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

  The skipper desperately slammed the throttle open and felt the engine rumble beneath his feet. With his free hand he stabbed the send button on the mobile, but it was too late. The gun chattered briefly, and he looked back to see both his men knocked overboard as they tried to run.

  As he screamed out what was happening into the phone, hoping someone was listening, the launch surged forward until it was alongside the wheelhouse. The man with the gun grinned mirthlessly, his face absurdly young, and changed magazines. Then, as casually as if he was spraying flowers, he pressed the trigger and spewed the contents of the new magazine through the open wheelhouse door.

  42

  The white Toyota was halfway across the car park before it registered on either Riley or Palmer that something had happened. With tyres screaming it skidded on the gravel and out onto the road heading towards Malaga, nearly hitting a local bus coming the other way. In the Flores lounge, tourists craned their necks, muttered disapproval, then returned to their meals.

  “Someone forgot an appointment, you reckon?” Riley asked.

  “Either that or something much closer to home,” Palmer replied enigmatically.

  “Segassa’s men?”

  But Palmer was already rising, and Riley grabbed her bag. “You pay - I’ll get the car,” she said, and hurried through the sliding doors out to the car park.

  Palmer called the waiter over and settled the bill. As he was about to follow Riley, a figure stepped up alongside him carrying a rolled-up beach towel. He turned and found himself looking at the smiling face of Doug.

  “Well, as I live and breathe,” Doug smiled, “if it isn’t Frank Palmer, ace investigator.” He prodded Palmer in the ribs with something hard. It was a large automatic pistol with the safety catch off, wrapped in the towel so nobody would see it.

  “I didn’t bring my computer with me today,” Palmer said dryly, “if that’s what you’re after.” He risked a quick glance across the road to where Riley was digging in her bag for her car keys. He guessed the ex-Marine hadn’t spotted her and turned to keep the man’s attention on himself. Very carefully, he put his cigarette lighter down on the table beside his binoculars.

  “Good one, Frank,” Doug smiled. “Very funny, considering your position. Come on - we’re going for a ride, you and me.” He bent and picked up the binoculars Palmer had put down and motioned for him to lead the way out of the door. They walked across to the Land Cruiser, where Doug opened the door and shuffled Palmer into the driver’s seat. Then he hopped into the rear, the gun never shifting away from Palmer for an instant, and threw the binoculars into the back. “Okay, Frank. Let’s go to Malaga.”

  Palmer pulled out of the car park and followed Doug’s directions. He’d never driven one of the big cars before, and found the size uncomfortable after the small hire-car he’d been using. The gun at his back didn’t help. As he passed Riley, she was leaning on the roof of the car, staring out to sea, unaware of what had happened behind her. He sighed with relief and pressed his foot down.

  “Have you been following me?” he asked Doug. He could feel the man’s gun resting on the seat against his back and detected the familiar smell of gun oil.

  “You kidding? I thought it was the other way round. That’s what you snoopers do, isn’t it - follow people?”

  Palmer said nothing, aware that if he let too much slip it could endanger Mitcheson’s position. It wouldn’t take the gang long to work out that Mitcheson’s earlier absence could have been for entirely different reasons than searching for McManus. And as one of the handful who knew the arrangements for bringing in the drugs at this point along the coast, the finger of suspicion would soon be pointing his way.

  “Where’s the girlfriend?” Doug asked. ‘Had a row, have you?’

  “She in Malaga. Shopping,” said Palmer.

  The gun tapped on his shoulder. “Speed, Frank. Keep it down, there’s a good fella. We don’t want to get hauled over, do we?” He chuckled at the thought, then leaned closer to Palmer. “Now, while we’re all comfortable and that, what were you doing out here? Sun-bathing all by yourself? You don’t look very tanned - and where did you get those shorts?”

  Palmer racked his brains for a reason that would sound halfway plausible without dragging Mitcheson into it. If they suspected the ex-officer was looking for a way out, they would have no choice but to deal with him the same way as Bignell.

