NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED (Gavin & Palmer) Page 12

  “Lottie Grossman?” Palmer asked. He was counting on Riley recognising the woman from the photographs she’d seen in the house.

  “That’s her,” Riley confirmed.

  The patio door opened again and a figure in a wheelchair appeared, the buzz of an electric motor drifting across to them.

  “Well, well,” Palmer murmured. “Look what we have here.”

  They watched as the man drove the wheelchair in a jerky fashion across the tiled surface to within a few feet of the pool, where he sat staring into its depths. The woman watched his progress until he stopped, then began deadheading some flowers in tubs by the house.

  “He was in the photos with the woman,” Riley said. “At least, I think it was him. He looks smaller and thinner now, though.”

  “Ray Grossman,” Palmer guessed.

  “But your friend in the Met-”

  Palmer nodded. “I know. But he only thought he was dead. Could be Grossman simply dropped out of sight and rumour did the rest.”

  The Rottweiler climbed to its feet and walked slowly back to the shelter of the table, its large head swinging towards Lottie Grossman. The manoeuvre failed. The woman turned her head and shouted at the animal, then she picked up a long-poled skim-net used for cleaning the swimming pool and, with a darting movement surprisingly quick for a woman of her size and age, was upon the dog. She beat it three times with the handle end of the net, each stroke on the Rottweiler’s flanks echoing across the garden. The dog cowered, trying to avoid the pole, then moved back to the centre of the patio, where it lay down again and licked its side.

  The man in the wheelchair didn’t look round.

  Riley and Palmer exchanged a glance.

  “Bloody Nora,” Palmer breathed. “I wouldn’t want to change places with that dog.”

  “If you do, take a suicide pill with you,” Riley replied. “Come on - I’ve seen enough.”

  They walked back towards the car. As they approached the edge of the trees, Palmer held out a hand to stop Riley and motioned her to get down. Then he edged forward until he had a clearer view through the branches. He swore silently. The Land Cruiser was parked alongside the Peugeot and two men were peering into its windows. A third figure sat in the driver’s seat, watching.

  Palmer felt a movement behind him as Riley squatted down and peered over his shoulder. He was about to suggest she go back when she glared at him. “Don’t even think it, Palmer,” she warned him. “I don’t do helpless female.”

  He let it go and nodded towards the car. “Recognise anyone?”

  “The driver, maybe... could be Mitcheson. But not the other two. How about you?”

  Palmer nodded. “They’re the baseball fans who junked my office.”

  Chapter 25

  “What d’you reckon?” Doug was lounging against the Land Cruiser looking at Mitcheson. Howie was studying the contents of the Peugeot.

  “Anything inside?”

  “Picnic stuff. Sandwich wrappers... cold-box... couple of empty coke tins. A local map on the dash. Could be tourists.” He looked back towards where the road curved out of sight alongside the villa grounds. “Probably gone for walkies - or a bit of fun in the trees.” He grinned and looked as if he might take a walk along the road to find out, when a mobile phone buzzed in the Land Cruiser. Mitcheson picked it up and listened. Seconds later he dropped it and shook his head.

  “Leave it,” he called. “Gary’s just called from the airport - he’s on his way in. Problems, apparently.” He started the engine.

  “What about this?” Doug asked, jerking a thumb at the car.

  “Leave it. If it’s still here in an hour, we’ll scout the perimeter and flush them out.”

  He drove back down the drive to the villa and parked in the shade. Doug took a heavy canvas sports bag from the back and followed the other two to the front door. As he did so, the Rottweiler appeared at the corner of the building.

  Howie threw it a nasty look. “I’m gonna slot that brute,” he said quietly. There was a look about the dog that didn’t seem right. They had all seen Lottie Grossman’s method of treatment, and were all convinced that one day the animal would lose it and turn on her... and on anyone else around at the time.

  “Cool it,” Mitcheson warned him. “If he senses a threat, he’ll have you marked down first. Let’s keep him primed for real trouble - if it comes.”

