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?’
‘Of course,’ said Riley. ‘And we do appreciate this.’
He eyed Riley warmly and gave her a quick, no-nonsense hug. ‘I still owe you big-time,’ he told her seriously. ‘And Cathy would kill me if she knew I wasn’t taking you to this place myself. Call me if you need anything else?’
Riley nodded and touched his arm. ‘We’ll be fine. Say hello to Cathy for me — and don’t mention civil rights to your dinner guests.’
They left him to his evening meeting and walked out into the square.
‘So,’ said Palmer, eyeing a darkening sky. ‘Now we know the where. What we don’t know is the why.’
Riley looked at him, sensing the hunter in his demeanour. Whatever he might be feeling about Helen’s murder, Palmer was beginning to gather strength and momentum from everything they learned. It was almost scary watching the gradual transformation. ‘How do we find out?’
‘The only way there is. We go take a look.’
‘What about DI Pell?’ she reminded him, suddenly remembering the detective. ‘It would be better if you called him rather than the other way round.’
Palmer gave a dry smile. ‘Let’s do this first. While I’m still free.’
14
Pantile House in the flesh — or at least, it’s equivalent in concrete and glass — looked even less attractive than the photo images had suggested. Squatting in a hinterland of narrow streets a stone’s throw from Euston Station, it appeared faded and sad in the evening light, a stark contrast to the newer buildings springing up in the area. The tarmac around the outside of the building was liberally spread with litter and pitted with holes from years of low maintenance and heavy vehicle wear, and the louvred shutters at ground level, indicating a basement, were peeling and drab, in need of a good paint job.
Malcolm Swan turned out to be a lofty young man in a dark suit, striped shirt and heavy black brogues. He was waiting for them outside the entrance, clipboard and mobile in hand. The car park was nearly empty, and an air of silence hung over the building. There were a few lights left on, and the whine of a heavy-duty vacuum cleaner drifted out of an open window.