NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED (Gavin & Palmer)

by Magson, Adrian

  At the Villa Almedina, a large, black Lexus purred through the gates. The man in the back told the driver to park facing back down the drive. As he did so, the front door of the villa opened and a young man emerged. At the same time, two more men appeared at the corners of the house and stood watching as the vehicle crunch to a stop. Those in the car recognised the men for what they were.

  A slim, darkly tanned man emerged from the front passenger seat and stood waiting. He made no move to open the rear doors, his eyes settling bleakly for a moment on the thin belt of trees near the road. He gave a light tap on the bodywork of the car, and moments later, the man in the back climbed out. Andre Segassa nodded at the three men in turn. Professional to professional.

  The young man held the front door open and gestured for the new arrivals to go inside.

  “Mr Segassa,” Lottie Grossman greeted the drug-dealer. She shook his hand and indicated that they should follow her. As they passed across the hallway, Segassa glanced to one side and saw a man sitting hunched in a wheelchair at the end of a tiled corridor. He paused momentarily, then walked through the front room and out onto the patio, noting as he did so that the two men had followed them from the front of the building and were watching him and his companion closely.

  “So,” Lottie smiled, pouring soft drinks from a vacuum jug into tall glasses. “Can we begin negotiations?”

  Segassa nodded and took a glass. “Of course, Mrs Grossman. As long as all the terms are satisfactory, my colleagues are happy to talk with you. I will act as intermediary.”

  “I’m so pleased.” Lottie took a sip of her juice and tapped a painted fingernail on the side of her glass. “Such a pity about your man’s accident with my dog. Did I tell you I have another one on order?”

  Segassa was momentarily taken aback by the bleakness of her words. Where he came from, life was cheap and liable to be snatched away on the whim of man or nature. Yet he could not recall having ever come across a woman before who seemed to value a dog higher than a man... and in the end rate neither of them as anything more than a commodity to be replaced like a broken light-bulb.

  He sipped his juice and wondered if it was all an act. Fear sometimes made weak people puff themselves out like cockerels. Yet there was something different about this woman. Something indefinable. Maybe she was just crazy. Crazy people, in his experience, were the very worst to deal with.

  “Hello, John.” Riley walked past Mitcheson into the room, wondering if this had been a good idea. She wasn’t expecting any heavies to leap out of the wardrobe, but she knew Palmer was partly right in his suspicions, and that Mitcheson was more involved than she would have liked.

  “Riley.” He closed the door behind her. “Care for a drink?”

  His eyes briefly scanned her figure in the sun-dress she had put on before leaving the hotel, and she remembered with a warm blush how he had seen in her in much less.

  She sat down in a club chair away from the window. It seemed safer somehow, even this far above the street. “Please.” She watched him pour two glasses of white wine. He had an economy of movement, as if he didn’t wish to waste energy unecessarily. He handed her a glass and lifted his own.

  “Are we celebrating something?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I wish we were. But it’s not like that. I…” he gestured with a vague wave of his hand and ran out of words.

  “So why don’t you tell me how it is, then?” Riley was surprised by her own calmness. Was it foolishness on her part or did she feel deep down that this man meant her no harm? “Like, why has this man - McManus? - been told to kill me?” Her voice stuttered on the final words. She hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to say it.

  “Because you got involved, and the business in London.”

  “What business?”

  “McManus was the one who broke into your flat. He’d picked up your business card from one of the men you visited. Cook, was it? Anyway, he must have seen a photo of you. When he saw us together he started to make connections. He couldn’t be sure if you and I were working together, so he made do with putting the poison in with his bosses. I tried to head them off, but they weren’t having it. In their line of work, they tend to see things in black and white.”

  “They?”

  “Lottie Grossman and her husband, Ray. And McManus.” He stared into his glass. “I think one of my men has been dragged in, too. Maybe all of them.”

  “Your men?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a long story. It’ll keep.”