  Lottie Grossman met them in the cool of the hallway.

  “Problems?” she asked.

  Mitcheson inclined his head. “A car parked along the road. Could be tourists. Could be someone having a snoop. Segassa’s people, maybe.”

  Lottie nodded and took a phone from the wall nearby. “I’ll call my friend the chief of police. Did you get the registration?”

  Mitcheson gave it to her. She dialled a number and spoke briefly, then replaced the receiver. She watched as Doug placed the sports bag on the floor and opened the top. Inside, under a tracksuit and towel, were four handguns and boxes of ammunition, along with silencers and a nondescript cardboard box

  “What’s that?” Lottie asked, pointing at the box.

  “Image intensifier,” Doug replied. “Second-hand crap, but it was all we could get at short notice. Might be useful when it gets dark.”

  She nodded and walked through to the living room, gesturing for the men to take chairs. She appeared cool and relaxed, but a faint bead of perspiration shone on her forehead, and her heavy make-up had smudged in the corner of one eye.

  “Gary and McManus should be here soon,” she informed them. “They’ve just got back from Jordans.”

  “They?” Mitcheson thought only Gary had gone back to check the house. He’d been wondering where Lottie’s tame gorilla was hiding. Now he knew. The news made him uneasy. McManus was a stray bullet looking for a target; having him wandering about uncontrolled gave him an itchy feeling in the middle of his back. “Why McManus?”

  “He had a couple of things to take care of.” The words came out flat and final, and Mitcheson’s unease grew even more. What couple of things? Maybe he’d find out from Gary. “What did he say?”

  “There have been visitors at the house. My cleaner was questioned by a man and a woman, supposedly estate agents. Stupid woman even let them look around the place. Not that there’s anything they could find. McManus says the description fits the woman making enquiries about Cook and Page.” She looked at Mitcheson, a pulse flickering at her temple. From outside they could hear the sound of the Rottweiler’s relentless pacing. “I thought you were dealing with her. Why is she still bothering us?”

  Mitcheson felt the other two staring at him and returned the woman’s look as calmly as possible. He wondered how long it would be before Doug and Howie joined Gary in his gradual drift across the floor to the Grossman camp. If this continued, he was in danger of losing what control he had over them to a woman being carried away by a rush of power to the head.

  He took a deep breath. He had no idea what McManus had told Lottie about his findings in Riley’s flat, but it was safe to assume he hadn’t left anything out - including their fight near Piccadilly. He spoke calmly. “She’s a freelance reporter named Riley Gavin. She doesn’t have an inside track on what’s going on, but by the sounds of it she’s managed to trace your address. But that’s all. She doesn’t know about the villa, and there’s no way she can find out - unless there were any clues at the house.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, Mr Mitcheson,” Lottie said softly, her hand beating double-time on her thigh. “Of course there are no clues - I spent weeks stripping the place of anything like that.”

  Mitcheson shrugged. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He returned her stare, irritated by her obsession with position. “The reason I didn’t take steps against her or-” he paused meaningfully, “let McManus anywhere near her, was because we can’t go round getting rid of everyone as casually as swatting flies. It attracts too much attention.”

  The silence was broken
by the sound of a car pulling up outside. The Rottweiler growled and trotted away to investigate.

  Lottie said nothing. To Mitcheson, that was the most worrying of all.

  From the hire car under the tree, Palmer and Riley watched as the dust settled from the cream Mercedes that had just passed through the gate. They had caught a brief glimpse of the driver and passenger, and Riley had felt a jolt at recognising the big man she had seen in Piccadilly.

  “Seems like Grossman’s gathering his forces,” Palmer said.

  “I wish we could get inside,” said Riley. “Perhaps we can come back later.”

  “Maybe.” Palmer had his doubts; these people were trained soldiers. “Right now, though, I think we’d better move. Those latest two may have spotted us. If we hang about they could be swarming all over us.”

