The danger, she reflected, was if the police treated him with even the remotest hint of suspicion, based solely on the fact that he had once had a relationship with Helen Bellamy, or if they pushed him too hard in their questioning.
Donald grunted and waved a vague hand. ‘I’ve called, but he’s not answering.’
‘He’s not on a job through you, then?’ Riley knew that Donald Brask occasionally used Palmer for the kind of specialist skills reporters didn’t possess. Palmer’s background in the Special Investigations Branch of the Royal Military Police had trained him in what Brask had once referred to as the dark arts — skills he had used to good effect to help Riley in her work, where danger had threatened something more concrete than a volley of abusive language or a threat of court action by a disgruntled subject.
‘Not this time. He must be on a surveillance job.’
As they were both aware, when Palmer was on an assignment, he gave it his all — including turning off his phone to avoid distractions. Whether performing close-protection duties for a client or their family, or running surveillance on a questionable employee or business contact, he simply dropped out of touch until he was able to surface again. The ability to completely focus on their needs was what made him so valued by his circle of clients.
‘What have you got on at the moment?’ It was Donald’s signal to return to any work in hand. Riley didn’t have to take on the assignments he passed her way, but when she did, Donald could be every bit as engaged and committed as Palmer.
‘Not a lot.’ Donald knew exactly what she had on. He had a mind like one of his computers and could keep track of several reporter clients and their assignments — and give them any data backup they needed. As he liked to boast to editors when the occasion demanded, he was as capable of doing in-depth research as any reporter and better than most. ‘I’ve got two follow-up stories to look at,’ she added, ‘which you know about.’
He nodded. ‘And?’
‘They can wait.’ She paused, wondering how to approach this one. ‘I had a job offer yesterday. I was going to talk to you about it.’
Donald reached for his coffee, an interested glimmer in his eye. He always delighted in something new, and the bigger the better. If it was obscure, he loved the challenge; if it involved people of note, he couldn’t wait to set the wolves running. Getting a head start over the opposition was all part of the game, and made his day that much brighter. ‘Do tell, sweetie. Is someone trying to poach my ace reporter?’
She smiled. He wasn’t joking. Donald believed in protecting his turf like an ill-bred alley cat. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll let you have full details as soon as I can.’
‘I’d appreciate that. Did they give you an outline?’
‘It was an email asking if I’d be interested in pitching to do a profile piece. It’s for a business journal.’
‘Who’s the subject?’
‘They didn’t say. Someone big, though. The fee scale is better than good and syndication is mine to deal with. It’s a rush job, apparently. I’ve got a meeting to discuss it later today.’
Donald looked sceptical. ‘If it’s a rush job, sweetie, then someone, somewhere, has dropped it like a hot, flabby turd.’ He shook his jowls in disapproval. ‘Still, it’s up to you. I wonder if anyone else was up for it? I could ask around, see who might have turned it down.’ The suggestion that Riley might not have been first in line for the assignment, or that she could be even mildly insulted by it, didn’t seem to have occurred to him.
‘They didn’t say.’ Riley knew what was bugging him, and it wasn’t the possibly dubious aspect of the assignment. There was very little Donald didn’t know about in the reporting field, and the likelihood that a high-profile job had come up without appearing on his radar was remote. But if there was one thing likely to sting his professional pride, it was the idea that he might have ducked and missed something newsworthy.
‘I was thinking,’ she continued, before he could get all bitter and twisted. ‘In between looking at this job, I might take a background look at Helen Bellamy.’
‘Why?’ Donald’s tone lifted a notch. He looked at a clock set in a chunky piece of quartz on the sideboard. ‘The nationals will have scoured off the best meat by now. Even if the police get lucky and come up with anything, it’ll be old news by tomorrow.’
Riley knew he was right, but something else was bothering her. There had been an edge to DI Pell’s demeanour which she couldn’t put a finger on. It wasn’t as if he was dealing with a random murder — the fact that he’d called her out to the murder scene was an indication of that. Usually, the police preferred to keep the press as far away as possible until they had something to say or unless they needed media cooperation in turning up witnesses or locating a missing person. She was pretty sure this wasn’t one of those cases. Pell had been too guarded, and the more she thought about it, the more she felt he’d been holding back something important. The answer might be staring her in the face.
And there was the Palmer connection, which she couldn’t ignore, even if she’d wanted to.
‘I’ve got to do something,’ she replied. ‘When Palmer finds out what happened, he’ll be all over it like a tiger shark. I can help give him a head start.’
Donald nodded, recognising the futility of arguing with her. She and Palmer worked well together, each very capable in their separate disciplines. Palmer was tough and resourceful, with all the directness his army training had given him. All were elements which had proved useful in the past. He was also a first-class investigator. Riley was equally direct in her own way — alarmingly so, with her own personal safety often taking second place to a story — but she was steady and relentless, even under pressure.
He was almost envious of their relationship, and had sometimes wondered what would happen if one suddenly found the other’s life at risk. This could be as close as he got to finding out, without either of them being the victim. He felt almost sorry for anyone who came under the spotlight for Helen Bellamy’s murder. Especially if they came up against Frank Palmer.
‘How will you handle it?’
‘I’ll see if I can back-track her last assignments. Helen was really committed to her job. Palmer once told me she’d left him sitting at a restaurant table to go interview someone she was after. Maybe something she was working on went horribly wrong.’
‘You don’t know that. It could have been pure chance. It happens. Maybe she met up with the wrong man.’
Riley shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The whole thing looked so…deliberate. She was working, I’m sure of it.’
Donald gave a lengthy sigh. She was probably right. Not all reporting jobs involved nice, civilised interviews over glasses of wine or cups of tea. There were times when all the usual rules went right off the board. It took people with Riley’s instincts to realise it. Then he remembered something. He rose from his chair. ‘Actually, I may be able to help you. I believe I have details of her last couple of jobs.’
Riley was surprised. ‘I didn’t know she worked through you.’
‘She didn’t. She normally used a Brussels agency. But a couple of assignments came my way with her name attached, so I agreed to use her.’ He waddled through to his office, a large, converted sitting room full of computer equipment, printers, scanners and telephones, which formed the hub of his agency. He ran his fingers across a keyboard and gave a grunt of satisfaction as several lines of text appeared on the adjacent monitor. He moved the mouse and a printer hummed into life on a nearby shelf. He took out the single sheet of print and handed it to her. It contained the name and address of a business magazine publisher near Covent Garden. ‘The editor’s name is David Johnson. I’ll tell him you’re on the way. He owes me a couple of favours. It could be a dead end, but it might turn up something useful.’