  “The white Toyota in the car park back there,” he said finally. “Did you see it go like a bat out of hell?”

  “Yeah - I saw it. Thought he was going to bend himself round that bus for a moment. Spanish drivers, eh? What of it?”

  “He was supposed to be one of Bignell’s men. He said he had information about the set-up.”

  “Set-up?”

  “The drugs route Bignell had been using. He said if I came to this beach, he’d show me where the stuff used to be landed. They used the survey boats as cover, he reckoned.” Palmer added a touch of accusation to his voice. “He must have spotted you and decided to take off.”

  The seat back shifted as Doug leaned back to consider the details. Evidently it sounded likely enough to the ex-Marine. He shrugged and pointed through the front window. “See that sign for new apartments?” They were travelling along a short, deserted stretch of road with arid grass and rock on either side. Up to the right on the hillside, two or three ramshackle farm buildings were the only signs of local habitation. A giant hoarding advertising a building development was coming up on the left. “There’s a small turning just after it. Swing left there.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Palmer sensed the grin on Doug’s face. “We’re going shopping, Frank. Like your girlfriend, only we didn’t spend any money.”

  Riley swore silently as she waited for Palmer to appear, and drummed impatiently on the roof of the car. Whatever had got into the Toyota driver she felt sure it was connected with the Grossman business. And if that was the case, she hoped it wasn’t going to be bad news for John Mitcheson.

  Out on the horizon a boat was cutting a white path through the waves, its prow high in the air. It looked as though it was heading down the coast towards Malaga and the vast boat-parking lot they called a marina. Where the hell was Palmer?

  When she looked round towards the hotel to see where he’d got to, she felt a sudden jolt in her stomach. The Land Cruiser was gone.

  Palmer followed Doug’s directions and swung round the hoarding onto a narrow track heading towards the sea. The surface was rough and overgrown with grass but the Land Cruiser flowed over the bumps and through the potholes with barely a sign. They passed derelict huts and some rusting machinery before emerging between two small hills onto a tiny plateau above the sea. The water was a deep, brochure blue, and melted into the sky along the horizon. As they neared the edge a white arrow cut across the blue surface of the water and moved inshore, the boat bouncing from wave to wave.

  Doug told him to park the vehicle facing back the way they had come, then climbed out, motioning Palmer to follow. “Come on, Frank. I’ve got some work for you. I hope you’re feeling strong.”

  They followed a narrow path down the side of the slope to a flat, rocky platform just above the waterline. Palmer felt suddenly vulnerable here; he wasn’t the world’s best swimmer, and either side of the platform the water looked dark and threatening. It was a geological oddity, and he guessed the lack of room and the swirling currents made it unattractive to tourists. Ideal, however, for drug-runners.

  A powerful-looking white launch was nosing in towards the platform and Palmer recognised the muscular form of Howie standing at the wheel. A younger, smaller man sat on the prow clutching a rope with a small grappling anchor attached. In his other hand he held an automatic, a quizzical look on his face.

  “Easy, Frank,” Doug warned him. “The little fella’s a bit touchy on the trigger. I think he wants to shoot someone.”

  Howie showed his expertise at handling boats by nosing the launch
smoothly against the rock with the barest kiss, while the younger man tossed the anchor across. Palmer let it bounce on the rock before bending to settle it into a crack where it would hold fast.

  “How’d it go?” Doug called across as the engine died.

  Howie nodded and jumped ashore. “It went. What’s he doing here?” His gaze was not unfriendly - merely curious.

  Doug grinned and looked at Palmer. “You remember Frank, don’t you? Of course you do. Frank’s volunteered to help us carry the goods.” His eyes turned cold and he hefted the pistol. “The alternative being we shoot him right now and drop him in the water. How about it, Frank?”

  Chapter 43

  Riley crossed the road back to the Flores and checked everywhere. The feeling of unease in her stomach increased dramatically when she saw Frank’s cigarette lighter still lying on the table. Palmer and his smoking: he wouldn’t have gone without it. She asked one of the waiters to check the washrooms and waited impatiently, hoping to see Palmer’s grinning face coming along the corridor. But the waiter returned shaking his head.

