NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED (Gavin & Palmer) Read online

  Mitcheson also knew that Lottie Grossman was capable of swinging suddenly and violently against himself, and he didn’t need that kind of aggravation just yet; she’d simply set McManus on him without warning.

  What she said next, however, came as a shock.

  “When you’ve finished your breakfast,” she told McManus pointedly, pushing a slip of folded paper across the table towards him, “that’s the hotel the Gavin woman gave when she was arrested. Go get her.”

  “Where is it?” Mitcheson was alarmed but managed to keep his voice casual. He could feel the heat in his temples and wondered how he could stop this happening. McManus had only one way of dealing with a person, and it didn't involve much in the way of talk.

  “You don’t need to know,” snapped Lottie. “He’s quite capable.”

  McManus tucked the slip of paper into his breast pocket, flicking a snide smile at Mitcheson. “Easy-peasy,” he breathed. Coming from his lips, the childish comment seemed to take on an obscene tone Mitcheson had never known before.

  “Find somewhere to keep her out of sight, then let us know you’ve got her, you understand?” Lottie instructed him. “And don’t do anything else. I don't want anything rebounding on us back here.”

  “I can lose her for good if you want,” McManus countered. “Like Bignell.”

  “No.” Lottie was adamant. “Bignell was a one-off. This isn’t our turf and now’s not the time to take chances. Just keep her out of our way until I decide what to do with her.”

  “No problem.” He smiled nastily and looked pointedly at Mitcheson. “I’ll make sure she’s nice and comfortable, don’t you worry.”

  “Why not bring her back here and talk to her?” suggested Mitcheson. He resisted the temptation to pick up a bread knife and drive it into the other man’s eye.

  “Forget it.” Lottie pushed her cup away and impatiently brushed crumbs off her fingers. “Just neutralise her. Isn’t that the term you use?”

  Mitcheson shrugged while McManus drained his coffee cup and left, wiping his mouth on his hand.

  Lottie Grossman watched him go and turned to look at Mitcheson. “He’s an unpleasant, uncultured slob,” she said to him, “But he’s given years of good service to my husband. A bit like that Rottweiler the Moroccans killed.” She smiled thinly. “I don’t want you two busting each other’s balls all the time, do you understand me?”

  He decided the safest way of getting through the day without throttling this old witch was to play along with her, so he nodded agreement and asked: “What’s on the cards for today?”

  “Another meeting with Segassa. This time in Malaga - and with someone who can negotiate directly.” She smiled and patted Mitcheson’s hand, her earlier anger forgotten as though it had never occurred. “We don’t do middle-men anymore. Especially now they’ve seen what my men can do.”

  Mitcheson felt a momentary irritation at how his men had suddenly become hers, but said nothing. He doubted Doug, Howie or Gary would care much who they reported to as long as they got paid. Where it might backfire was if this woman expected too much of them without realising the possible consequences. They were good but they weren’t fireproof.

  “Where do you want it to happen?”

  “I hear the Hotel Palacio’s good for meetings,” Lottie said.

  Mitcheson glanced at her to see if there was any significance in her choice of words, but her head was angled so the sun reflected off her glasses, giving no hint of the expression in her eyes. He chose to believe it was just coincidence and nodded calmly.

  “I’ve already had Gary arrange it,” Lottie continued, “for just after lunch. I want everyone there, but keep two of your men outside in reserve.” She looked at him. “I don’t trust those Moroccans, even in a public place.”

  McManus watched them from inside the villa and scowled. His suspicions about Mitcheson were increasing all the time, not least fuelled by bitterness at his changing role in the Grossman organisation. There was a time when the only other person they included in their plans was himself. But that was in the days when Ray Grossman was in charge... when there was a proper respect for him. The sort of respect that meant he never had to pick up a bill, never had to fight for a parking space, never had to sit at home wondering what to do for entertainment.

