Adrian Magson - No Peace For The Wicked

She tested her bindings and felt a rush of pain in her wrists. She swore silently, which did nothing to lessen the agony but made her feel better. She shifted over to the side of the bed and swung her feet onto the floor, kicking aside some of the rubbish. Among the papers on the carpet she saw a red passport. She eased off one shoe and flipped the passport open.

The man looking up at her had been featured in the local paper a couple of day ago. Jerry Bignell. She was in the dead man’s bedroom.

Palmer’s first and only concrete location to look for Riley was the Villa Almedina. In spite of Mitcheson telling him Lottie had counselled against taking Riley there, he couldn’t think of anywhere else to begin. At least the Villa’s residents would all be at the Palacio meeting. That left just Ray Grossman alone in his room, with possibly the nurse somewhere near. Palmer decided he would look there first for McManus, and meet Mitcheson outside the Palacio if the gunman or Riley failed to turn up. He didn’t like having to trust Mitcheson, but he believed the man’s concern for Riley was genuine. Whether that concern would stand up if Palmer or Riley posed a threat to the group’s plans, he didn’t want to find out.

As soon as Mitcheson left for the Palacio, Palmer drove along the coast road and found a parking area within sight of the turning to the villa. He pulled in, turned off the engine and settled back to wait.

When he reasoned it was safe to assume the group had left, he drove up to the villa. His knock on the door received no answer, so he walked round to the back and tried the patio door. It slid open smoothly and Palmer sent up a prayer of thanks to the God of Carelessness and listened carefully. The only sound was some music playing softly in the depths of the house.

He stepped across to the hall door and listened. The music was louder and seemed to be coming from a corridor to his right. He crossed the tiled hallway and checked through a slit window overlooking the front steps and the drive. There were no cars in sight. Unless McManus had walked from the hotel with Riley slung over his shoulder, it didn’t look like the thug was here. Unfortunately, that left several thousand other places to search.

Palmer followed the sound of music, sticking carefully to the carpet down the centre of the hall. There was a smell of soap and medicines in the warm air, and he guessed there must be a bathroom along here somewhere.

He was just edging past an open doorway when he stopped dead, his breathing suspended. A man was lying on a bed inside the room, looking right at him.

Riley jumped as the bedroom door opened and McManus entered. In one hand he carried his gun, in the other a roll of electrician’s tape. He approached the bed and looked down at her, his eyes dull but hostile. “You haven’t tried escaping yet, then? I’m disappointed. I thought we’d be having a bit of a chase.” He reached forward with the gun barrel and lifted the hem of her skirt. When Riley wrenched her legs away he laughed with indifference. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he grunted, checking her bindings. “I ain’t that desperate.” As he breathed over her she recoiled. He’d been drinking heavily.

She stared up at him with a look of loathing. “Why are you doing this?”

He said nothing for a moment, but there was a taunting expression on his face.

“What’s the matter? Pissed off ‘cos soldier boy ain’t turned up to rescue you?” He leaned over her again and said softly: “He’s been feeding you information, hasn’t he? Letting you in on all our tiny little secrets.” He reached down and rested the tip of the gun barrel against her cheekbone, then ran it very slowly around her face, first one way then back the other, scoring the metal into her skin in a way she found obscene and terrifying. He stopped for a moment, studying her without blinking, his breath hot and close. Then he pulled the gun barrel down her cheek and inserted the tip into her mouth, the cold steel clicking against her teeth. Riley gagged, the taste of gun oil heavy and musky, and tried to pull her head back, but there was nowhere for her to go. She closed her eyes tight and tried not to let out the scream that was building inside her.

“Well, no more,” he said suddenly and stood up, leaving her shaking and nauseous with the ghost of the cold metal still vivid on her flesh. “No more.” He began pacing round the room, tapping the barrel of the gun on various objects with a casual flick of his wrist. Chink . A small china dog shattered into fragments. Chink . A glass photo frame split and fell to the floor. Chink . A dirty cup broke in half. Chink . A plastic lighter frosted and issued a hiss of escaping gas.

Chink.

Chink.

Chink.

Riley opened her eyes and watched him warily. The big man was behaving in an increasingly unstable manner, fuelled as much by drink as whatever inner emotions drove him, and she was powerless to stop him. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she protested. “What do you want?” She had to keep him talking for as long as possible — to stop him from going after Mitcheson and to give her a chance to work out a way of escaping before he lost it completely.

“Nice try, that. Almost innocent.” He approached the bed and glared down at her, breathing heavily. “ You think I’m stupid? ” he shouted. Then he stepped back again, looking confused. He stared at the wall, frowning and scrubbing furiously at his face with the back of his hand. “Something I was supposed to do,” he muttered. “Call someone…let them know…” He spun round, eyes scouring the room and sweat springing out on his face. The heat was making him more agitated and Riley felt a sudden charge in the foetid atmosphere of the squalid room, as though a powerful force had intruded and was hanging in the air around them. Then McManus seemed to come to. He shook himself and peeled off a strip of the electrical tape from the roll he carried, ripping it with his teeth. Leaning forward, he put the gun barrel to the side of Riley’s head and applied the tape across her mouth. Satisfied it was securely in place, he walked to the door. “Just so you don’t try screaming for the neighbours. Not that they’d come running, exactly. Don’t go away, will you?”

His footsteps shuffled away and she was left to the stifling heat of the bedroom and the nightmare certainty that if her nose became blocked, she would suffocate within minutes.

Frank Palmer didn’t like upsetting people, but he was in a sour mood. He sat in a small café across the street from the Palacio, waiting for Mitcheson to emerge. He ignored the dagger looks from a large woman at the next table, who was grumbling loudly about secondary smoking, and puffed at his cigarette. He was too busy going over the millions of places McManus could have taken Riley Gavin to worry about disapproving tourists.

He tensed when he saw Mitcheson come out of the Palacio’s entrance and stand on the pavement. With him were the two men he recognised as Doug and Howie, and for a second his stomach lurched at the thought that Mitcheson had set him up. He was about to rise from his seat when Mitcheson nodded to the other two and they turned away and walked away down the street.

When they were out of sight, Mitcheson crossed the street and entered the cafe where Palmer was sitting. He grinned at the tense expression on Palmer’s face. “Sorry if that gave you a scare. I couldn’t just walk out — they’d have been curious.” He ordered lemon tea from the waitress, then looked at Palmer. “We need to give them time to get clear.”

“Have you heard from McManus?”

“No. He hasn’t reported in yet. Any luck yourself?”