  ‘Sorry, miss. Nobody in there.’

  She thanked him and ran outside to the car, a clear image in her head of the Land Cruiser. If only she’d kept an eye on it.

  She floored the accelerator, pulling the small car round in a tight circle, and set off towards Malaga. If Palmer was anywhere, she was betting it had to be in the Land Cruiser, and she could only be a few minutes behind it.

  Traffic was light and consisted mainly of slow-moving hire cars and the odd delivery van. Riley was able to leapfrog them quite easily but found her progress irritatingly slow, with no sign of the Land Cruiser ahead of her. She shut her mind off from why Palmer had been taken and what his captors might have in mind. If they intended to kill him, they could have done so in the car park and no one would have been able to stop them.

  The questions still remaining were: who had been in the vehicle and why were they there? Top of the list of reasons was to watch over the exchange, but it didn’t rule out the possibility that somehow the Grossman group had got wind of her and Palmer’s presence and had decided to take whichever one they could get as a bargaining tool.

  But if so, how had they found out? Had Mitcheson talked? She couldn’t bring herself to believe that. And why not take her, too? Maybe they didn’t need both of them. If the threat was serious, one would do.

  A horsebox had pulled in to a side turning near a large advertising hoarding, and the driver was scrubbing dust off the windscreen. Riley swerved round the protruding back end of the vehicle and put her foot down. If all else failed, there was one place left to go. But as double insurance, she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled Donald Brask’s number in London.

  The Land Cruiser emerged from the side turning a few moments after Riley had passed. Palmer was in the back seat, hands tied in front of him with a length of rope.

  In the front, Doug was driving while Gary lounged in the passenger seat, eyes flicking back and forth to watch Palmer. Howie had been left to take the boat back along the coast to the marina in Malaga.

  All talking had stopped as the two men kept their eyes open for police or customs. Palmer guessed the easy part for the men had been out at sea. Here inland was another ball game, and even a simple traffic accident greatly enhanced their chances of being subjected to closer scrutiny than they wanted.

  After Palmer had been forced to carry a large rubber package up the path to the Land Cruiser, the men had tied him up and left him in the back while they reported in by phone - presumably to Mitcheson and Lottie Grossman. He hadn’t been able to catch any of their conversation, but the description by Howie and Gary of their sea trip had been animated and triumphant. When Gary had produced a machine pistol from the launch and what looked like an empty magazine, he could see why.

  They arrived back at the villa and Palmer was bundled out and made to lie down in a utility room at the back. Lottie Grossman appeared shortly afterwards and stood gazing down at him as though he was an insect that had wandered in from the garden. She held a pruning knife with a curved blade.

  Palmer returned her gaze. He found it amazing she could be gardening while people were being killed and kidnapped. It was the first time he’d seen the woman up close, and he was surprised at her age. At a time when most people were thinking of taking things easy, this painted harridan seemed intent on breaking the mould by starting up a whole new criminal enterprise. Oddly, while her clothes looked expensive, the thickness of her make-up gave her the appearance of a cheap, gaudy doll.

  He spotted Mitcheson in the background, his expression blank. The other men hovered close by, evidently waiting to see what their leader was going to do. Palmer began to understand what it was like to be a frog in a laboratory, awaiting vivisection.

  The tension in the small room was palpable, and Palmer felt a sudden need to belittle the woman and show he wasn’t intimidated by her efforts to be the ruthless gangster. It was childish and potentially dangerous, but he smiled and said: “Sorry to hear about the old man, Lottie. Must have come as a big relief to have that old bastard out of your hair.”

  She turned away without a flicker of reaction. When she came back she was holding a black automatic pistol gripped in both hands. She pointed it at Palmer’s head and looked along the barrel, here face totally blank of expression.

  The look on Mitcheson’s face would have had Palmer laughing in other circumstances, and even Doug had his mouth open in shock.