  Now this soldier boy and his mates had their feet under the table and his resentment and bitterness bubbled up like a poison. His thoughts turned to the Gavin woman and what he would do when he found her. He knew Lottie would have his balls if he overstepped instructions, so he’d have to be careful. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bit of fun. He recalled the photos he’d found in her flat. Ripe looking woman. Looked like she’d strip down well. Maybe fight a bit, too, if he was lucky.

  The sooner he picked her up the better. First he had to think of somewhere to hold her, like Lottie wanted. Somewhere nobody would look. Then he could find a deep hole to put her in. Because that’s where she’d end up eventually, no matter what Lottie might be saying now. He knew a building site where they were sinking pilings for a block of flats, and right next to a place where he could hold her, too. Easy stuff. He grinned, proud of himself, and walked out of the room and along the corridor past the bedrooms. He paused at Ray Grossman’s door and looked in.

  The nurse was in there giving the poor old bastard a wash-down. He could just see a bowl and a large tube of gel on the side of the bed. The sickly smell of roses filled the air. There was a grunting sound as the nurse struggled to move Grossman’s body and the slick noise of soap on skin. McManus swore silently to himself that he’d never go through that. What a scummy thing to endure, he thought. Like a baby. I’d sooner put a bullet through my skull.

  He thought about making a call to the hotel where the Gavin woman was staying. Check she was in. Better than going out there and finding she’d already flown. As he passed Mitcheson’s room on the way to the hall, he spotted a mobile phone lying on the bed. The idea of using Mitcheson’s phone to track down the Gavin woman appealed to his sense of fairness.

  He was about to dial when he noticed a message symbol flashing on the display. His in-built suspicions about the former soldier got the better of him. He punched the button and waited while the recorded voice went through its patter. There was a buzz of static and what sounded like a burst of distant laughter in the background, then a woman’s voice spoke.

  “John? It’s Riley... I need to see you... it’s urgent. Can we meet? Not in the same place as last time - it’s too public.”

  McManus listened as Riley Gavin suggested somewhere called the Ascona along the coast road at midday tomorrow. She said goodbye and the recorded voice told him the message had been left at eight the previous evening. He checked the address on the slip of paper Lottie had given him. It wasn’t the Ascona, so they must have moved. Never mind - he’d find it. Couldn’t be too hard, could it?

  He was about to delete the message but decided against it. Better if he left it so Mitcheson could find it later. When he saw how close he might have been to warning the Gavin bitch off, it would kill him. He grinned and switched off the phone, then went back into the living room and dumped it behind a cushion. There you are soldier boy, he thought maliciously. By the time you get the message, she’ll just be a memory.

  Chapter 35

  Riley was edgy. So far Mitcheson hadn’t responded to her message for a meeting. Palmer had gone off earlier to watch the Palacio, and although she had argued that she should cover it, he had pointed out that if Mitcheson did call, she should be ready to move quickly. The centre of Malaga wasn’t the place to do that.

  She finished her drink and went up to her room to go over her notes. After that she lay down on the bed to get some rest. If things were going to start moving, she’d need all the energy she could get. Within seconds she was fast asleep, head filled with tangled dreams of dogs, gun and Peter Willis and his wife, laughing as they queued for check-in at the airport.

  As Riley gave in to a res
tless sleep, downstairs in reception a large man was pushing his way through a crowd of new arrivals clamouring for attention.

  McManus used his bulk to get through and held up his car keys to the clerk. “Hire car for Miss Gavin,” he announced. “She needs to sign. Can I use the house phone?”

  The receptionist, relieved at not having another job to do, told McManus the room number and indicated an internal phone to one side. McManus smiled. This was going to be easy.

  The moment the receptionist looked away he replaced the phone and slipped round the corner to check the layout of the exits and the room numbers. Then he went back to his car and parked it at the nearest side door to the emergency staircase. Re-entering the hotel, he went to the lift and punched the call button. In his pocket he fingered a length of nylon cord.

