NO KISS FOR THE DEVIL (Gavin & Palmer 5) (9 page)

‘I don’t know.
Probably.’

Riley reached
beneath his desk and switched on his computer. ‘It could have been a shot she
took of something, or maybe she scanned it in from a hard copy.’ She sat back
to wait for the machine to boot up, then studied the icons on the screen to
call up the email. ‘Christ, Palmer, you make it so easy for people to access
your PC. Don’t you have any passwords?’

‘You know me,’
he said dryly. ‘I’m an open book.’ He stood behind Riley to watch his inbox
fill up. It was mostly Spam, dozens of them. He ran his eyes down as Riley
scrolled through the list.

She stopped the
cursor on an untitled message with an attachment. It was dated five days ago.
The sender tag was Hellsbells.

‘That’s her,’
Palmer breathed. He recalled them laughing over her email name, which she
thought summed her up fairly well. There was no message, just the attachment.
Riley clicked on it and waited for it to open. The screen flickered and they
were looking at a photo of an office building.

‘That’s
romantic.’ Riley glanced up at him. ‘Does it look familiar?’

‘Never seen it
before.’ Palmer was puzzled. It was a standard glass-and-concrete panel building,
maybe seven floors high, with a pale facia and a sloping canopy over the
entrance doors. A couple of trees stood in circular beds set into a
block-paving forecourt, with metal bollards to prevent vehicles parking too
close to the glass frontage. It could have been any building from Aberdeen to
Zanzibar: functional, unremarkable and built by numbers.

He tried to
think what significance an office building might have held for him and Helen.
Clearly she had thought it had some relevance. But nothing came to mind. Why
was there no accompanying message?

Riley voiced
his thoughts. ‘Would you send anyone a photo of a building without at least a
word of explanation to go with it?’

‘No. Unless
they were expecting it.’

‘And you
obviously weren’t.’

‘No.’ He
sighed, frustrated by the lack of clear answers as to what had happened in
Helen’s life over the past few days. Yet surely this must have held some
special meaning, otherwise she wouldn’t have been trying to contact him.

‘Unless,’ said
Riley sombrely, ‘she couldn’t add a message in the normal way.’ She
right-clicked the mouse button and a box appeared marked ‘Properties’. She
studied it for a moment, then said, ‘I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think this
photo came from a mobile phone camera. Did she have one?’

‘Yes. She got
it just before I met her. I’m sure it had a camera. It did everything but make
coffee.’ 

Riley gave him
a sideways look, and Palmer knew what she was thinking. He had a basic brick of
a model which did nothing but make and receive calls, and which Riley had once
commented was heavy enough to double as a cosh if he needed one.

‘It’s called
progress, Palmer. I’m surprised you haven’t got one. In your line of work,
you’d find it useful, taking snaps of adulterers in their frillies.’ She moved
the cursor and the picture became larger as she zoomed in. A couple of clicks
and the area above the entrance moved into the frame. ‘Got you,’ she breathed,
and moved the cursor to a faint outline of a sign above the doors. It read:
Pantile House.

Riley opened Google
and typed in the name of the building. It came up with ten pages of hits. Many
were of buildings with the name Pantile all over the country, including several
commercial properties.

‘This could
take some time,’ she warned him, after several false starts. ‘We’ll be dead
lucky to get a match on the Internet. It could be anywhere – or be one of these
buildings from a different angle.’ She tapped her fingernail on the desk. ‘On
the other hand, I know someone with access to a commercial property database.
Fancy a trip into the city?’

‘Couldn’t we
email them the photo?’ Palmer checked his watch. ‘We don’t have much time.’

‘Don’t worry.
The person I’m thinking of works unsocial hours. And he owes me a favour.’ She
picked up her mobile and checked her directory. ‘Won’t be a second.’

Palmer walked
over to the door, impatient to be going. If there was even the faintest of
trails, he wanted to follow it, no matter where it led. ‘Suits me. What else
are we going to do?’

A door slammed, the
noise intruding over the muted hum of home-going traffic along the Euston Road.
It was followed by a faint burst of laughter, the sounds echoing up through the
empty fourth floor.

