Adrian Magson - No Peace For The Wicked

“You must be Miss Gavin. Donald always had an accurate eye for description.”

“Mr Hyatt.” Riley checked his name badge and shook his hand. “Thank you for sparing me the time”

“No problem. He said it was urgent.” He indicated a quiet corner of the foyer and led the way over. “I can only give you a few minutes, I’m afraid. I’m on next. The local Chamber of Commerce seems to think I can enthuse its members on the subject of modern media awareness.” He smiled briefly. “As if they need it these days.”

Riley took the hint and launched straight in. “Mr Hyatt, I believe you interviewed Peter Willis after Bertrand Cage’s murder, is that right?”

“Yes. Only because he was fairly close by and I already knew about his job. We handled a profile about Cage a while back: local mystery man of substance and all that. It didn't go anywhere because Cage’s lawyer stamped all over it and the story died. What can I tell you?”

“I’d like to speak to Willis, but I can’t raise him on the phone. I though you might know something before I go to his home.”

Hyatt raised an eyebrow. “I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground. Peter Willis and his wife are hardly media-savvy. They’re an ordinary couple who’ve found themselves pitched into this thing without warning. I spoke to them before the main press arrived, just after the story broke. Unfortunately, they had a rough ride after that, especially when the television crews turned up. There’s a big difference between a man with a recorder and a van bristling with antennae. In the end they’d had enough. What do you want from them?”

“I’m doing background on the two dead men,” explained Riley. “And I’d like to track down any known associates of Cage and McKee. One of the most recent seems to be Peter Willis. I’m hoping he can give me some colour about their former activities.”

“Such as?” Hyatt sounded cautious, his head tilted to one side.

“Such as what they did, who their friends were… their business partners. Why their past seems to have caught up with them the way it has.”

Hyatt smiled and considered the pattern in the carpet. He nodded and pursed his lips as if making a decision, and it was obvious he’d had time to think about Riley’s visit.

“Okay. Two things, Miss Gavin. You’re assuming it was their past that has a bearing on their deaths. It wasn’t — at least, not in the sense you mean. These men had no past because they had never fully left it behind. All they had was what they had done last. Oh, they might not have been as fully active as they used to be — they were old men, after all — but that didn't mean they were no longer involved.”

“They were still running things, then?”

“To an extent. It doesn’t take muscle to own shares, Miss Gavin. All the front work is undoubtedly being carried out by professional managers. From what I could determine, Cage, at least, still had revenue coming in from a variety of enterprises, channelled through a network of holding companies. McKee would have been the same.” He smiled crookedly. “I tried to join the same golf club as McKee once. When I told my wife what the membership fee was, she threatened to divorce me.”

“Do you know who these holding companies are?”

“Well, I could get the names for you, but unless you’re a corporate or tax expert it won’t do you much good. Most of them are perfectly respectable. It’s not like it was back in the fifties and sixties, you know, when criminals acted as if they were untouchable. A few of them — the Cages and the McKees of this world — learned to take their business seriously and moved with the times.”

Riley looked doubtful. “Well, if their deaths are anything to go by, someone seems to have stuck with tradition.”

Hyatt shrugged apologetically and glanced at his watch as a volley of applause leaked out from the direction of the conference hall. “I’m sorry, Miss Gavin, that sounds like my spot coming up.” He reached into his pocket and took out a slip of paper. “Donald vouches for you, so I’m willing to go with him. This is the hotel where the Willis couple are staying. It’s just down the road from here. They’re booked in under the name of Watson. I can’t guarantee they’ll give you much, but they have agreed to talk.”

“I appreciate that.”

He leaned forward suddenly. “Also, I don’t know how much longer they’ll be there before someone else finds them.”

“What do you mean?” Riley felt a shiver at the sudden change in his tone.

Hyatt looked cautious. “It might be nothing. I had a call first thing this morning from someone claiming to be from one of the broadsheets wanting background on Willis. Address, phone number, stuff like that.”

“And?”

“It didn’t sound right. I know most of the personnel. The dailies have gathered all the local background colour they want — and they certainly know where Willis lives. This one didn't want to give his name so I gave him the brush-off and called head office. They haven’t got anyone else down here other than their normal man, so why they would need to send another body doesn’t make sense.”

Riley found she was holding her breath. If the mystery caller was the killer, and he had managed to find where Willis was hiding, there was little hope of reaching the chauffeur in time. One thing she had learned about these people was that they didn’t waste time.

“Thank you for warning me. Does Peter Willis know?”

“I called him immediately.” He gave her a stern look. “Please be kind to them. They’re not really a part of this — I’d put money on it.”

Riley followed Hyatt’s directions to a neat, anonymous hotel just off the A34 south of Crawley. She went inside and asked to speak to Mr Watson. After a brief call, the receptionist gave her the room number and directed her to the first floor.

A man answered the door, opening it a small way and peering past her shoulder down the corridor. “Can I see some identity?” he murmured quietly, sliding his hand out through the gap.

Riley handed over her passport. He took it and studied it carefully before standing back to let her in. Seeing him properly, she recognised him from the photo in the newspaper library, although he now looked thinner and somehow smaller. He wore a dark blazer and highly polished shoes, and looked ready to go out. Just inside the door were two suitcases.

“Mr Hyatt said you’d be round,” he said, closing the door softly behind her. He sounded nervous, and clamped his lips shut, snapping off the words as if trying to hold in a growing sense of panic. In spite of that, his tone was polite, and Riley felt a momentary surprise. She had expected a degree of annoyance or aggression after what they must have been through.

His wife was a different problem. She stood by the window, hands clasped in front of her in a manner that was plainly hostile. She was plump and homely and wearing a print dress and summer sandals, but there was no warmth in her expression. Riley felt a faint stirring of guilt; she was hardly helping matters by turning up here.

“You know why I’m here?” said Riley quickly, glancing at the suitcases. “Do you have time to talk?”

“No.” Mrs Willis answered immediately, throwing her husband a defiant look. Plainly, this meeting had not been unanimous.

But Willis nodded, trying to smile reassuringly back at his wife. “It’s okay. Mr Hyatt explained. We’ve decided to take a short break,” he said, intercepting Riley’s look at the luggage. “Get a little sun after all this… business.” He indicated a club chair by the television and sat on the double bed, neat in his blazer and shiny shoes, while his wife stood her ground by the window. “Actually, our flight’s been delayed. Overbooking or something. They said they’d call, but it could be quite a while.”