Adrian Magson - No Sleep for the Dead

‘It’s him. But what does that tell us?’ asked Riley.

‘Only that there’s no obvious connection between them and Radnor.’ Palmer looked mystified and added darkly: ‘apart from us, that is. I need to take a closer look at the office.’

‘I doubt that will help. I didn’t see anything that would be a clue… unless you can figure out why a woman named Fraser from overseas would water your pot plant for you.’

Palmer shook his head. ‘Not my office. I meant the one in Harrow.’

In a warehouse on a small commercial estate to the west of London’s main sprawl, the man called Michael stood by a newly-arrived consignment of wooden crates and sipped from a bottle of mineral water. He had just arrived to help Radnor go through the shipment, and report on something he had discovered.

‘Palmer and the Gavin woman are being watched,’ he told him. ‘An old woman and a black. The black has long hair, braided like a girl.’

Radnor sniffed with distaste. ‘They’re called dreadlocks. So?’

‘He was chased from Gavin’s house by Palmer, but he got away.’

‘Interesting.’ Arthur Radnor stared at his mobile phone, which he’d been using before Michael arrived. ‘Maybe an old pigeon come home to roost.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Old enemies, perhaps. I had a contact in the police look at Palmer. A while ago, he was suspected of being involved in the death of a London gangster in Malaga. More recently, he was close by when two men, one an American, died in a vehicle fire. The American was a bogus priest heading a ring of blackmailers. He targeted runaway kids, dug up some dirt, and blackmailed the parents. If they didn’t pay, he killed the kids. The report suggested he was probably alive when he burned.’

Michael shrugged and stubbed his toe against one of the crates, which had been coated in heavy green paint. ‘Sounds as if he had it coming.’

‘Possibly. But on both occasions Palmer was working with the Gavin woman. It means Palmer’s no pushover, and the woman is clearly no shrinking violet.’ He gave a grunt of irritation. ‘I don’t like it. They’re professionals and plainly not frightened off easily. If they come after us, it could ruin everything.’

‘You worry too much. I have it under control.’

Radnor wondered if he did, and felt a twinge of unease. After a lifetime in the deception game, he had developed a mental antennae tuned to signs of danger. Occasionally, the threats had been unfounded. But there had been too many times when he had listened to good effect, and he wasn’t about to dismiss the warning signs now. He was still trying to come to terms with the potential implications of having the police swarming all over the building in Harrow, investigating Gillivray’s death. It wouldn’t take much for them to wonder about the other occupants, and to scratch beneath the surface, which was something he wished to avoid. The Azimtec paperwork and cover were perfectly good, and would withstand most cursory inspections. But experience told him that even with the best operations, there was always a chink somewhere. Michael, true to form, appeared oblivious to the results of his actions, and seemed merely intrigued by unfolding events, as a meteorologist might be curious about the movement of air.

‘We can’t afford to brush this off too easily,’ Radnor said finally, making a decision. ‘Palmer could be trouble, directly or indirectly.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘We should move. Another base, away from Harrow. Let the dust settle. In the meantime, the black and the woman watching Palmer might be a useful smoke screen to keep his attention diverted.’

‘What if they aren’t? What if Palmer and his friend get in our way?’

‘That’s your job. Make sure they don’t.’

From the inside of Riley’s Golf next morning, parked in the same spot Palmer had used on his first survey of the office block, they sat and watched as a procession of police and forensics personnel buzzed around the area. Whatever commercial activity normally went on inside the building appeared to have been suspended, as there was little sign of the usual ebb and flow of corporate visitors or staff, and one or two arrivals were clearly put off by seeing a uniform at the door.

They watched Nobby do a brief tour of the outside, carefully avoiding a taped-off area to one side of the building where the police activity seemed to be focussed. From the concentration and position of the forensics team, Gillivray had fallen from a side window, landing close to the building in dead ground just outside their view.

‘Odd place to jump from,’ said Riley.

Palmer nodded and studied the building through a small pair of binoculars. ‘Especially since the windows don’t look that big. No way you’d fall out of there by accident.’

‘So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘Somebody helped him out.’ Palmer chewed his lip and put the binoculars away.

A police constable left the car park and strolled along the street towards them, inspecting vehicles. He spoke occasionally into his radio, no doubt passing on registration details for vehicle checks. Riley sank down in her seat.

‘If he comes close, I’m not going to snog you, Palmer,’ she warned.

‘Thank God for that,’ Palmer murmured.

Just as they thought they were going to be spotted, the constable stopped barely thirty yards away and listened to his radio, then turned and hurried back to the building.

Riley looked at Palmer. ‘Go on — you’re relieved, aren’t you?’ she accused him. Then she sat up as the rear door of the building opened and the familiar figures of Radnor and Michael appeared. They were carrying briefcases and coats, and headed towards a cab which had pulled into the rear car park.

‘Stroke of luck,’ said Palmer. ‘While the cats are away…’

‘You’re not saying we go in there now?’ Riley checked to see if he was serious. ‘The police are all over the place.’

‘It’s the best time.’ He opened his door. ‘The world doesn’t stop just because one of its low-lifes has taken a one-way ticket to the Great Beyond.’ He picked up a leather dossier case on the way out of the car, and Riley scrambled after him, holding a plain, black briefcase she had been given as a present several years ago but rarely used.

They were stopped at the front entrance by a uniformed officer. ‘Can I ask what your business is, please?’ he queried.

Riley showed him her business card and told him they had an appointment with Azimtec on the first floor. Hopefully, he was unaware that its two main members had just left by the rear door. He studied them both for a moment, then nodded and stood aside.

They approached the desk where Nobby sat waiting, barely managing to control a faintly bewildered expression at their arrival. Across the foyer stood two men in suits, talking quietly. They bore the distinct air of police officers, but didn’t look at the newcomers.

‘Sir. Miss,’ said Nobby, standing up and assuming a non-committal expression. ‘Sign the book, please?’ He pushed the visitor’s book towards them, followed by two badges. This time Riley filled in the spaces using their own names, as the chances of being stopped and asked for ID were too strong. This time they had decided to go in under cover of Riley doing a speculative piece about art imports from the former Soviet Bloc, with Palmer stringing along as an advisor. It might not fool anyone for long, but since it involved half-truths and would be impossible to disprove, it was as good a story as any.

‘You know where to go,’ said Nobby, for the benefit of the police, before sitting back down and picking up his paper. Clearly, said his body language, nothing unusual was going on here. As if to reflect that, the two men turned and walked towards the rear of the building, one of them holding a set of building plans.