  “So what are they getting into? Drugs? Is that why Bignell was murdered - to get him out of the way so they can take over?”

  Mitcheson put his glass down and walked across to the window, shaking his head. “You’ve got to stay out of this, Riley,” he said quietly. “It’s dangerous and getting worse… and not just from the Grossmans. There are others involved now.”

  “What others? Bignell’s Moroccan contacts?”

  He turned and looked at her, clearly surprised by how much she knew. He didn't deny it, she noticed.

  “McManus will soon find out you’re not in London, and when he does he’ll come back looking for you. It won’t take him long to track you down. He’s no Einstein, believe me, but he’s got strong instincts and he uses them. It makes him very good at what he does.”

  “And what’s that, exactly?”

  “He hurts people. And he kills them if he has to.”

  Riley felt a shiver of apprehension. “Like that Rottweiler.” Riley could have bitten her lip the moment she uttered the words, but Mitcheson didn’t react. He must have already worked out that she’d been out to the villa.

  “Like the Rottweiler,” he agreed eventually, with an expression of distaste. “The only difference between them is, I don’t think the dog enjoyed its job quite as much.”

  Chapter 31

  He spoke of the dog in the past tense, Riley noted. She hoped it had managed to get a bite or two in before the gunman had killed it. With Lottie Grossman as its owner, the poor animal hadn’t had much of a life.

  “What do they hope to gain by the killings?” Riley asked. “Most people would know it would draw too much attention.”

  Mitcheson turned back to the window and shrugged. “You’re talking about normal rules,” he said grimly. “Normal rules don’t apply to this lot. There’s a ton of money out there waiting to be grabbed, and they want their share. In fact, the way Lottie sees it, it’s essential.”

  “What for?”

  “Ray Grossman’s dying. I don’t know how he’s hung on so long. They were advised to get him to a warmer climate, which is why they bought the villa. But with a visiting nurse and the medicines, they need more money to keep him out here. If he goes home he’ll be dead within a week.”

  Riley’s mouth was dry. She felt he wasn’t telling her everything, but trying to force the issue probably wouldn’t work. Instead she changed tack. “What about you?” she asked coolly. “You could get out. Leave them to it.”

  “I can’t do that. Not yet.” He spoke with an air of finality.

  “Why? What do you owe them?” She stood and walked across the room. “And what do you mean, not yet? John, why are you even involved with these people? I can’t understand it. Something tells me this isn’t you… not the real you, anyway.”

  He swung round, the movement bringing them within inches of each other. Riley was so close she could see her own reflection in the depth of his eyes, like a portrait in miniature looking up at him.

  “I can’t explain,” he said simply. “It’s…it doesn’t make much sense to a-”

  “To a what? A woman? Oh, please.”

  “To an outsider.” He looked away from her, shaking his head. “I feel a… a responsibility to the men.”

  Riley stared up at him. “You’re right - I don’t understand. They’re men, that’s all. Grown men at that. They can think for themselves, can’t they?” Then she realised what he was hinting at: they were all ex-ar
my. “Honour? Is that what you’re saying? You feel you’d be betraying them if you pulled out? For heaven’s sake, John, that’s insane!” She put out her hand and rested her fingertips on his chest, instantly aware of the beat of his heart and the warmth of his body through the thin shirt. Suddenly he was holding her, and she swallowed and closed her eyes, finally giving in and moving against him. Their bodies touched and she heard a brief moan as their lips met. She responded, her body moving hungrily against him in spite of herself.

  Mitcheson’s hands pressed against her bare back where the sun-dress was cut low, and she felt his fingers spread wide across her skin. One hand slid lower, caressing the swell of her buttocks, while his other hand moved up to her ribcage, sliding up and round with a whisper against the fabric of the dress until he was gently cupping her breast. She felt herself respond to his touch.