  He started the engine and drove quietly away down the road towards the coast.

  Ten minutes later, Doug and Howie stepped out from the trees not far from where the hire-car had been parked. They both carried handguns and had made their way silently all the way round the villa, checking bushes and undergrowth .

  Howie spoke into his mobile: “The car’s gone. Could have been tourists.”

  “Check the perimeter again, anyway,” Mitcheson’s voice came back. There was a click as he cut the connection.

  “Can somebody stop that infernal noise?” A detective of the Malaga Criminal Investigation Unit spoke loudly enough to attract everyone’s attention while he stared at the body of Jerry Bignell. Downstairs a cleaning woman was wailing like an air-raid siren which she’d been doing since she first arrived and made her discovery. While a uniformed officer went down to attend to the woman, the detective sighed and wondered why these English criminals were littering his country with their rubbish. He’d long suspected what Bignell was up to, but hadn’t yet got round to reeling him in. Now there was no need. He couldn’t see the man’s death was any great loss.

  He winced at the smell fouling the air, swatting at the flies buzzing around the body. If they left it much longer this place would be a serious health hazard. He went downstairs to call for assistance and see what the wailing woman had to say.

  Chapter 26

  “I’m going for a walk,” said Palmer, poking his head round the doorway of Riley’s room. “You want anything?”

  They had booked into a small hotel along the coast road outside Malaga. It was sandwiched between a new development of half-built holiday apartments and a shopping complex bright with multi-coloured lights and gaudy adverts for suntan oil and Ray-Ban sunglasses.

  After hanging around the garden behind the hotel for a while, discussing their next move and subconsciously waiting for dusk to fall, they had returned to their rooms to catch up on the sleep they had missed during their flight from England.

  Riley looked up from where she was hunched over her laptop on the bed. “Nothing, thanks,” she said. She had been indulging in some mind-mapping, randomly jotting down thoughts about the investigation. The names of Cook, Page, McKee and the others were dotted about the screen, joined by a series of lines, arrows and exclamation marks. She had just added John Mitcheson’s name with a question mark and another line to Ray Grossman and his wife.

  She listened as Palmer’s footsteps echoed down the tiled stairs towards the lobby, and wondered if she shouldn’t have tagged along with him. It might be better than sitting here uselessly staring at her screen while getting eye strain, with her thoughts equally jumbled like scattered pieces of a puzzle. The inactivity was beginning to get to her and she desperately wanted to have another look at the villa. But Palmer would throw a fit if she went without him.

  Half an hour later, when he had still not returned, she closed the laptop and drove back along the coast road. She knew it was risky, but she really couldn’t take the waiting any longer. Besides, it would hardly be the first time she had gone snooping alone.

  She turned onto the road leading to the Villa Almedina and drove past it into open countryside. In spite of the falling light there was still a remnant of heat-haze in the distance over the fields, and a line of trees danced like chorus girls along the brow of a hill. There was little other movement, save for two men with deeply weathered faces scuffing wearily along the road. Both were dressed in faded work-clothes and carried tool-bags over their shoulders. One wore a scruffy baseball cap with a Coca-Cola logo, while the other fanned himself with a battered straw hat that had seen better days. They stared as Riley drove by, but didn’t pause in their measured tread.

  After half a mile she turned the car round and drove slowly back. There was no sign of the two men, so she cut the engine and coasted into the side of the road just before reaching the villa. She climbed out to the sound of a turgid breeze in the trees and the distant hum of an electric motor.

  She took a bottle of water and locked the car, then walked along the verge until she reached the stone wall where she and Palmer had stood earlier. The dry undergrowth crackled beneath her boots, and she tried to banish all thoughts of snakes. The atmosphere here was cooler, with a strong smell of sap hanging in the air. She wormed her way into the trees and squatted down to watch the rear of the villa, focusing on the patio and pool.

