‘And?’
‘He’ll keep his head down long enough to gather his resources, then he’ll disappear. With his training, they’ll never find him.’
As they approached the VTS building, Palmer suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘Hang on. The taxi firm Radnor used. What was the name?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t notice.’ She rang Jimmy Gough and asked him.
‘Easy,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘We always used the same firm - White Tower Cabs. They’re just round the corner.’ He reeled off the number from memory. ‘Ask for Poppy - she’s the owner. She owes me for all the business I put her way. If she get difficult, threaten her with a visit from the VAT people.’
Riley made the call, then got out of the car to join Palmer, who was surveying the commercial estate. They were parked just along the road from VTS, behind a large canvas-covered trailer. The area was quiet, with the same mix of cars, trucks and skips as before. The space in front of VTS was deserted and strewn with litter.
The roller shutter under the VTS sign was up, revealing an empty space with just a few scraps of paper and straw packaging gusting around the inside. Sparrows flew in and out, darting up to the steel roof beams and perching on the workbench to preen, already colonising the space while it was free of movement.
Palmer and Riley walked cautiously through the building and out the rear door to the back yard, where the drum that had held the papers Palmer had rescued was now cold and lifeless, still lying on its side. They checked the offices, but other than a mess of discarded documents, and the usual array of admin paperwork, now abandoned, there was nothing useful to be found.
‘SkyPrint?’ suggested Riley.
Palmer nodded and led the way to the SkyPrint unit, where he pushed through the front door into a small reception area with a counter across the back wall, and a single door. In the background was the hum of machinery. Clearly it was business as usual, whatever may have happened along the road. Riley rang a bell and they waited for someone to appear.
‘Can I help?’ A man in a blue shirt and jeans stepped through the door behind the counter. He had thinning hair and a double chin, and was wiping his hands on a cloth.
‘Is Mr Perric in?’ said Riley.
The man shook his head. ‘Mr Perric doesn’t work here anymore. What can I do for you?’ He looked from Riley to Palmer with a touch of impatience, and pointed to a printed sign on the wall. ‘We only see reps by appointment.’
‘Do we look like sales reps?’ said Palmer. When the man said nothing, he continued, ‘What happened to Perric? I thought he was the boss.’
‘He was. But no longer. Who wants to know?’
Palmer ignored the question and gave the man a hard stare. ‘We’re investigating certain allegations about Mr Perric. We’d like to speak to him.’
‘Are you the police? I want to see some ID.’
‘Do yourself a favour,’ muttered Palmer tiredly. He took out his wallet and flashed a card, and Riley recognised the Ministry of Defence logo. ‘I’d say you’ve got about an hour before this place is crawling with every kind of official suit you can imagine, so why not make it easier?’
The man looked taken aback for a moment, licking his lips and looking at them each in turn. He eventually nodded. ‘Perric was let go yesterday morning. His contract was terminated.’
‘There must have been a reason.’
‘He was involved in activities outside the business which the directors didn’t know about. He was in violation of his contract.’
‘Who are the directors?’ Palmer asked.
But the man folded his hands together defensively, and merely repeated what he had said. ‘Like I said, he was in violation of his contract.’
‘Are you referring to VTS?’ Palmer queried. ‘According to our sources, the two businesses were working in tandem. Are you saying he wasn’t the overall boss?’
‘All our divisions are legitimate businesses,’ the man replied eventually. ‘Perric was a manager of this one, but whatever he was doing elsewhere was contrary to our rules. That’s why he was let go.’
‘What’s your position in the company?’ Riley pressed him.
But the man had clearly had enough questions, and drew himself up. ‘That’s all I’m saying.’ He slapped his hands on the counter to reinforce the statement and stepped back, putting more space between them. ‘I don’t care who you are. I am asking you to leave. Now.’
Back outside, Palmer lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘Well, that went swimmingly,’ he murmured dryly. ‘But no more than I expected.’
