan didn’t ask the same question. And a man with your experience…’ He let the words hang in the silence.

Myburghe finally flapped a vague hand. ‘It was stupid, yes, and I should have known better. But Keagan shared the view that it was probably the work of a crank. There are plenty of reasons for them — mostly petty. Someone wasn’t granted a work visa, or was refused leave to stay here in the UK. Or a trade deal went wrong and someone felt cheated. It’s simple enough to take grievances out on the nearest representative — which is usually the embassy staff. Nobody takes them terribly seriously. Anyway, after a while they stopped and I thought that was the end of it. Then the other… things arrived.’

‘What about the final package?’ Palmer asked softly. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘I don’t know. There was nothing on the outer wrapping to indicate its origins. It arrived one morning.’

‘Stamps? Postmark?’

‘Nothing. It was left on the doorstep.’

Palmer chewed his lip, and Riley thought from his expression that he didn’t believe a word Sir Kenneth had said. One thing was certain, however. Whoever had sent the package was close enough to deliver it personally.

Some of this must have communicated itself to Myburghe, because he said finally, ‘I think whoever it is, is foreign. The impression I have is, I don’t know — colourful, if you know what I mean. Keagan has already been through this with me, anyway. And the Foreign Office assigned investigators.’ He pulled a bitter face. ‘Not that they uncovered anything.’

‘Keagan didn’t mention your son,’ said Palmer. ‘Or the details of the package.’

Myburghe lifted his chin again, as if his collar was too tight. ‘Because I don’t wish my son… my son’s fate, to be a subject of general discussion.’ His eyes burned brightly, and the red flush still glowed beneath the thin skin of his face. It was an indication that the drink he was working his way through might not be his first of the day. ‘He’s not someone to be hauled over some investigator’s table and talked about like a statistic. Neither do I wish to have the damned press camped along the drive and dissecting every aspect of our lives in fine detail. I’m sorry.’

Riley watched as he finished his drink with a gulp, and wondered what he would say if he realised that one of what he called the damned press was sitting here right in front of him.

They sat in silence, each staring at the walls, until Myburghe stirred and spoke so softly they almost missed it. ‘There’s no point, anyway.’

It was as if he was admitting his son was no longer alive. It was possibly the first time he’d been able to do so.

‘So why the wedding? Don’t you think it’s a bit, I don’t know… ‘ Riley paused, trawling for the right words.

‘Tasteless? Poor timing?’ Sir Kenneth’s eyes burned and for a moment he looked as if he were about to throw his glass at her. Riley wondered why. Surely people closer to him had already suggested the same thing. But then his diplomat’s training reasserted itself and his face became a blank canvas once more. ‘You could be right.’

‘Actually,’ Riley said calmly, ‘I was going to say risky. All those guests milling around. There will be a lot of unknown faces.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Myburghe raised a hand in apology. ‘Please forgive me. I’m afraid this is all a bit much.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Both my daughters are well looked after. They have people watching them. Victoria, my elder daughter, wanted to postpone the wedding at first, when Christian didn’t come home. She was extremely upset, as you can imagine. She and Christian are — were — very close. But we sat down and talked it through, and felt it would be caving into these… whoever these people are.’ He looked up at them, misery in his eyes. ‘It was a family decision.’

‘And you’ve absolutely no idea who they could be?’ Palmer put in. ‘None at all?’

‘None. I’ve told you. In a life serving this country all over the globe, I’ve no doubt there are plenty of crackpots with a grudge who might have picked up my name and address.’ He gave a bark of disdain tinged with anger. ‘After all, extortion and brutality are growth industries these days, aren’t they? In the end I persuaded Victoria to go ahead. Better to face it rather than knuckle under.’ His chin jutted out determinedly, reminding Riley of a comic book hero facing up to bad news. ‘In any case, if I postponed it, there’s no guarantee they won’t just wait to try again next time.’

Nobody said anything, and Riley almost winced at the pompous tones of British Empire bluff and double bluff bouncing around the room. If Myburghe really thought his son’s kidnappers had gone to all that trouble and would make no demands, or that they would stand by and watch him marry off his daughter without making some kind of statement, he was either deluded or one teacup short of a set.

‘What do you expect us to do?’ asked Palmer, returning the talk to business.

Sir Kenneth swung his way with a look of relief, and it was obvious he’d had enough of being made to face up to his shortcomings. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, Palmer,’ he said at last. The look did not include Riley, but she wasn’t surprised. ‘One or two of your former um, clients, have spoken impressively of your services. Victoria speaks well of you, too, of course.’

Palmer took in the name-dropping without a flicker. But when Riley turned and stared at him, wondering about the last comment, he studiously avoided her eye.

She knew almost nothing of Palmer’s earlier background, or of the circles he moved in. But the one thing she hadn’t been prepared for was that he was acquainted with Victoria Myburghe, the blushing bride-to-be.

Then she became aware that Sir Kenneth had asked her a question.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your background,’ he repeated with a tinge of impatience. ‘Is it the same as Palmer’s?’

It put Riley in mind of being interviewed by a headmaster who didn’t really want her in his terribly posh school, but was having to accept a quota of rough for the sake of appearances. He’d evidently decided that anyone in the security business was impertinent and rude, with the possible exception of Palmer, and clearly a woman wouldn’t be very different.

‘Pretty much,’ she said, with a confidence she didn’t feel.