Mitcheson grinned and held her close. ‘Me, too. You’d have probably missed and made a mess of the wall.’
She slapped him on the arm. ‘You rat. You know what I mean.’ She had to crane her neck to look up at him, taking in the familiar easy smile and dark hair, liking the way it curled just behind his ears. ‘You called me your girlfriend.’
‘Did I? Damn. The things I say when I’m under stress.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Was that the bloke you were watching?’
She nodded, embarrassed that she had been followed all the way home. ‘I thought I’d left him at the hotel with Mrs Fraser — or Lottie, I should say — but he must have seen me leave. He arrived too soon after I got back for it to have been a coincidence. Palmer would be so disgusted-’
He put a finger on her lips to silence her, aware that there was a thin line between relief and a sense of reliving events bordering on hysteria. He made her concentrate on saying hello properly, making up for lost time until they were forced to come up for air. Then he noticed the laptop lying on the floor. ‘Is that yours?’
‘Yes. But I hadn’t got anything else to chuck at him.’ Riley disentangled herself and picked up the machine. She switched it on and was rewarded with the usual hum of activity and the opening tunes. ‘Thank goodness. At least I’ve got some notes I can send Donald. That reminds me.’ She picked up her phone and dialled Donald’s number, and related what had happened along with the discovery that Lottie Grossman was back on the scene.
‘Do you want me to inform the police?’ said Donald. ‘I’m pretty sure there are still warrants out for her.’
‘No,’ said Riley. ‘At least, not yet. It sounds like she’s in a bad way, and the man she’s using has been, well, dissuaded.’ She glanced at Mitcheson and reached out to take his hand.
‘Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.’
‘Thanks, Donald. Actually, it might be worth tapping into that database of yours and seeing if there’s anything on Lottie. I think she’s living abroad, but I wonder if she’s got any resources here.’
‘I’ll do it straight away.’ She heard a keyboard being used. ‘Didn’t she once have a house in Buckinghamshire?’
‘Yes.’ Riley gave him the address and said she’d wait to hear from him, then switched off and turned to Mitcheson. ‘He’ll ring back if he finds anything.’
Mitcheson smiled and took hold of her. ‘Let’s hope he takes his time.’
‘If he doesn’t, I’ll never forgive him. How much time do you have?’
‘Enough. Just.’
Behind them, the cat appeared from the kitchen and sat watching, neat and tidy as if Szulu had never intruded. Riley sensed his presence and disengaged herself long enough to turn and say with a smile: ‘Top shelf tea for you tonight, my brave boy.’
The cat sniffed haughtily, before turning on his heels and walking away.
Szulu climbed in the car and stared through the windscreen, eyes on the house where Riley Gavin lived. Apart from the excruciating pain in his arm, he was feeling bruised and humiliated and wasn’t sure what he was going to do about any of it. His options were limited. He knew of a former surgeon who’d been caught playing hide the stethoscope with a patient in an empty operating theatre. The man sometimes took on a bit of back-street work for ready cash and no questions asked, so maybe he’d give him a call. It would cost, but it was better than going to a hospital, where they’d report gunshot wounds the moment he walked in. Before they finished their stitching, he’d find himself pinned to the bed by an Armed Response Unit. No way would they believe he’d been shot accidentally by a drive-by, which had been his first planned explanation.
Oddly enough, though, he felt relieved. Even with the constant threat of Ragga lurking in the background, he’d decided this whole business had gone far enough. No matter what Lottie Grossman said or did, no way was he going back anywhere near Frank Palmer, Riley Gavin or the big lug who’d just put the shot in his arm without hesitation. He shivered, partly through the onset of shock, but mainly at remembering the complete absence of expression on the man’s face as he’d pulled the trigger. Like he was swatting a fly.
He started the car and nudged it into gear with a grunt of pain, then headed towards south London. He’d get his arm fixed, then go back and face the old woman. Whether he’d tell her what had happened in detail was something he’d decide at the time. If she didn’t like it, she’d have to go look for another gofer — preferably a stupid one with a death wish.
Chapter 25
Donald’s return call dragged Riley and Mitcheson apart, and they surfaced with reluctance. Brask had been quicker to respond than they had anticipated or hoped, but he had little in the way of solid news.
‘Sorry, Sweetie,’ he intoned smoothly. ‘Not a lot on the hateful Lottie, I’m afraid. Any interest she had in clubs and so forth seems to be long gone. Her house was finally put up for sale last year following the Spain fiasco, and the proceeds dealt with by her solicitor. I got a name, but thereafter, no joy; client confidentiality and so forth. I think we can take it that she had the money sent abroad and has been living off that ever since. The amount would have been sizeable, I expect, so she wouldn’t have had a problem finding a bolt-hole somewhere pleasant. To be honest, only the police would be able to follow a money trail — if one exists. Apart from that, a woman her age would have fitted in anywhere alongside a retirement-age community of Brits in Spain, France, Portugal or elsewhere, and nobody would have suspected a thing.’ He paused. ‘I take it this is another story? Is there anything in it for us?’
‘It is looking like two separate ones, actually,’ said Riley. ‘I’ll get something to you on all of this as soon as I can.’ She put the phone down just as the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Mitcheson motioned for her to pick up the entry-phone, then went to wait at the top of the stairs.
It was Frank Palmer.
He entered the flat, eyeing Mitcheson guardedly before shaking hands and going through to the kitchen. Riley followed him and brought him up to date about Szulu’s latest visit and the real name of his employer. Mitcheson hovered in the background, saying nothing. It had been a long time since he and Palmer had last spoken, and there was a hint of unease in the air between them, like two opponents meeting a long time after their last match.
‘You shot him?’ Palmer gave Mitcheson a wry look. ‘Will he live?’
‘Of course.’ Mitcheson showed him the gun. ‘It’s only a.22. This time tomorrow he won’t even notice the wound.’
Palmer grinned, knowing that was unlikely. ‘Serves him right. Any flak from the neighbours?’
‘No,’ said Riley, handing him a beer from the fridge. ‘Mr G downstairs had the Polish Symphony Orchestra on at full bore. It would have drowned out an earthquake.’ She sniffed. ‘Palmer, what the hell is that smell? Have you been sipping meths?’
‘Funny, that’s what the taxi driver asked me. I told him it was a new aftershave on test. He lost interest after that.’
Palmer had come in holding a Tesco carrier bag reeking of smoke and petrol. Using his free hand, he unravelled a roll of kitchen towel onto the kitchen work surface, then carefully slid out from the bag a collection of burned papers.
‘Palmer!’ Riley protested.
‘Sorry. I’ll clean up for you afterwards. Those folks at VTS had a big burn-up just after we left,’ he explained. ‘Somehow I don’t think they were just having a little tidy. Fortunately, the bloke setting the fire wasn’t the conscientious sort. I liberated the scorched remains.’
They poked through the papers and found several delivery note copies showing shipments to various customers on SkyPrint paper, but with VTS Transit as the carriers. Other scraps were VTS documents. The same phone and fax numbers appeared on both sets of papers. There were also cardboard and packaging suppliers’ advice notes for bulk deliveries to VTS, but with payment by SkyPrint. Most damning of all, there were several letters from both companies to suppliers, signed with the same signature and the name A. Perric.