Adrian Magson - No Sleep for the Dead

Over by the door, Fortnum started forward, but stopped at a brief signal from Shelley.

‘Don’t start something,’ said Palmer with chilling softness, so that only the man in front of him could hear, ‘that you can’t finish.’ Knowles flinched and went even paler, his mouth opening and closing in shock. He glanced sideways for support from his colleague, as if aware he had gone too far.

Shelley, however, appeared unconcerned by whatever Palmer may have said. He merely cleared his throat and placed a hand on Knowles’ shoulder. ‘Leave us, will you, Stephen? I’d like to speak to Mr Palmer alone.’ His tone was less than gracious, the chill in his voice unmistakable.

Knowles looked as if he might argue, then decided against it and walked over to the door as fast as he could. Fortnum opened it and closed it firmly after him, and turned back with a hint of a smile on his face.

‘Dangerous little bugger, that,’ commented Shelley mildly. ‘Fights all his battles from behind. Political appointee, unfortunately. Place is crawling with them.’ He rocked on his heels and gave Palmer a benign look. ‘I can’t give you any assurances, you know that. It’s not the way we work. But neither can any of this come to court.’

‘It should. Radnor deserves it.’

‘I agree, he does — and more. But it would serve no purpose, mostly because people such as our friend,’ he nodded toward the door, ‘have created an atmosphere where the law is everything, and justice is…well, not what it used to be.’ His lips gave a twitch and he studied his highly polished shoes.

Palmer waited, still not sure where this was ultimately leading. He was being warned off, he knew that; but he wanted to feel there was some point in this. Some quid pro quo. Something told him he wouldn’t have been brought here otherwise. Eventually, he said, ‘So that means?’

‘Leave Arthur Radnor to us. That’s all we’re saying.’ Shelley’s voice was calm and controlled, almost conversational in tone. Yet there was a hard edge to it. ‘Don’t ask questions, don’t push for answers — they won’t be forthcoming. We will deal with this.’ He paused before continuing carefully, ‘I really wouldn’t want to see Knowles take the kind of action he would like to.’

As Palmer stared him in the eye, he realised the man was telling him something. He felt a sudden chill in his gut. It was a message and warning in one. ‘So you have got Radnor.’ He studied the other’s face, but it was now carefully blank. It was answer enough; they already had Michael, he knew that from Charlie. Shelley meant what he said: it ended here.

Shelley smiled suddenly and held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your help,’ he said genially. ‘Please give my regards to Miss Gavin. And you might impress on her the inadvisability of writing a story on any of this.’

Riley tensed as Frank Palmer appeared in the hotel entrance. Another figure hovered momentarily in the doorway behind him, then stepped back into the shadows and was gone.

Palmer stood for a moment on the outside, breathing in the warm air like a man who has been cooped up inside for far too long. He had his hands in his pockets, but Riley could tell he was not as relaxed as he appeared. He saw her waiting and walked across the forecourt to join her, dodging a taxi turning in off the Strand.

‘What did they say?’ she asked, as they walked together towards Trafalgar Square, where the usual crush of tourists was clustered around the fountains, eyeing the pigeons and taking photos in front of Nelson’s Column.

Palmer didn’t answer immediately, but led her across the road to the square and stopped at an ice cream cart. He bought two cones and asked the man to add two sticks of chocolate. He handed one to Riley.

‘Not much,’ he said eventually, when they were out of earshot of the vendor. He lounged against a stretch of guardrail, watching the stream of traffic heading south towards Whitehall. ‘One blustered and bullied, one didn’t. In the end, they did what civil servants always do: they gave nothing away.’

Riley turned to him, her ice cream forgotten. ‘So Radnor gets away with it? That sucks.’ She took an angry bite of the cone, scattering flakes of chocolate and startling an elderly Japanese tourist standing nearby.

‘What did you expect — a happy ending?’ Palmer turned his head and looked at her with a level gaze. ‘Actually, he won’t get away with anything. They weren’t just civil servants.’

‘So who, then?’

‘At a guess, they come from under a stone on the other side of the river — the one with tacky bits of green on the front.’

‘Oh.’ Riley finally understood. ‘Radnor’s old firm.’

‘Yup.’ He studied his cone and licked around the middle. ‘Not the kind to mess with.’

Something in the tone of his voice drew Riley’s attention. When he talked like this, it usually came from the darker side of Palmer’s experiences, the same part which recognised that pragmatism sometimes overruled what normal society might judge to be right and just. Still, for Palmer to find a suit scary was saying something. She let it ride.

Palmer finished all but the nub of his cone, dumping the rest on the pavement, where it was quickly pounced on by a watchful pigeon.

‘You’re not allowed to feed them,’ advised Riley sternly. ‘They’re vermin, didn’t you know?’

Palmer took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers. ‘Give me them any day,’ he said softly, ‘compared with some.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘Well, there won’t be a trial.’ He studied his fingers. ‘What could they charge him with? Treason? I doubt it. Fraud? Who did he defraud — they’re all gone. Theft? Proving it would be a nightmare. He’d die of old age first.’

‘What about murders? The man on the border, and Gillivray and Cecile Wachter?’

‘Says who? The border guards pulled the trigger, not Radnor. And he’ll have already taken care of the men who were with him that night. As for the others, I think Rubinov will cop for them.’ He shook his head. ‘There won’t be a trial, but it doesn’t mean Radnor will get away with it.’ He gave an almost undetectable nod back towards the hotel. ‘They’ll see to that.’

He strolled away and Riley hurried to catch up with him, scattering a handful of pigeons in her wake. As they flapped away, she had visions of a dark night and blurred figures in a bleak landscape, and justice being done. Justice of a sort, anyway. Damn it, this wasn’t right.

‘And you’re happy with that, are you?’ She knew she was being unfair. It wasn’t Palmer’s fault that politics intruded where justice should have its say.

‘Happy, no. But there are some battles you can’t win. Best let it go. Get on with something else.’

He was right, of course, she knew that. She shivered and wondered why it was so chilly in spite of the warm sun. She needed something else to think about. Something lighter and easier and totally mundane, to repel the shadows. Thankfully, John Mitcheson would be back soon and she could stop thinking about work for a while. That would certainly help.

‘So where are we going?’

Palmer gave her a sideways look. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m going for a massage and some kip. This has all been too bloody tiring. I’m not as young as I used to be.’

Riley dug her fingers into his arm. ‘Ixnay, Palmer,’ she muttered. ‘You owe me a dinner, remember? The one you never turned up for? But never mind, lunch will do just as well. In fact, I haven’t done lunch in ages. Or tea. The Ritz for tea would be nice.’ She smiled brightly, determined not to let the day end on a downer. If she did, tomorrow was going to be all the more difficult. ‘How about The Greenhouse?’