Riley nodded and kicked at a plastic bottle, which skittered away to bounce off a rubbish skip. ‘They were tipped off and got rid of the problem.’ She felt the burn of frustration at knowing that Perric was probably somewhere out of reach, where he couldn’t be got at. Like Palmer, she knew that calling here had been a long shot, and that any vestiges of the VTS business or its people would have long gone. But sometimes even long shots pay off.
‘Radnor must have ordered Perric to clear out. Blue eyes in there will be the legitimate face of the company, rolled out whenever things get sticky. He’ll be as clean as the driven snow.’ Palmer flicked the cigarette away and watched it bounce along the ground in a shower of small sparks. ‘Never mind. We’ll let the powers that be worry about him. In the meantime, let’s go see if Radnor’s up to receiving visitors.’
Riley paused in unlocking her car. ‘It might be better to leave them to Charlie’s friends. They’re probably out of the country by now.’
Palmer looked unusually grim. ‘I’ll believe that when I see their names on a passenger list. Anyway, I owe Radnor for Reg Paris. And Rubinov for Cecile.’
Riley gave him with a worried frown. ‘I never thought of you as the Great Avenger, Palmer.’
‘I’m not.’ Palmer grinned, his old self again. ‘Only when there’s a full moon, anyway.’
**********
Chapter 37
The address the owner of White Tower cabs had given Riley was a large detached Edwardian villa on the outskirts of Pinner. Set in an open expanse of lawn, with a few small shrubs dotted around in a haphazard fashion, the overall appearance was slightly unkempt, as if the building and the garden were in need of a friendly make-over.
The front of the property was shielded by a stretch of larch fencing and some sturdy wooden gates, but none of it prevented Riley and Palmer gaining a clear view of the house and the surrounding grounds. There were no vehicles parked out front, and no signs of movement at the windows. The gravel drive led from the gate down past the side of the house, vanishing behind the building and a heavy laurel bush.
‘I thought they’d be hiding behind high walls and security fencing,’ said Riley, peering through a gap in the wooden panelling. ‘This is like a goldfish bowl.’
‘Hiding in plain sight,’ replied Palmer, nodding at the few shrubs in evidence between the house and road. ‘They can see anyone taking an interest and deter the local hoodies from thinking there’s anything going on that might offer rich pickings.’ He turned his back to the fence and went to light another cigarette, then thought better of it. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘About what?’ Riley turned from peering through the fence.
‘Is there anyone in?’ He smiled. ‘I thought you might be able to tell, that’s all.’
She frowned. ‘Now why on earth would I be able to do that?’
He shrugged. ‘Girl I went out with once, she could always tell if anyone was in a house. I thought it was a woman thing… something about atmosphere and… ‘ He paused and gave another shrug.
‘And what?’
‘Curtains. She had this thing about soft furnishings. Said she could tell all you needed to know about a house by the state of the soft furnishings – especially the curtains. According to her, you could even tell what type of people lived there.’
Riley gave a mild hiss of disgust. ‘Yeah, right. And you think I should have the same ins
tincts? What am I – the House Doctor?’
He grinned and pulled a face. ‘Well, maybe not.’
But Riley bent back to her peep-hole and studied the building for a while. She saw no evidence of occupation, but that didn’t mean anything. If Radnor and Michael were inside and currently about to flee, they would hardly be telegraphing their presence to onlookers. And the absence of vehicles was nothing. They either had a car locked away somewhere, or had other means of transport, like cabs. She checked the front doorstep, but there were no tell-tale milk bottles to help her, full or empty.
In spite of herself, or because of what Palmer had said, she found her eyes drawn to the curtains, and wondered why there were nets at all of the windows except one; a narrow one in a room adjacent to the front door. Could it simply be a quirk of the household or was it a sign that there was no woman around to give a balanced appearance to the place? Then she noticed that at the top of the window was a curving line of pale fabric, as if the net had been tucked away to one side. Was that because someone inside wanted an unobstructed view of the front garden and gate?
