NO KISS FOR THE DEVIL (Gavin & Palmer 5) (20 page)

Palmer laughed
and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah. I can see that must have added to your bad
hair day.’

‘What about
you?’ Riley ignored the dig. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

Before he could
reply, there was a knock at the door. Riley put down her glass and went to see who
it was. She found DI Craig Pell on the landing.

‘How did you
get past the front door?’ she queried.

He flashed his
card. ‘The old chap downstairs let me in. He was trying to lure a large cat
indoors with what looked like giant meatballs.’

‘That’s Mr Grobowski.
And the community cat. Couldn’t you have rung first?’

‘I would have,
but I thought you might not be in.’ His smile faltered at the way that sounded,
and he pressed on. ‘Anyway, I was in the area.’ He shuffled his feet
uncertainly. ‘And I wanted to say sorry about the other night. I might have
been a bit… abrupt.’

‘Were you? I
didn’t notice.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Palmer, who was giving her a
snide smile, and felt her face flush. She didn’t mean to give Pell a hard time;
it was just coming out that way. ‘What can I do for you, Detective Inspector?’

‘Um… right.’ He
cleared his throat and said quickly, ‘Actually, I need to speak to Mr Palmer.’

Riley threw the
door open and let him in.

‘I’m sorry to
bother you, sir,’ said Pell, advancing into the room. ‘But I couldn’t get you
on your office number. Chief Superintendent Weller suggested Miss Gavin, here,
might know where you were.’ His voice had lost the tentative air and was all
business.

Palmer digested
that titbit in silence. For Weller to have suggested such a thing meant the
senior policeman was in touch with Pell on a regular basis. He wondered if the
lines had become slightly blurred between the murder investigation and Weller’s
role in SOCA. Unless, he thought, noting the way Pell carried himself in front
of Riley, there was another reason for him being here.

‘How thoughtful
of him.’ He could guess what the policeman was going to tell him, and he was
right.

‘Someone turned
over Helen Bellamy’s flat,’ Pell announced. ‘I take it you haven’t been there
since our talk?’

‘No, I
haven’t.’

‘I hope not.
We’re dusting for prints at the moment. You wouldn’t care to provide some
samples, I suppose?’

‘Are you asking
or instructing?’ Palmer remained calm. The man was only doing his job, but he
wasn’t about to make it too easy for him.

Pell blew his
cheeks out, seemingly undismayed. ‘Actually, I can’t say I’m bothered, bearing
in mind that you’ve been there before. I don’t need to set us up for more
embarrassment on flimsy forensics. I was more interested in whether you’d had
any further thoughts about that photo Miss Bellamy sent you – the one of the
office block.’

‘No. Like I
said before, I think it must have been a mistake.’

‘Maybe.’ Pell
sounded doubtful.

‘Have you come
up with anything at all?’ Riley asked.

‘We don’t know
who killed her, no. But we found a reference in her flat to a meeting three
weeks ago with a man in a west London hotel. It could have been perfectly
normal, but there’s no trace of the man, unfortunately.’

‘What sort of
reference?’

‘A receipt for
coffee. It was a slim hope, but the porter remembered her from a photo we
showed him. He said she arrived early and had to wait. He thought she seemed a
bit nervous and assumed it was a job interview. He vaguely recalled the man she
met as a foreign national – possibly American.’

‘Anything on
CCTV?’ said Palmer.

‘I wish. The
tapes are turned over every week.’

‘You said
American?’ Riley echoed. She picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down David
Johnson’s number. ‘Helen recently did a piece on a US finance case here in
London. He’ll give you the details.’

‘Thank you. It
all helps.’ He placed the piece of paper in his pocket. ‘Something else has
cropped up. We received a formal request this morning from the Frankfurt
Criminal Investigation Division. They’re looking into the death of Annaliese
Kellin and want a report on what we found.’

‘Can they do
that?’ Palmer wasn’t sure where the boundaries existed now in the new modern
EU, or how far a police force in one country could impact on a murder of a
fellow national in another.