The man named
Grigori gave a start. He didn’t enjoy having to use this place. But he was
obsessive about not leaving a paper trail, which was why he couldn’t risk
hiring a facility legitimately. Contracts and invoices left a footprint, and
remaining invisible in this city for the time being was essential. He was here
on someone else’s territory, and if he made a mistake, he knew his presence
would be compromised. It was one of the reasons he had a variety of names and
identities at his fingertips. The man he was specifically trying to avoid was
not one to let an opportunity slip by without taking drastic action.

He stood up and
stared out of the window. It didn’t help that he did not altogether trust the
building’s supervisor, Goricz, who had arranged access to this empty office.
The Serbian immigrant had promised that the lease was frozen pending legal complications,
and that nobody would disturb them. But he had dealt with people like Goricz
before. If they sold their services to one person for a few paltry pounds, they
could just as easily do it to another. It was the nature of the beast.

The office door
opened and his assistant, Radko, slipped inside.

‘Well?’ Grigori
switched on the desk lamp.

‘I checked the
briefcase again. There were some notes, which I burned, and a cellphone. I have
someone checking the call log through the service provider. The woman called
several numbers over the last few days, one of them more than once.’ He
shrugged. ‘Could be a friend we don’t know about – setting up a date, perhaps.’

Grigori nodded.
‘Maybe. When will we know for certain?’

‘That we are
still safe? A few hours – tomorrow at the latest. Even then, there’s no
guarantee that she didn’t talk about what she was doing.’

‘I know. Let us
hope she did not. If Al-Bashir even sniffs we are here, he will know why.’ He
stared hard at Radko, eyes bleak. ‘He has men he can call on. And I know he
will not hesitate to use them.’ He checked his watch. ‘I want to leave in half
an hour.’

Radko nodded.
‘I’ll tell the others to be ready.’

*******

The
offices of Crichton, Rutter & Dean occupied the ground floor corner of an
office block just to the south side of Oxford Street. The property consultants
shared building space with a marketing company, a film production HQ and a
container leasing firm, and were protected by an entry-phone, CCTV and a
uniformed commissionaire.

Riley announced
their names and the man clicked open the door and showed them through to a
reception area with a smart desk and a young woman with a Hermes scarf and a
brooding air of boredom. She lifted her chin in query.

‘We’re here to
see Mark Chase,’ said Riley. ‘He is expecting us.’

Before the
woman could respond, a side door opened and a man in his late forties stepped
out with a welcoming smile. He was plump and shiny-faced and dressed in
shirtsleeves, pinstripe pants and braces, and had a head of glossy hair
peppered with grey.

‘Riley! I
spotted you coming in. Nice to see you again.’ His tone was relaxed, educated,
the greeting enthusiastic. He looked at Palmer. ‘You must be Frank.’ He waved a
hand. ‘Ex-RMP, right?’

Palmer smiled
back. ‘And you weren’t.’

 ‘No, sorry. I
was in the Grenadiers for a bit. Managed to avoid you lot, thankfully.’ He
grinned boyishly, eyes sparkling, and ushered them into his office. He sat them
down, then slid behind a vast, mahogany desk sinking beneath paperwork and
files and a large flat-screen PC monitor. A black and white photograph on a
shelf behind him showed a group of men in combat uniform posed against an army
truck. Another - this one in colour - showed an attractive woman with dark
hair, sandwiched between two small boys. Riley had met Cathy, Mark’s wife, and
knew she was fiercely protective of him.

 ‘I’m afraid I
haven’t got a lot of time,’ he said apologetically. ‘We’ve had a rush visit
dropped on us by the Foreign Office. A team of Chinese civil servants want to
see some office space, so I might have to drop everything and run.’

Riley had
explained on the way across town that Mark Chase had been caught on the
periphery of a property scam she had investigated a couple of years ago. It had
been Riley’s word that had kept him out of prison when a former business
partner had left him holding suddenly worthless papers. He had been waiting to
pay back her kindness ever since.

‘Mark,’ Riley
reassured him, ‘it’s good of you to see us.’

‘No problem.’
Chase glanced at his watch before turning to his monitor. ‘You were looking for
this building, right?’ He tapped the keyboard and spun the monitor round to
face them. It showed the picture that Riley had emailed him before leaving
Palmer’s office. ‘It’s not the greatest picture… poor resolution, I’m afraid.
Taken on a mobile – am I right?’