  Then, as the last vestiges of her resistance began to slip away, her mind flashed back to the image of the man in the trees, and the dog, followed by the snapping of branches. In that instant, the moment was gone, the passion and hunger draining away to be replaced by the shocking reminder of what this man was involved in. She pulled away, her hands flat against his chest. “No!” she said sharply, pushing his arms down. “John, no.”

  He looked surprised as she stepped away, his hands reaching for her. For a second he seemed about to protest, then his eyes cleared.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his words slurred with passion. “I thought you- ” He shrugged helplessly.

  “Me, too,” Riley muttered, and walked past him to the door. She felt guilty for having succumbed briefly to the temptation, but oddly, felt even worse for pulling back. “But this is impossible.”

  “Only if you let it.” His voice was bleak.

  “It’s just… all those deaths.” Then she remembered Benson’s sudden disappearance that morning. “Did your men take Benson away and kill him, too?”

  Mitcheson looked blank. “Benson? I don’t know any Benson.” He shook his head. “If it’s any consolation,” he continued, “none of the ones who’ve died were nice people.”

  “Maybe not,” she said. “But doesn’t it bother you that so casually getting rid of people who are in the way has an inevitable outcome?”

  His eyes flickered for a moment. “What’s that?”

  “That it might not be long before someone decides it’s your turn… or mine.”

  Frank Palmer stood in the gloom of a laundry room at the end of the corridor and watched as Riley stepped outside and closed the door of room 1221 behind her. He breathed with relief as she walked away and disappeared down the stairs. She seemed to have come to no harm, although she appeared flushed. Maybe Mitcheson had tried something on and she’d had to knee-drop him on to the carpet. The thought brought a smile to his face. Serves the bastard right for sending those two goons to smash up my computer...

  He heard the clank of a cleaning trolley and decided it was time to go before a maid found him in here and screamed the place down. If Riley knew he’d been watching here watching over her instead of at the villa, she’d throw seven kinds of a fit. He stepped out of the laundry room and walked along the corridor towards the emergency stairs at the far end. As he did so, the door to room 1221 opened and Mitcheson emerged. Palmer instantly fought down a wild instinct to turn back, and hoped the ex-soldier still didn’t know what he looked like.

  Their eyes met briefly and Palmer felt himself being scanned and noted. But if Mitcheson saw anything in his face he didn’t show it. Palmer heard the lift button being thumbed impatiently behind him and grinned to himself. Definitely a case of a knee-drop. That must have put a serious kink in his plans.

  He passed through the emergency door and ran down the bare concrete stairs to the ground floor, where he emerged through a single door into the reception area. If he drove like a maniac, he might just get to the villa before Riley. If not, he was going to have some explaining to do. As he stepped into the hothouse atmosphere of the street, he saw the Mercedes pull away from the kerb and accelerate through the traffic. Mitcheson. He tugged his car keys from his pocket and ran for his car, pointing the nose towards an alternative route which might bring him ahead of Mitcheson if he was lucky. If it brought him ahead of Riley, too, it would be a miracle, but he firmly believed that good things happened to nice people.

  As he reached the suburbs close to the coast road, dog-legging through an area of small, low commercial units and houses, Palmer saw a flashing blue light ahead. His bowels constricted as he remembered Riley’s arrest, and he slowed down, looking for a side turning. But he was now locked in traffic and already saw a policeman striding along the line of cars, waving them to move on.

  As he neared the police car, Palmer saw it was parked alongside a large builder’s skip between two small warehouses. A crowd had gathered and were being pushed back by a uniformed motorcycle cop who was trying to pull a strip of bright tape across the gap between the buildings to form a barrier.

  Another police car arrived and bullied its way across the road, forcing Palmer to slow even further. As he inched past the scene, he looked down and saw what had drawn the crowd. A body lay behind the skip, the legs twisted awkwardly in an ungainly pose. But what caught his eye specifically was that the crumpled trousers covering the legs ended in a familiar pair of scuffed brown shoes with frayed, red laces.