  “No!”

  As the woman’s finger began to tighten on the trigger, Mitcheson leapt forward and pushed her arm upwards. He stared down into Lottie Grossman’s face, reaching for the gun with his other hand and extracting it gently but firmly from her grasp.

  The others stood rock still, the wheezing pool pump the only sound.

  “We need him,” Mitcheson explained, passing the gun behind the woman’s back to Doug, who checked the safety and put it away. “We can use him as insurance. Until we know for sure that the Gavin woman’s out of the picture, we need whatever leverage we can get.”

  Lottie Grossman blinked and studied Palmer for a few moments, her breathing heavy. Then she turned to the other men. “Do you agree?”

  They exchanged looks, clearly baffled by her decision to include them on the investigator’s fate. Doug was first to react. Flicking a brief glance towards Mitcheson, he nodded. “Makes good sense to me,” he murmured.

  The other two nodded and Lottie Grossman turned back to Mitcheson. “Very well. Keep him here until we leave.” She looked at her watch. “My husband’s body will be released at three. We leave for the airport as soon as it’s on its way. I’ve had clearance to use the plane instead of a commercial flight. Gary, make sure the pilot’s ready with his flight plan. The rest of you know what to do.”

  As they left the room, Palmer let his breath out in a trickle. Jesus, he thought. Me and my big mouth. That was close.

  He thought about what the woman had said. Leaving this afternoon? He sneaked a look at his watch. It was nearly one-thirty. Where the hell had the time gone? And what were they going to do with the drugs they’d picked up?

  He settled back to work on loosening the rope around his wrists. The knots were efficient and the rope slightly damp, which didn't help, but he couldn’t simply sit there and wait. While he flexed his hands to work up a sweat, he listened to the sounds of movement throughout the villa. Doors and drawers were being closed and what sounded like cases being dropped onto the tiled floor at the front of the house. It was obvious they were preparing for more than a simple departure until next time. They were evacuating the place. Voices were muffled and low, but he thought he recognised Mitcheson and the two baseball fans. The young one, Gary, seemed to have least to say, but he put his head round the door from time to time to check on Palmer.

  “Any chance of a drink?” Palmer asked. He was feeling dehydrated, but more than anything he wanted to test the man’s reaction. If Gary refused him, i
t meant Palmer’s future was going to be very limited, no matter what the general vote on his usefulness had been.

  Gary went away without a word and returned several minutes later with a glass of orange juice. He stood over Palmer while he drank, then took the glass off him as soon as he had finished. Palmer had the feeling Gary was disappointed Mitcheson had stopped Lottie blowing his head all over the utility room wall. The good news was, giving him a drink confirmed that they had a use for him.

  He handed back the empty glass and settled back to listen and continue working on his bonds. It was surprisingly tiring work and the flexing of his arms and wrists made his whole upper body feel unbearably heavy. He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling, a gritty feeling around his eyes. Must be the heat, he thought. And the shock of being picked up and nearly shot. Or maybe I’m getting old. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and felt his head dropping like an enormously heavy weight, his thoughts becoming scrambled. He tried to lift it again, sucking in air, but it was no good. Way too tired…

  Riley slid over the low stone wall and pushed through the trees surrounding the villa to watch the preparations to leave. The patio furniture was tidied away and through the windows she could see dust covers being placed on the chairs and tables inside. From the front of the house she could hear the slamming of doors as vehicles were loaded with luggage.

  There was no sign of Palmer. She’d have to get a look inside the house to see if he was here. She glanced at her watch and wondered how Brask was getting on. She’d relayed to him what had happened to Palmer, and that it was time to bring in official help, preferably on both sides of the Med. He’d been doubtful the police would pay any attention without some official corroboration from the Spanish side, but promised to try. He would also try to get Customs & Excise excited about the Cessna, since that, at least, might be carrying some of the guns used by the ex-soldiers. Even if they came up with traces of ammunition or gun oil, it would show that focusing some attention on Lottie Grossman’s activities would be worthwhile.