Adrian Magson - No Kiss For The Devil

He stood up and stared out of the window. It didn’t help that he did not altogether trust the building’s supervisor, Goricz, who had arranged access to this empty office. The Serbian immigrant had promised that the lease was frozen pending legal complications, and that nobody would disturb them. But he had dealt with people like Goricz before. If they sold their services to one person for a few paltry pounds, they could just as easily do it to another. It was the nature of the beast.

The office door opened and his assistant, Radko, slipped inside.

‘Well?’ Grigori switched on the desk lamp.

‘I checked the briefcase again. There were some notes, which I burned, and a cellphone. I have someone checking the call log through the service provider. The woman called several numbers over the last few days, one of them more than once.’ He shrugged. ‘Could be a friend we don’t know about — setting up a date, perhaps.’

Grigori nodded. ‘Maybe. When will we know for certain?’

‘That we are still safe? A few hours — tomorrow at the latest. Even then, there’s no guarantee that she didn’t talk about what she was doing.’

‘I know. Let us hope she did not. If Al-Bashir even sniffs we are here, he will know why.’ He stared hard at Radko, eyes bleak. ‘He has men he can call on. And I know he will not hesitate to use them.’ He checked his watch. ‘I want to leave in half an hour.’

Radko nodded. ‘I’ll tell the others to be ready.’

The offices of Crichton, Rutter amp; Dean occupied the ground floor corner of an office block just to the south side of Oxford Street. The property consultants shared building space with a marketing company, a film production HQ and a container leasing firm, and were protected by an entry-phone, CCTV and a uniformed commissionaire.

Riley announced their names and the man clicked open the door and showed them through to a reception area with a smart desk and a young woman with a Hermes scarf and a brooding air of boredom. She lifted her chin in query.

‘We’re here to see Mark Chase,’ said Riley. ‘He is expecting us.’

Before the woman could respond, a side door opened and a man in his late forties stepped out with a welcoming smile. He was plump and shiny-faced and dressed in shirtsleeves, pinstripe pants and braces, and had a head of glossy hair peppered with grey.

‘Riley! I spotted you coming in. Nice to see you again.’ His tone was relaxed, educated, the greeting enthusiastic. He looked at Palmer. ‘You must be Frank.’ He waved a hand. ‘Ex-RMP, right?’

Palmer smiled back. ‘And you weren’t.’

‘No, sorry. I was in the Grenadiers for a bit. Managed to avoid you lot, thankfully.’ He grinned boyishly, eyes sparkling, and ushered them into his office. He sat them down, then slid behind a vast, mahogany desk sinking beneath paperwork and files and a large flat-screen PC monitor. A black and white photograph on a shelf behind him showed a group of men in combat uniform posed against an army truck. Another — this one in colour — showed an attractive woman with dark hair, sandwiched between two small boys. Riley had met Cathy, Mark’s wife, and knew she was fiercely protective of him.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a lot of time,’ he said apologetically. ‘We’ve had a rush visit dropped on us by the Foreign Office. A team of Chinese civil servants want to see some office space, so I might have to drop everything and run.’

Riley had explained on the way across town that Mark Chase had been caught on the periphery of a property scam she had investigated a couple of years ago. It had been Riley’s word that had kept him out of prison when a former business partner had left him holding suddenly worthless papers. He had been waiting to pay back her kindness ever since.

‘Mark,’ Riley reassured him, ‘it’s good of you to see us.’

‘No problem.’ Chase glanced at his watch before turning to his monitor. ‘You were looking for this building, right?’ He tapped the keyboard and spun the monitor round to face them. It showed the picture that Riley had emailed him before leaving Palmer’s office. ‘It’s not the greatest picture… poor resolution, I’m afraid. Taken on a mobile — am I right?’

‘We think so,’ said Riley.

‘It’s fine.’ Chase shrugged. ‘Some of our people use them all the time for quick snaps.’ He pulled the screen back round and tapped the keys again. The photo was replaced by a sharper image taken from a slightly different angle. ‘Is this the one?’ He turned it back so they could see it.

Riley and Palmer both leaned forward and studied the screen. The colouring and detail of the canopy over the entrance looked the same, as did one of the stubby trees set into the ground nearby. This time, the name PANTILE HOUSE was clearly visible.

‘How did you find it so quickly?’ said Riley. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘Stroke of luck and a good database,’ Chase replied modestly. ‘I shoved it out on the net and got two replies within minutes. Our data confirmed it. Two of our leasing agents had been there recently and recognised it immediately.’ He grinned. ‘Lucky it was here in London, though. Anywhere out in the sticks and we’d have had a problem.’

‘Where is it?’ Palmer asked.

‘Off Eversholt Street, near Euston. Thirty years old, seven floors, basic commercial property with facilities, parking and part-time suit-and-boot security.’

Riley looked blank.

‘A supervisor in a serge uniform,’ he explained. ‘The rental doesn’t allow a full-time presence, and there’s minimal electronic coverage. Used to be a DHSS office before it was refurbished, but that was years ago.’ His eyes drifted to the screen. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to tell me why you need this, would you?’

‘We don’t know yet,’ Palmer said easily. ‘The photo was sent to us, but we’re not sure why. It could be part of something we’re looking into.’

Chase nodded. ‘You’re a PI, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fair enough. Just interested. Actually, we don’t look after this place any more. We handed it to another company as part of a shared management deal. But I can tell you that most of the tenants are solid and have been there for years. All except those on the fourth floor, anyway. They went bust and legged it. We’re still trying to sort out the legal situation.’

‘Did you say the fourth?’ Riley pounced on the reference to the floor number.

‘That’s right. We weren’t able to let it and so far, neither have the other company. I doubt they’ll do so now, anyway; there’s talk of a developer moving in. They’ll probably knock it down and start again.’ He sat back and looked between them with a knowing eye. ‘You want to get inside, don’t you?’

Riley gave him her best winning smile. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Call me perceptive.’ He scribbled on a slip of paper. ‘I can’t go myself because of this Chinese visit, but if you ring Malcolm Swan, he’ll get you inside. You can pretend to be interested punters.’

‘Can he do it today?’ said Palmer.

‘Sure.’ Chase didn’t miss a beat. ‘What’s left of it. We often do evening viewings. I’ll call him and tell him you’re on your way. He works for the other firm, but he’s a good mate.’ He made a brief call and issued a firm request, then hung up. ‘Okay. All arranged.’

Riley took the slip of paper along with the address details and stood up. The two men followed. Chase came round his desk with his jacket in one hand and gestured towards the door just as his phone gave three short beeps.

‘Damn — that’s my call to arms,’ he said, and opened the door. ‘Late night for me, with prawn balls all round. Can you see yourselves out?’