  Mitcheson was feeling a growing sense of desperation. His phone had disappeared and he couldn’t think where he’d left it. He had to warn Riley before McManus got to her. The man was like a bloodhound and wouldn’t stop until he had her. He couldn’t take a chance on using the phone in the hall because of the risk of being overheard, and he knew how voices echoed in this place.

  He checked through his clothes again, then scoured the house a second time, throwing chairs aside. Eventually he came across the cleaning lady tidying up in the living room.

  “Have you seen a mobile phone?” he asked her, indicating his shirt pocket. “Cellphone? Telefono?” She stared mutely back at him, shaking her head, then turned to arrange the cushions on the chairs.

  He continued searching, flicking open doors in the sideboard and checking the wastebasket, his nerves like a series of tiny needles under his skin. Give it two more minutes and he’d go crazy. He turned to watch the cleaner, finally running out of ideas and ready to take the chance with the phone in the hall. To hell with it; he couldn’t stand by here and let McManus get his hands on Riley. Just then the cleaner lifted one of the cushions off the sofa and he saw the mobile nestling underneath.

  She picked it up and turned to him, holding out the phone with her fingertips. She was frowning and making what he assumed was a Spanish tutting noise, plainly unhappy about something.

  Mitcheson switched it on and saw the message symbol flashing. He punched in the code and listened to Riley’s message. As he did so, he felt a sticky substance on the back of the instrument and realised why the cleaner was so unhappy and was now scrubbing furiously with a damp cloth at the sofa. He turned the mobile over.

  Red jam.

  His blood ran cold.

  He dialled Riley’s number.

  Riley was shaken by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. Struggling to wake up, she levered herself off the bed, her mouth gummy and dry. She felt a stab of alarm, then told herself it was probably Palmer forgotten his keys. After all, who else knew they were here?

  Another knock, this time more urgent, followed by a man’s voice. “Police. Open, please.”

  Riley swore softly, and wondered how they had found her. After the police captain’s warning, this meant instant deportation or worse. She stumbled across the room to the door, and had just lifted the safety catch out of its slot when her muddled brain triggered the realisation that the voice sounded wrong.

  On the bedside table, her mobile phone began ringing.

  She pushed furiously against the door and tried to slide the chain back into place, but the door slammed against her like a battering ram, propelling her backwards into the room. As she fell, she caught a glimpse of McManus’s huge shape bearing down on her, a smile of triumph on his face.

  Although winded, she broke her fall with the flat of her hands and desperately kicked out with her right foot, connecting with the side of McManus’s left kneecap. He didn’t even flinch but grasped her foot and twisted it painfully, flipping her onto her face. In his other hand he was holding a length of rope. With practised ease and two turns of the rope, he had Riley effectively neutralised on the floor.

  He pressed a foot against the side of her neck and leered down at her. “Ain’t no good strugglin’,” he told her. “You’ll only make things worse.” He stepped over to the bedside cabinet where Riley’s mobile phone was still ringing and stabbed the ‘off’ button.

  “The good news is, your message got through to soldier boy. The bad news is, he couldn’t make it so I’ve come instead.” He flicked the curtain aside and peered out onto the car park. Satisfied the way was clear he came back and lifted her on to the bed. She could smell coffee on his breath and a strong aftershave that made her feel nauseous.

  “Now listen, darlin’,” he said, face close to hers. “I ain’t messin’, so don’t piss me about. We’re goin’ walkies. Out of this room, down the back stairs and out to the car park. Simple and easy, okay?”

  Riley stared up at him, her revulsion evident by the white-hot look in her eyes.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “I said okay?” He prodded her stomach with a massive finger, doubling her forward.

  She nodded. “Yes... all right.”

  “Good.” He cupped a huge hand around her neck. “Do anything silly, I’ll snap your spine like a twig. And believe me, darlin’, I’ve snapped stronger than yours.”