  Chapter 32

  Riley was angry with herself as she left Malaga behind and headed out north onto the coast road. She was trying to blot out what had happened in the room at the Hotel Palacio. Well, nearly happened. She was even angrier with Mitcheson. With herself for losing control and with him for being the person he was and doing the job he claimed not to be able to walk away from.

  Now she needed to absorb herself in the assignment, partly as a salve against her damaged feelings, but partly, she realised, to bring it to an end. Quite how she was going to do that, she didn’t know. Maybe she would have to hand what she had to the local police, although if they were so easily swayed by the Grossmans, it might be tougher than it looked to get them on-side. There was, of course, the local anti-drugs squad - UDYCOS, as Benson had called them - but she knew even less about them or how to contact them. There was also the question of proof. All she had so far was a vague collection of allegations, which wouldn’t fly far. She needed more facts.

  She turned onto the road that led past the villa and coasted to a stop just past the bend, near where the dog had attacked the gunman. She frowned. There was no sign of Palmer’s car.

  She pulled a pair of Chinos and a T-shirt from a bag behind the seat and quickly squirmed out of her dress. If a local farmer happened to come by now, she reflected, he was going to get one hell of an eyeful. On the other hand, if it were a policeman, she’d end up back in a cell – and this time Palmer wouldn’t get her out again so easily.

  She locked the car and slipped over the wall into the trees, creeping forward until she had a clear view of the rear of the villa. A cloth-covered table bore the remains of a buffet, and she recognised all but two of the people clustered around the patio. The two men Palmer had described as the baseball fans stood at either corner of the house, while a third patrolled the paved area between the house and the pool. He was shorter than his companions, with a neat, compact build, and looked very fit. Riley couldn’t see any guns, but she had no doubt they were there.

  Another man sat in the shade with his back to the villa, and she thought she recognised him as one of the two men she had seen walking along the road near here yesterday, only minutes before his companion had appeared among the trees.

  She concentrated on the two other people seated at a table with a large parasol fluttering above their heads. One was Lottie Grossman, while the other was a slim, swarthy man in a cream suit and gold-framed sunglasses. He didn’t appear to be saying much. He looked more at ease in this setting than the others, and Riley wondered if he was one of the late Jerry Bignell’s Moroccan contacts.

 
; The woman’s voice suddenly echoed sharply across the lawn, and Riley realised she was using a mobile phone. She slammed the phone on the table and said something to the slim man opposite. He pushed back from the table and stood up, angrily flicking down the cuffs of his jacket. In an instant the man seated near the house was on his feet and the three bodyguards tensed.

  Another short exchange and Lottie Grossman levered herself up from her seat and approached the slim man, her hand patting him on the arm in a placatory manner. He nodded twice and shrugged, then returned to the table and sat down. His companion did the same and calm was restored.

  Minutes ticked by, during which the slim man made two calls on his mobile. During each one he paused briefly to confer with Lottie Grossman, his hand over the receiver. Riley guessed they were in the middle of negotiations, with the dark man acting as go-between. At the end of the call he sat back and Lottie Grossman did most of the talking.

  A car approached with a crunch of tyres on the gravel drive at the front of the villa. One of the baseball fans disappeared to investigate, and returned moments later followed by John Mitcheson.

  Riley felt a jolt at seeing him again, and remembered with uncomfortable clarity what had happened in the Palacio. She ducked further down into the cover of the trees, sliding into the undergrowth and glad she had thought to change her clothes.

  From behind her came the noise of another engine and tyres on the road. She wriggled backwards, risking a quick peek. It was Palmer. He got out of the car and hopped over the wall to squat beside her.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she grated. “I thought you’d already be here.”

  “I fancied an ice-cream,” he murmured breezily. Then his expression became sombre. “Benson’s dead.” He explained what he had just seen.

  Riley didn’t say anything for a while. Then she said: “I asked Mitcheson about him, but he didn't seem to know the name.”