He wondered how much the Ragga had charged her, his pride hoping it was an extortionately high rate.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Send them a warning. Just for starters. No violence, though. Not yet.’
‘Okay.’ Szulu dragged the word out, not sure where this was going. She was asking him to put the frighteners on somebody. He was willing to bet it was the woman. Fair enough. He’d deal with anything more if it came up.
‘But be warned, Mr Szulu,’ she added quietly. ‘I will not tolerate disloyalty. I never have. If you cheat me, if you try to short-change me in any way, I will speak to Mr Pearl.’
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Jesus, this woman and the Ragga? He still couldn’t get his head round that. It was criminal.
‘There’s one thing,’ he said quietly, trying to get his mind onto something more pleasant, and to demonstrate that he wasn’t bothered by her threats.
‘What is it?’
‘What do I call you? Your name’s not really Fraser, is it? Only, I’ve used it a couple of times, and you didn’t reply. I need to know what to call you, right?’
‘How observant of you, Mr Szulu.’ She considered it for a few moments. ‘Very well. You might as well call me by the name Palmer and Gavin know me by.’
‘Which is?’
‘Grossman.’ Her eyes glittered with an unpleasant light. ‘They know me as Lottie Grossman.’
Chapter 14
Riley watched the cat patrol the outer edges of the living room and settle down in the kitchen doorway, eyeing her with a flat gaze. It was the usual ritual if she failed to feed him within whatever he considered the allotted timescale. She sighed and got up, her thoughts still on Palmer and what the latest developments of Gillivray’s death might mean for him. For both of them, really; she had, after all, been in the building with Frank when he’d confronted the man.
She opened the fridge. Damn. No cat food. It was on her list of things to buy. Had been for three days, in fact, although the ever-dwindling supply of cans had clearly proved insufficient to remind her.
She threw on her jacket and grabbed her purse. She would have to go to the corner shop. ‘Okay, okay,’ she muttered, riddled with guilt at the way the cat was now staring at her and following her progress to the door. ‘I’ll spring for something special, if that makes you feel any better. God, you’re such a bully.’
She stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind her, patting her pockets to make sure she’d got her mobile. She could hear Mr Grobowski’s television downstairs, turned up to super-loud, and guessed he was busy cooking tomorrow’s Polish Community Hall lunch while tuned into the soaps.
She was back inside five minutes. As she reached the top of the stairs and leaned to slip her key in the door, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. It came from slightly above her on the stairs leading to the second floor where the reclusive dowager lady lived. Riley opened her mouth to utter a greeting, although without expecting a reply, when she realised the shape was too tall and slim for the tenant upstairs.
Riley felt rooted to the spot, the bag containing the cat food dropping from her hand and rolling across the landing. The man was simply standing there, not moving, not speaking, utterly still. Even though he was in shadow, she sensed him gazing down at her with frightening intensity.
She tried to speak but nothing came, and felt angry and impotent at her failure to respond. Was this the instinct for flight nullified by fear? It was like a dream she’d had as a child, trying to outrun danger, yet treading through what felt like treacle, her legs unwilling to obey, her voice strangled into silence.
Then the man moved. But instead of coming towards her, he turned and went upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. It was enough to break the moment and Riley shouted, something unintelligible and questioning, before slumping to the floor, legs weak and body trembling.
When she looked up again, he had gone.
She was there when Frank Palmer arrived two minutes later and found her slumped against the wall.
‘Riley?’ He knelt by her side and took her hand. ‘What happened?’ She was shaking but otherwise seemed unhurt. He peered into her eyes and guessed she was in shock.
‘A man,’ Riley said softly, pointing towards the upper stairs. ‘He was standing there, just watching me. I came out to get some cat food and… ‘ She swallowed hard and shook her head as if trying to force herself back to reality. ‘Tall, dark… something about his head… I don’t know. Christ, Palmer, I just froze like some silly kid.’
‘Get inside,’ Palmer instructed her calmly, ‘and lock the door. I’ll be right back.’ He handed her the bag she had dropped, then ran up the stairs. The landing was empty, but a slim side window was open. He looked out and saw two stretches of sloping roof, one below the other. He guessed from the height that it was only a small jump to the ground. From there, access to the street was simple.
He locked the window and went back downstairs. Riley had evidently followed his instructions and disappeared inside her flat, taking the cat food with her. He went out the front door and followed the path to the street, his mind already tracking ahead to where the intruder might have come out. He was betting the man was mobile, but even on foot, he’d need a stretch of clear ground to get away from here.
He reached the end of the street and rounded the corner, then sprinted for the next, which would take him into the street running parallel to the one Riley lived in. A man walking a small dog jumped out of his way with a startled shout, dragging his companion with him.
Palmer spotted a flash of movement ahead, about fifty yards away. A tall figure was crossing the pavement. A car door slammed followed by the urgent stutter of an engine. Lights came on and a dark saloon surged away from the kerb, revving hard towards the far end of the street and the eventual safety of Holland Park Avenue, leaving a heavy haze of exhaust smoke hanging in the air.
Palmer slowed, waiting for the car to slip under the glow of street lights. When it did, he noted the number. He also saw something else: the driver, hunched over the wheel, was suddenly outlined by the headlights of a vehicle coming towards him. Around his head was a swirl of movement, too heavy to be loose, yet too defined to be any kind of headgear.
Palmer reached for his phone and retraced his steps to Riley’s flat.
When she opened the door to his knock, she had the safety chain on. She had evidently recovered her composure, anger now replacing the shock. Mostly, he guessed, the anger would be directed inwards for her reaction.
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ he said, as she let him in. ‘He was on your turf right where you didn’t expect it. Got any whisky?’
The matter-of-fact approach seemed to work, and talk of the mundane, such as a glass of whisky, made her drop her air of smouldering fury.
‘Yes, of course.’ She looked at Palmer and shook her head with a wry smile. ‘Sorry — I was about to get stupid for a moment, wasn’t I? It’s just that, he was there and- ‘ She sighed and walked into the kitchen, where the cat was gorging itself and purring contentedly. Riley took a bottle and two glasses from a cupboard. ‘Did you see anyone?’
Palmer gestured with his mobile. ‘Saw him, got the number, phoned it in.’ He scratched his head. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’
She frowned for a moment, trying to compose her rattled thoughts, then nodded. ‘Yes, but it was a terrible line. Not much of it made sense. Why?’
He shook his head. ‘Never mind. I was warning you to be careful about answering the door. I was a bit late. Sorry.’
She poured two generous measures and handed him a glass. Her hand was trembling slightly, he noted, but with a brief tilt of her glass in his direction, she threw it down and poured another. ‘What do you mean?’