‘We think so,’
said Riley.

‘It’s fine.’
Chase shrugged. ‘Some of our people use them all the time for quick snaps.’ He
pulled the screen back round and tapped the keys again. The photo was replaced
by a sharper image taken from a slightly different angle. ‘Is this the one?’ He
turned it back so they could see it.

Riley and
Palmer both leaned forward and studied the screen. The colouring and detail of
the canopy over the entrance looked the same, as did one of the stubby trees
set into the ground nearby. This time, the name PANTILE HOUSE was clearly
visible.

‘How did you
find it so quickly?’ said Riley. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘Stroke of luck
and a good database,’ Chase replied modestly. ‘I shoved it out on the net and
got two replies within minutes. Our data confirmed it. Two of our leasing
agents had been there recently and recognised it immediately.’ He grinned.
‘Lucky it was here in London, though. Anywhere out in the sticks and we’d have
had a problem.’

‘Where is it?’
Palmer asked.

‘Off Eversholt
Street, near Euston. Thirty years old, seven floors, basic commercial property
with facilities, parking and part-time suit-and-boot security.’

Riley looked
blank.

‘A supervisor
in a serge uniform,’ he explained. ‘The rental doesn’t allow a full-time
presence, and there’s minimal electronic coverage. Used to be a DHSS office
before it was refurbished, but that was years ago.’ His eyes drifted to the
screen. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care to tell me why you need this, would you?’

‘We don’t know
yet,’ Palmer said easily. ‘The photo was sent to us, but we’re not sure why. It
could be part of something we’re looking into.’

Chase nodded.
‘You’re a PI, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fair enough.
Just interested. Actually, we don’t look after this place any more. We handed
it to another company as part of a shared management deal. But I can tell you
that most of the tenants are solid and have been there for years. All except
those on the fourth floor, anyway. They went bust and legged it. We’re still
trying to sort out the legal situation.’

‘Did you say
the fourth?’ Riley pounced on the reference to the floor number.

‘That’s right.
We weren’t able to let it and so far, neither have the other company. I doubt
they’ll do so now, anyway; there’s talk of  a developer moving in. They’ll
probably knock it down and start again.’ He sat back and looked between them
with a knowing eye. ‘You want to get inside, don’t you?’

Riley gave him
her best winning smile. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Call me
perceptive.’ He scribbled on a slip of paper. ‘I can’t go myself because of
this Chinese visit, but if you ring Malcolm Swan, he’ll get you inside. You can
pretend to be interested punters.’

‘Can he do it
today?’ said Palmer.

‘Sure.’ Chase
didn’t miss a beat. ‘What’s left of it. We often do evening viewings. I’ll call
him and tell him you’re on your way. He works for the other firm, but he’s a
good mate.’ He made a brief call and issued a firm request, then hung up.
‘Okay. All arranged.’

Riley took the
slip of paper along with the address details and stood up. The two men
followed. Chase came round his desk with his jacket in one hand and gestured
towards the door just as his phone gave three short beeps.

‘Damn - that’s
my call to arms,’ he said, and opened the door. ‘Late night for me, with prawn
balls all round. Can you see yourselves out?’

‘Of course,’
said Riley. ‘And we do appreciate this.’

He eyed Riley
warmly and gave her a quick, no-nonsense hug. ‘I still owe you big-time,’ he
told her seriously. ‘And Cathy would kill me if she knew I wasn’t taking you to
this place myself. Call me if you need anything else?’

Riley nodded
and touched his arm. ‘We’ll be fine. Say hello to Cathy for me – and don’t
mention civil rights to your dinner guests.’

They left him
to his evening meeting and walked out into the square.

‘So,’ said
Palmer, eyeing a darkening sky. ‘Now we know the where. What we don’t know is
the why.’

Riley looked at
him, sensing the hunter in his demeanour. Whatever he might be feeling about
Helen’s murder, Palmer was beginning to gather strength and momentum from
everything they learned. It was almost scary watching the gradual
transformation. ‘How do we find out?’

‘The only way
there is. We go take a look.’