‘It might be a good idea to check with White Tower cabs,’ she suggested to Palmer, and handed him her phone. ‘See if they’ve got a booking.’
‘Gotcha, miss.’ He hit re-dial and waited. When it was answered, he asked if there were any cabs booked for Radnor that day or the next, giving the address of the house where they were standing.
Poppy replied none had been ordered, and that all their cars were fully booked.
He switched off the phone. ‘No booking. They must have other plans.’
Riley pressed her face close to the fence. ‘I reckon the drive curves round the back of the house. If so, there’s easily room for a car or two round there.’
‘Maybe. I wonder if this is the only way out.’ Palmer stood back from the fence and looked along the street. The larch fencing across the front of Radnor’s property ran for fifty feet or so, then stopped at a narrow lane with a metal bollard in the centre to prevent vehicle access. Across the other side of the lane was a high wall bordering another large house.
‘Give me two minutes,’ he said, and walked along the street, ducking into the entrance to the lane. Five minutes later, he was back. ‘The lane goes all the way down to another road running parallel with this one. The garden’s bordered by a wooden fence like this one. I couldn’t see a gate or a doorway, but the ground all around the house is wide open. There’s a brick building behind the house. Could be a garage. No cars outside, though.’
‘I think they’re still in there,’ said Riley, silently hoping that she was wrong.
‘What makes you so sure?’
Riley managed a smile. ‘Because of the curtains. See how one window is clear? It’s too dark to see inside from here, but anyone standing at the back of the room would be able to see out without being spotted.’
Palmer gave a quiet snort of derision at this revelation. ‘You’re kidding me.’ He ducked his head to look, then grunted. ‘Damn. You’re right.’
‘So it’s a frontal assault, then?’ Riley asked, ignoring her earlier fears about facing Radnor and Michael. She wanted to get this over with, no matter what risks they might face inside.
‘Yup.’ Palmer walked along the fence to the gate and peered round the gatepost. ‘Up to the front door, see if anyone answers. You ready?’
They stepped through the gateway and walked up to the house, staying on the grass to avoid making unnecessary noise. The place had a deserted feel about it, but that might be an illusion. Even now they could be under scrutiny, their progress being tracked by the men inside.
The front door held a tarnished brass fish as a door knocker, and Palmer flipped it up and down a couple of times. The resulting booming noise seemed to echo inside the building.
‘Empty?’ said Riley.
‘Empty front hall, maybe.’ Palmer gave the knocker another flip, then stepped back to survey the house. The windows stared back, blank and unhelpful. No hurried faces peering out, and no sounds of furtive movement. ‘Now I know what it’s like to be a Jehovah’s Witness,’ he muttered, and turned to walk round the side of the house.
As he did so, an engine started close by and a car door slammed.
Palmer glanced to their left, towards the lane bordering the property. ‘Bugger. There was a beat-up old Merc parked out there. I figured it belonged to someone else.’ He ran across the lawn towards the fence, with Riley hard on his heels.
The fence was six feet high, and Palmer looked as if he was going to run straight through it. But at the last second, he swerved sideways and, placing his hands on the top, swung himself up and over, rolling his body to prepare for the landing on the other side. Riley followed, lighter and more supple, but hampered by her lack of height. She landed in time to see Palmer sprinting towards the far end of the lane. Eighty yards or so beyond him, a dark-blue Mercedes saloon was standing close by the fence, a haze of exhaust smoke puffing from the rear, its brake lights burning. The car was dirty and battered, and wore a layer of street grime as if it had been dumped there months ago. A thick bloom of dust covering the rear window obscured the inside.
Then a shadow moved at the side of the road and a man stepped out towards the car. As he reached for a door handle, he turned at the sound of Palmer’s footsteps.
It was Michael.
**********
Chapter 38
Palmer slowed, realising Michael must have exited via a concealed door in one of the fencing panels. A Judas gate. That left Radnor at the wheel of the car. It looked like he and Riley had arrived just in time to interrupt their departure. Or maybe not.
