Adrian Magson - No Help For The Dying

Palmer closed the trapdoor and led Riley across the roof towards the rear of the adjacent building. Stepping over a series of cables and guttering, he used a key to open another trapdoor set at an angle in a slated roof, and ushered Riley inside. Another set of steps disappeared down into the gloom.

‘How long have you had this bolt-hole?’ Riley asked him, as he followed her and closed the door.

‘Ever since that time I got my office re-arranged with baseball bats,’ said Palmer pointedly, referring to when two former marines were ordered to warn him and Riley off an investigation. ‘It put me off having only one way out.’

Minutes later they were walking down an alleyway between two office blocks and into a small car park, where Palmer kept his Saab. He opened the door and climbed in. ‘I’m a genius,’ he said, turning the key. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is get away without being seen.’

He nosed out of the car park and turned away from the main street, circling the block to bring them up a hundred yards away from his office. Riley kept one eye on their rear while Palmer studied the side streets, ready to take off. There was no sign of the BMW.

‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘You lost them just like that?’

Palmer looked at her. ‘What did you expect — a re-run of Bullitt? This is Uxbridge, not San Francisco.’

He had spoken too soon. ‘Palmer!’ Riley yelled. A flash of movement behind them indicated that the BMW had shot into view from a side road. The men from the arches must have decided to circle round and cover the rear of the property.

‘Got it.’ Palmer nodded calmly and put his foot down, making the Saab engine howl. A horn sounded behind them as the BMW narrowly missed broadsiding a small Fiat nosing out of a driveway, and a flash of lights came from another car as the larger car swerved across the road.

The streets blurred as Palmer increased speed, and Riley decided it was better not to look at the speedometer. Palmer knew what he was doing. She looked back momentarily and was horrified to see the other car gaining on them.

They took a mini roundabout with barely a swerve, the suspension thumping briefly over the low-profile circle. Down a long gradual slope with cars on one side and a high kerb on the other, and round a sharp curve with the faintest hint of tyre squeal.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Riley asked. She figured Palmer had some kind of plan in mind, and would have computed the eventuality of a chase some time ago. It was the kind of thing she had come to expect of him, given his training in the military police and his current line of work. ‘Or is the plan top secret?’

He glanced across at her with a studiously blank look. ‘Plan? What plan? I’m just driving. I was hoping you were going to get the A-Z out of the glove box and navigate us out of here.’

‘Palmer!’ Riley nearly hit him. She dived into the glove box. No A-Z. ‘Where do you keep it?’ She turned and peered over the back seat, but the rear of the car was as clean and tidy as the rest of the vehicle. She turned to face the front again as Palmer steered them round a corner with a gentle hint of a slide, correcting the drift with an easy nudge of the wheel. She didn’t know this part of the world, and had no idea where they could go to lose the men following them.

‘What are you doing?’ Suddenly Palmer was slowing down, allowing the other car to get closer. After the heavily built-up area near his office, they were now driving along an open road with playing fields on one side and large, detached properties on the other, set back off the road.

‘Buckle up tight,’ said Palmer. ‘And keep your head away from the window.’

‘Why? What are you going to do?’ Riley didn’t like the sound of this. When Palmer went quiet, it was a bad sign.

‘See the end of the road?’ he said, and nodded to a line of trees barely two hundred yards away. Behind the trees was a short expanse of green, then a stretch of heavy metal fencing. The road they were on took a sharp right, but was hard to see with the rolling movement of the car.

‘I see it.’ Riley felt sick. She suddenly knew what he was planning.

Palmer hit the accelerator, the Saab jumping forward and catching the BMW by surprise. For a few brief moments they surged away, leaving the other car behind. Then the bigger engine brought it rapidly closer again, and Riley could see the driver’s face quite clearly. It was the knife man from the arches, grim and intent, with the other man mouthing something at him. She turned back to the front and was horrified to see the trees suddenly right in front of them.

‘Now!’ Palmer hit the brakes at the very last second and hauled the car round to the right. Riley just had time to brace herself and avoid slamming into the door as the energy of the turn tugged at her body. The Saab tyres squealed and the car drifted across the road and began to bite into the edge of the verge, throwing up a volley of grass, dust and gravel which hammered against the car body. In the wing mirror, Riley caught a glimpse of the other car trying to follow and failing. The cruel scream of rubber seemed to go on for a long time before the BMW hit the grass. Then came a crash, followed by a grinding noise of twisting metal and glass.

Palmer was already changing down and braking, with one eye on the mirror. ‘You all right?’ he said to Riley without breaking his concentration.

She nodded and kept her eyes to the front, wondering if he was going to turn back. But he showed no signs of stopping. ‘What about them? Shouldn’t we check?’

Palmer shook his head. ‘Nobody else was involved — they went through the fence into an abandoned site. They took their chances.’ His voice was calm and cold. Then he added softly, ‘Don’t forget they had Angelina… and God knows how many kids before her.’

Riley had nothing to say. She knew he was right.

The house where Madge and George Beckett lived was a large Victorian villa situated in a quiet cul de sac half a mile from Chesham town centre. Various owners had added to the building over the decades, giving the place the haphazard appearance of a giant Lego structure. It was screened from the road by a jungle of mature trees and towering rhododendron, and whoever was responsible for the gardens had an obvious laisser-faire attitude to mowing, planting or pruning. The overall effect was dated, yet oddly attractive.

‘Stone me,’ said Palmer. ‘Very Agatha Christie. Margaret Rutherford could potter out at any moment.’

Riley stared at him. ‘Margaret who?’

‘An actress my mother used to talk about.’

As they climbed from the car, Riley felt the tension of the chase beginning to fade. It had been Palmer’s idea to come straight here, partly, he said, to have something to do, partly to stay out of the way of Quine and his friends. Riley had agreed willingly, although she was anxious to see where Katie Pyle had been hiding herself all these years.

She pressed the lower button marked ‘Beckett’ and waited. Eventually, a large, comfortable shape appeared at the front door and a man looked out at them with raised eyebrows. ‘Not more of you — haven’t you finished?’

‘We’re not police, Mr Beckett,’ said Riley. She explained who they were and why they were here. ‘We think it’s possible that the woman you knew as Jennifer used to be known as Katie Pyle. Can we come in?’

Beckett led them along the hall to a conservatory at the rear, where a grey-haired woman with fleshy arms was folding some laundry. The room was light and airy and furnished with cane chairs, and it was evident by the books and magazines scattered around that they spent a lot of their time here.