  He untied the cord from her wrists and flung it to one side, then pushed her across to the door and opened it.

  “Remember,” he whispered. “One wrong move and you’re dead.” Then he pushed her out into the corridor.

  Mitcheson switched off his phone, a sick feeling in his gut. The phone had started ringing, then been switched off. Why should she do that?

  He went out to the hallway and picked up a local business directory. According to the listing the Ascona was just along the coast road. He dialled the number. No reply. He swore, glancing at his watch. There was plenty of time before the afternoon meeting in Malaga. Lottie Grossman wouldn’t like the idea of him going walkabout, any more than McManus would, but that was too bad. They didn’t own him lock, stock and barrel - not yet.

  He found Doug standing by the front door, eyeing the surrounding scenery.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” he told him. “Did McManus go out?”

  Doug nodded. “Yeah. Beats me the caveman can even drive. He looked like he’d won the Lottery. What’s going on?”

  Mitcheson felt guilty not trusting a man he’d known for a number of years, but he couldn’t take the chance. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”

  The Land Cruiser was free, so he got in and wheeled it down the drive.

  When Frank Palmer returned to the hotel for lunch, he walked along the corridor to Riley’s room and was surprised to see the door open. Inside he found John Mitcheson standing at the window looking out. The bed was rumpled and Mitcheson was holding a length of nylon cord.

  “I wouldn’t have thought that was your scene,” Palmer said softly.

  Mitcheson snapped round, eyes seeking a way out. When he saw who it was, he relaxed slightly, but began to move towards the door. “Frank Palmer, isn’t it?” His voice was calm and relaxed, as though meeting an old friend.

  The investigator stepped aside and indicated the open doorway. He had no illusions about being able to take on the former soldier; the man was younger, fitter and had the advantage of desperation on his side. All Palmer would get in the process was a trampled body and bruised pride.

  “You can go if you like,” he said coolly. “I won’t stop you. But I’d rather you told me what’s happened to Riley first.”

  Mitcheson stopped and reassessed Palmer. “I don’t know,” he told Palmer with obvious honesty. “I was supposed to meet her here at midday.” He glanced at his watch; it was just gone eleven.

  “Bit eager, aren’t you?”

  Mitcheson ignored the crack. “I think the message was intercepted by McManus. If it was, she’s in real trouble.”

  Palmer indicated the cord in Mitcheson’s hand. “Well, I doubt Riley’s into bondage, so that could only have been left by your pr
imeval mate. Where would he have taken her - the villa?”

  “No there, no. Lottie Grossman told him to deal with her. Where he takes her is up to him.” He glanced at his watch again. “I have to be at a meeting soon. If I don't turn up Riley definitely won’t survive.”

  Palmer nodded. “Well, that gives us a bit of time, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the room, then went to the wardrobe where Riley’s laptop sat on a shelf. Evidently McManus hadn’t been interested in taking anything else. He left it where it was; Riley had already emailed her notes to Brask. He turned back to Mitcheson. “We’d better come up with something bloody quick. And while we’re about it, you’d best figure out which side of the fence you’re on.”

  Chapter 36

  Riley felt the skin tightening on the back of her neck and debated driving the Mercedes into the nearest brick wall. But she knew it wouldn’t work. McManus was sitting beside her with a handgun in one huge fist and the other hand resting on the seat-back behind her. The proximity of the gun repulsed her almost as much as the touch of his hand.

  After leaving the hotel, he had walked her to his car with his arm clamped around her shoulder, then pushed her into the driving seat, handing her the keys.

  “You’re driving,” he told her. “And forget about any silly shunts on the way. Make a wrong move and I’ll top you where you sit.” As he got in the passenger seat he produced a gun, which he held under his jacket with the muzzle pointing at Riley’s stomach. “Yeah. Look at it, darlin’,” he muttered. “Imagine what kind of bullet comes out of a barrel this big. Think of the damage it’d do to that precious little body.”