  She sipped sparingly from the water bottle but soon began to wish she’d used the bathroom before coming out. It wouldn’t take long for the thought to become intense and nagging. It’s easy for men on this kind of job, she thought. All they have to do is unzip where they stand and no one gives it a thought.

  A twig snapped off to her left. She resisted the impulse to spin round and turned her head slowly, her breathing stopped. A flash of movement caught her eye. When it wasn’t repeated she decided it must have been a bird and settled back on her heels to wait.

  Ten minutes later still nothing had happened around the villa. She wondered what Palmer was doing. Probably propping up a bar listening to the gossip, knowing him. Not that she thought he was idle; in fact there was something about Palmer that told her once he took on a job, he was the type never to be off duty. Her opinion of the private detective had risen considerably since she had first met him, and she realised his laid-back aura of weariness was little more than an act. She felt guilty at having come out here without him, but it was too late now.

  A car engine sounded nearby and she saw a flash of light off paintwork towards the front of the house. Doors slammed and voices drifted through the branches, then silence. More members of the household, or visitors?

  There was a scuff of movement to her left. Again she turned her head but couldn’t see anything. Then she heard a low growl to her front. She looked towards the sound and realised that what she had first taken to be a dark patch of tree trunk was now moving.

  The Rottweiler was standing barely twenty feet away, looking right at her.

  The yellow eyes stayed on her as the animal approached. Its pupils contained pale flecks, and there was a line of dried, white saliva around the dog’s jaws. Riley could see the muscle bunched around the beast’s shoulders, and her mouth went dry as she realised trying to run would be hopeless; this animal would be on her before she got to her feet.

  Another snap sounded to her left and someone muttered a low curse. The effect on the dog was instantaneous. It stopped dead, its head whipping round.

  The result was dramatic. A man rose from the undergrowth thirty feet away and stared at the dog with a look of terror. His face was deeply tanned, and he wore a familiar baseball cap bearing a Coca-Cola motif. It was one of the workmen Riley had seen earlier along the road.

  It explained why she hadn’t seen the two men on her way back. So this was where they had gone, to catch some sleep under the trees. Now one of them had woken up and disturbed the Rottweiler.

  It was then she realised that the man was holding a handgun.

  The dog saw it in the same instant and launched itself forward through the trees like an arrow, a deep rumbling coming from its chest. There was a crash of trampled undergrowth as the ma
n stumbled backwards, then a noise like a branch snapping. The dog gave a howl.

  Then silence.

  Voices called from the direction of the villa, and Riley decided it was time to go. She turned and hopped over the wall, running along the verge to the car. Behind her she heard shouting and more snapping sounds from among the trees.

  She fumbled with the car keys, perspiration making them slippery. Finally the door opened and she skidded off the grass verge onto the road, a billowing cloud of dust building behind her, masking her from the view of anyone coming out of the trees.

  At the end of the road she pulled out onto the main coastal highway. Her nerves were screaming at her close brush with disaster. Palmer would throw a fit if he found out. She shivered again at the thought of the dog, and thanked the gods that its attention had been diverted by the man in the cap.

  As she accelerated in the direction of the hotel, a figure in a dark uniform stepped out from the side of the road a hundred yards ahead. She instantly felt a leaden feeling in her stomach. He was pointing at her and waving her down. Behind him stood a police car, its blue light flashing.

  Chapter 27

  Frank Palmer knocked at Riley’s bedroom door. He’d already tried once but there was no reply. Was she asleep? He glanced at his watch. Surely she couldn’t be that tired?

  He walked over to the rear windows and peered down into the car park. The car was gone. He ran downstairs and asked the desk clerk if he knew where Miss Gavin had gone. The man shrugged.

  “Do you have a courtesy car I can use?”

  “Sorry, no,” the clerk replied carefully. “It takes one hour and I can arrange one for you.”

  Palmer spotted a small Fiat parked outside. “Who does that belong to?” he asked.