He’d rung Riley before boarding, hoping to catch her before she left for her meeting with Varley, but without luck. He’d wanted to fill her in on what he and Szulu had been up to the previous evening. Seeing Varley in Pantile House — the building Helen had photographed — still wasn’t concrete evidence, but it was as close as he needed to proving that there was a connection between them. Unless it was a massive coincidence.
But Palmer didn’t believe that. The one thing he had learned over the years was that where two or more even vaguely related points of information came together, coincidence could usually be ruled out.
Riley blinked in disbelief as she saw the reverse side of the card Varley’s associate had dropped on the table.
It was a photograph of Mr Grobowski.
Why was he showing her this? The photo had been taken on the pavement near the house. The elderly Pole was walking along the street clutching a plastic bag and a large saucepan. He was probably returning home from the community centre where he served meals for his Polish compatriots.
‘You know this man.’ The voice was flat, disinterested, a perfunctory question to which he already knew the answer.
‘You know I do.’ Riley fought to clamp down on a rising sense of panic. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Miss Gavin, where I come from, if someone does not do what they have agreed, there are not many options open.’ His voice was calm and compellingly soft, his gaze intense and unsettling. ‘Here, you have your lawyers and your courts and the police. We have them, too, but they are not so… quick to help.’ He toyed with the photo, spinning it round and round on the polished surface. ‘Always they need paying. Sometimes lots of money. And they are not very efficient. So, we have been forced to develop other ways… a custom, you might say, of persuading people to do what they have promised. You understand what I am saying? It is simple. And it works.’
Riley felt a tremor go through her. Was she really hearing this? Here, in this elegant London hotel, where tourists were excitedly rushing to their rooms, this… man with the coldest eyes she’d ever seen was quietly threatening her? Worse, he was threatening her through a lovely, harmless old man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
‘Perhaps you do not believe me,’ he continued, in the same soft, flat tone. ‘That, I have to say, would be a mistake.’ He reached in his pocket and produced another photo, which he tossed on the table. It skidded towards Riley. She reached down instinctively to stop it falling off the edge.
This one was of Donald Brask.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Riley’s voice sounded strange, even to her. She desperately wanted to pick up the photo and hurl it back in the man’s face. But she couldn’t.
‘Why? Because I can, Miss Gavin. And because I have need of your services. Of your name on the article that you agreed to write.’ He studied his fingertips. ‘It is what I think you might call the law of supply and demand. I demand and you supply.’ He gave a brief smile, as if demonstrating that while he might have an accent, he clearly understood the subtleties of language. ‘You may resist. You may choose not to believe I will do anything. But in the end, you will do as I wish.’
‘Or what?’ The words forced their way out through cotton wool.
‘Or your friends will suffer.’
Before Riley could say anything, he stood up and moved to stand close to her. He smelled of lavender, and Riley knew she would never come across the smell again without thinking of this man.
‘If you doubt me, Miss Gavin, you should call home. You young people today — you are so careless with things. Especially your pets.’
He stepped past her, patting her on the shoulder as he did so. The touch made her recoil, but he appeared not to notice. ‘Call when you are ready to submit the copy, Miss Gavin. You have the number. We will tell you where to email it. But hurry. Time is running out.’
Riley watched him walk out of the lounge, a colourless little man in a plain suit, possessed of a manner that made her blood run cold.
What did he mean, she should call home? There was nobody there. So why-?
Her phone rang. She snatched it out and put it to her ear.
‘Miss Riley!’ It was Mr Grobowski. She had given him her number in case of emergencies, but this was the first time he had ever used it. He sounded distraught, and her thoughts went instantly to the man who had just left. ‘Miss Riley… you have to come urgent! Please to hurry! I so sorry!’
‘Mr Grobowski?’ Riley was shocked by the agony in the Pole’s voice. His words were little more than a mad jumble, made worse by his heavy breathing, as if he had just run a marathon. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Is Lipinski, Miss Riley.’
‘Cat?’ The old Pole loved the cat just as much as she did. But at least her neighbour was safe. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I so sorry to tell you this things, Miss Riley. But someone, he has shot Lipinski…!’
35
Riley ran outside and saw a taxi depositing a fare. She jumped in and told the driver her address, then sat in mute impatience while he explained cheerfully about a problem on the Underground which had made taxis as scarce as hens’ teeth. Riley ignored him, watching as each street sign and landmark reeled by in horribly grinding slow-motion.
She checked her watch, although time was unimportant, and was surprised to find that it was already past one o’clock. Had the meeting lasted so long?
She dialled Palmer’s number repeatedly, each time getting an unobtainable message. He was either out of reach or his phone was dead. Thinking that word made her cringe inwardly, remembering the threats made at the hotel. But she told herself that the man didn’t know about Palmer, otherwise he would have produced a photo of him, too.
When the taxi arrived at the house, Riley thrust some money in the driver’s lap, and was out and running before he had stopped.
Inside, she found Mr Grobowski sitting on the stairs, cradling his head in his hands. The elderly Pole was moaning softly, rocking gently from side to side.
‘Mr G?’ She knelt down beside him, her heart flipping. ‘Where’s Cat?’
He lifted his head and pointed towards his flat. His craggy face was puffed with anger and sorrow, and he tried hard to meet Riley’s eyes. ‘The vet she is come… I could not take Lipinski to that place-’ He wrung his hands together and shook his head. ‘I so sorry.’
Riley grabbed him by both arms. ‘You did the right thing, Mr G,’ she told him firmly. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to do it, either. Tell me what happened.’
‘This man, he comes to the door. I think he is salesmans, or maybe a religious persons. I tell him we are not interested. But he a buhaj — a bull — and push past me like I not exist and ask where is animals. Without thinking, I say cat is in my flat, but why? He don’t say nothing and go inside.’ He shuddered and took a deep gulp of air. ‘I follow, telling him to get out… and then I see he has a gun. Black and shiny… not very big. I can’t believe it. Then he see Lipinski.’ He moaned softly. ‘Lipinski know he bad mans and show a fierce face. But the mans, he… he just shoot him and walk away. No words… just walking away. And Lipinski-’
Riley turned away and stepped through Mr Grobowski’s front door.
The first thing she saw was a woman in slacks and a blue jacket, kneeling on the floor. Beside her was a black case with the lid thrown open. It contained a variety of instruments, boxes and sterile packs, and a roll of medical gauze, ripped open with one end hanging loose.