Michael was dressed in a suit, white shirt and dark tie, as if he was ready for a day in the office. He was holding a black leather bag in one hand. Carry-on luggage for a sudden trip overseas? Palmer wondered.
Michael’s face registered shock seeing Palmer so close, and he muttered something urgently. The driver’s door opened and Radnor looked out, craning his head to see. When he saw Palmer, he grimaced, shouted at Michael, then reached out and snatched the black bag from the younger man’s hand.
The car engine revved hard and the vehicle shot away with a squeal of tyres, leaving Michael standing alone at the side of the lane. He began to run after the car, screaming furiously, his words unintelligible, before realising he wasn’t going to catch Radnor. He stopped and turned to face Palmer, standing squarely in the centre of the lane.
Palmer’s defensive instincts went into overdrive. He had faced situations to this before, where confrontation couldn’t be avoided. Yet the sweat and smoke of those army-town pubs and their drunken squaddies suddenly seemed a luxury, faced with this open space and an opponent who had already shown a propensity to kill without a second thought.
He was close enough now to see the tension in the other man’s face. The Russian’s intentions were evident in his body stance as he began to turn slightly to deflect the attack, and Palmer knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
At the last second, as Michael began to raise his hands, one palm open to ward off a blow, the other closed in a tight fist, Palmer swerved.
Riley, thirty yards behind, saw Michael turning to meet the threat. Beyond the two men, the Mercedes was braking hard to turn the corner, the only other movement in the lane. Riley wanted to shout to Palmer to stop, back off and leave Michael to the police. But it was too late. He was already committed.
When Michael moved, he seemed to pirouette on the ball of one foot like a ballet dancer, his body taut and controlled. It was as if he were attached by a string to some controlling force high above his head. As he turned, he leaned forward as if to reach down and pick something off the ground, but his hands remained close into his chest. Then his other foot shot out with unbelievable speed. In spite of his swerve, Palmer was unable to stop himself. There was a muffled sound of impact, and Palmer seemed to lift slightly, turning sideways with a grunt and riding on his opponent’s foot. He landed on
his shoulder a few feet away and rolled with the momentum. He lay there, shaking his head and trying to get up again, but seemed to lack the strength, as if the kick had knocked all the energy from his body.
‘Palmer!’ Riley shouted frantically as she saw Michael take a long, deliberate step forward. But instead of reaching down for the man on the ground, the Russian seemed to hold the pose for a fraction of a second as if taking aim, then his other leg flashed up and round, the heel momentarily poised above his shoulder but the trajectory clearly aimed at the exposed top of Palmer’s head.
The leg began its downward strike. Then Palmer rolled, but instead of moving away from danger, he rolled inwards, catching his attacker by surprise. Spinning on his back and sweeping his leg round like a scythe, his instep caught Michael behind his grounded ankle. The impact took the Russian’s leg out from under him, and with a surprised gasp, Michael fell backwards, arms flailing for balance. Unable to regain his equilibrium, he crashed to the tarmac with a loud whoof of expelled air and tried to roll away.
But Palmer was waiting. Reaching over, he grasped one of Michael’s hands and seemed to twist and bend all in one motion. There was a shrill cry of pain and a sharp crack, and Michael groaned and grabbed his broken wrist. Palmer calmly finished him off by slamming the younger man’s head into the tarmac.
In the background, the Mercedes engine accelerated and faded into the distance.
‘Are you all right?’ Riley said, coming to stop alongside Palmer. He was dusting himself off and trying to stand upright, but didn’t appear to be enjoying the experience.
He nodded and took a couple of deep breaths before replying. ‘Of course. Did you doubt me?’ In spite of his levity, she saw a spasm cross his face and wondered how badly he was hurt. He looked towards the corner where Radnor had disappeared. ‘Must be great to have such close friends,’ he muttered.
Riley glanced down at Michael, who was past caring. His eyes were rolling and a livid bruise was beginning to blossom on his forehead where it had made contact with the ground.
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