Michael shrugged. ‘Well, not for me, exactly. But somebody just hit it and I thought he’d like to know. I work downstairs, by the way. Nasty scrape… such a pity with a beautiful car like that.’
The girl’s mouth made an ‘O’, and she bent and pressed a button on the switchboard panel. When a gruff voice answered, she said, ‘Doug? There’s a man here from downstairs, name of…?’ she looked up at Michael expectantly.
‘It’s Mike,’ he said.
‘His name’s Mike, and he says somebody’s hit your car.’
There was a muffled curse, and she put the phone down and looked at Michael with a grimace. ‘Oops, doesn’t sound like he’s too happy. He loves that car.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Michael sympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t be happy, either.’
Seconds later, a short, stocky man bustled into the reception area, his face thunderous and ready for trouble. He was dressed in a flashy suit and a loud tie, which seemed to fit with Michael’s idea of the over-optioned vehicle in the car park downstairs. ‘What’s this about my car?’ he demanded, and fixed Michael with a suspicious glare. ‘Who hit it — did you see?’
Michael deflected the none-too-subtle accusation with ease, wondering if the man knew how, in other circumstances, he would have received immediate retaliation. However, he’d been prepared for this reaction; it made what he’d planned all the more enjoyable. ‘I’m afraid not. I just noticed the damage, that’s all. If it was my car, I’d want to know about it.’ He smiled sympathetically, and wondered how long it would take for the receptionist to decide to go home. ‘I could show you, if you like? Maybe act as a witness for the insurance claim.’
Gillivray looked surprised by his generosity, but nodded eagerly. ‘Sure. Why not? Let me get my jacket.’
‘Doug.’ The receptionist stepped forward and pointed to her watch. ‘Do you mind if I go? I’ll miss my train. Everybody else has gone.’
‘Of course. You go,’ said Gillivray, flapping a vague hand. ‘I’ll lock up, don’t worry.’ He turned back to Michael. ‘Hang on, will you, um… Mike?’
‘Sure.’ Michael smiled easily. An empty office, no witnesses. This was going to be easier than he’d thought. ‘Take your time — I’m in no hurry.’
He stepped across to the door and opened it for the young woman, then closed it carefully behind her. He waited until she stepped into the lift and the doors closed, then he turned and followed the stocky figure of Gillivray along the corridor.
Chapter 10
The man whose name and phone number Riley had found on a card in Palmer’s Rolodex was waiting for her in the foyer of the Mandeville Hotel, just off Wigmore Street in London’s West End. Charlie, who did not offer his surname, was a former army colleague of Palmer’s. Riley had never met him before, but his appearance fitted his own description: pale, thinning and out of condition, all brought on by too much work, a killer mortgage and a serious lack of sunlight, something which went with his job as a civil servant. She was aware that his job description wasn’t quite as bland as he made out, and that he had some connections with the security authorities, so was therefore to be approached cautiously. But he was a friend of Palmer’s and that was enough for her.
He had agreed with a mild show of reluctance to meet her for coffee, but on the condition that it was away from his normal place of work in Whitehall. Riley recalled Palmer once describing his friend as one of the Ministry of Defence’s tunnel rats working in military records, and therefore security-conscious by instinct and training rather than paranoia.
She knew Palmer had once used him to check on some military personnel records when they had first worked together investigating a gangland feud. The men involved, all ex-soldiers, had been recruited by John Mitcheson, then a former officer, who had unwittingly been used by the men when they were caught up in a smuggling racket in Bosnia. It had been Mitcheson’s speaking up for them that had ended his promising career, although it had not stopped him helping them again when they needed jobs outside the confines of the army.
She shook her head and focussed on the here and now. There were other things to worry about, like finding Palmer. She nodded at Charlie and sat down across from him.
‘Miss Gavin.’
‘Call me Riley, please.’
He was about to speak, but stopped as a couple of guests dropped into armchairs just across the foyer within earshot. He glanced towards the door and gestured behind him. ‘There’s a bar in back. It’s quieter there. We can talk.’
Riley followed him through to a bar, which was deserted except for a yawning young man in a waistcoat and black uniform trousers, polishing a wine glass with a cloth. He clamped his mouth shut with a muttered apology and put down the cloth and glass.
Charlie looked questioningly at Riley, who said, ‘Coffee, please. I need the caffeine.’
He placed their order and joined her at a corner table. He sat facing the doorway, then leaned on his elbows and looked at her. ‘Frank speaks very highly of you. What’s up?’
Riley was surprised by his directness, but appreciated him getting to the point. It was better than going round the conversational houses and wasting time on banalities. It also sounded about as close to approval as she could get.
‘I might be jumping the gun,’ she began, already feeling foolish at dragging Charlie away from his desk. ‘But I’m worried about Palmer. I’ve been trying to get hold of him for a couple of days, but his mobile’s switched off. I’ve checked his office and flat, but there’s no trace of him.’
Charlie sat back as the bartender brought a pot of coffee and put it on the table, along with milk and sugar. When he was out of earshot, the former army man said, ‘Could be he’s on a tricky job. You know Frank — he goes into operational mode sometimes. Or maybe he’s got a new girlfriend. It happens — even to Frank.’
‘I’d have known. Believe me.’
Charlie poured coffee for them both and stirred sugar into his own cup. She caught him taking a surreptitious glance at his watch. ‘What makes you think there’s anything to worry about? He’s been okay otherwise, hasn’t he? Not ill, I mean?’
Riley bit back a retort that she wouldn’t be wasting her time here if she thought he was lying in a hospital somewhere. Charlie, after all, was merely reacting the way any reasonable person would. Which, on the face of it, was more than she was doing. And how many days had Palmer been out of contact? She shook her head doggedly. ‘I’d have known about that, too.’ When he looked doubtful, she explained, ‘Love and illness to some people aren’t very different. Anyway, Palmer’s not that much of a dark horse. If he was unwell, I’d have spotted it. He’s a man, and you lot don’t hide your problems as well as you think.’
Charlie grunted good-naturedly. ‘Point noted. So what do you know for sure?’
She told him about her visit to Palmer’s flat, which revealed he had not checked his mail recently. She also described her impressions of his office. ‘I got the feeling someone had been in there recently. Someone other than Palmer, I mean.’
Charlie looked sceptical about both, but she sensed he was wary of upsetting her by being too dismissive.
‘Palmer doesn’t do horticulture,’ she said, after describing the state of the pot plant. ‘He’d only water that damned thing if I was standing over him with a gun. Yet the soil was wet, and someone had cleaned up afterwards. I know you army boys can be fastidious, but this is Frank we’re talking about. And he doesn’t employ a cleaner.’
He said nothing for a long while, idly drumming with his thumb on the table. ‘Okay. So he hasn’t been home in a while, nor checked his mail. He’s not at his office, yet he’s either broken the habits of a lifetime by watering a pot plant you bought him, or somebody did it for him while he’s away. Is that it?’
Riley felt ridiculous hearing it laid out in such stark terms. ‘God, you make it sound so wet. I’m sorry.’ She began to think that she’d been too quick to cry wolf. What the hell was Charlie going to say to Palmer when they met up next?