‘Why not? It
works both ways; we help them, they help us next time we have a query on their
turf. It seems a former press colleague bumped into Miss Kellin in London, and
she told her she’d got a new job, but she was thinking of jacking it in. The
friend said she seemed unhappy - even distressed – and mentioned something
about being asked to do something she felt was unethical. She didn’t go into
detail, though, so we’re no further forward.’

Palmer waited,
wondering why Pell was telling them this. It was clear that Annaliese Kellin
must have got herself into something nasty. Was her untimely death something to
do with wanting to throw in her new job?

‘Anyway,’ Pell
continued, ‘I mention it out of interest. You’ll let me know if you think of
anything?’ He nodded at them both, then turned and walked over to the door. As
he went out, he looked at Riley. ‘I meant it – the apology, that is.’

‘Did your wife
tell you to say that?’

He raised an
eyebrow. ‘If I had one, she might’ve done.’ He walked down the stairs, humming
to himself.

‘What was that
about?’ asked Riley, closing the door.

‘Just what I
was going to ask,’ Palmer retorted innocently. ‘Wife, huh? Nice touch. Neat. He
fell for it, too.’

‘You know what
I mean!’

‘My guess? He’s
taking his lead from Weller. Rattling our cages.’

‘Perhaps.’ She
sat down and picked up her wine glass. ‘You still haven’t said what you’ve been
doing.’

He looked
surprised. ‘Me?’

‘You. Where did
you get to while I was at lunch with Richard Varley? Only, I had a distinct
feeling you weren’t far away. Why was that?’ The look she gave him was cool,
and it was obvious she had been thinking about it for a while.

‘If you must
know, I followed your lunch date to see where he went.’ There was no other way
of telling her. It produced the reaction he’d been expecting.

‘I knew it!’
she muttered angrily, slopping wine over her hand. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve!
Who I have lunch with is no concern of yours!’ She stood up and stalked into
the kitchen to wash her hand under the tap, leaving Palmer contemplating that
it had been her idea to meet Varley in the first place. A cupboard door banged
and a roller towel clattered as she snatched off some squares of tissue to dry
herself. When she came back, it was without the wine. She went over to the
window, throwing Palmer a furious look on the way, and stood looking out at the
skyline.

‘So where did
he lead you?’ she said finally, her shoulders tense.

Palmer told her
about the trip across London, the visit to MailBox Services and the security
men outside the hotel at Lancaster Gate. ‘And before you ask,’ he added not
unkindly, ‘I admit I can’t prove they were Varley’s men.’

Riley turned.
‘But you think they were.’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe he’s
just paranoid,’ she said. ‘Or cautious.’

‘One or the
other. We’ll soon find out.’

‘What do you
mean?’

He took a deep
breath, aware that the next bit of information might also get a chilly
response. ‘He’s seen me, so I can’t go near him. I’m having him followed.’

‘Good idea. Who
by?’

‘Ray Szulu.’

********

Riley’s
mouth dropped open in shock. Palmer returned the stare without a flicker. He
knew she still recalled with frightening clarity her first meeting with Szulu
and the scare he’d given her, but he also knew she was tough enough to get over
this.

‘Szulu?’ she
echoed. ‘That idiot with the gun? Tell me you’re joking!’

He shook his
head. ‘I’m dead serious. The security men near the hotel didn’t look twice at a
couple of black guys who walked by. It’s as if they weren’t there. Don’t ask me
why… possibly making false assumptions. Everyone else got the full eyeball, men
and women alike. Szulu’s purpose-built for the job.’

‘What did you
do - threaten to shoot him?’

‘No. I offered
him money.’ He was enjoying the moment. At least it had taken the anger out of
the situation. ‘I also said if he didn’t agree, I’d send you round. That seemed
to clinch it.’

‘Very funny.
What else?’

Palmer
remembered the magazine he’d taken from the parcel in MailBox Services. He
handed it to her. ‘Varley was taking a close interest in this. There was a box
full of them in the shop.’ He waited while she glanced through it.

‘Well, why
wouldn’t he be interested? It’s his job.’ She looked at the cover. ‘This is the
edition following the one he gave me.’

‘There was also
a mailing list in the box. A long one.’

‘So?’

‘Natalya Fisher
said the circulation was three-hundred, tops. The box and the mailing list must
have been twice that.’

‘What are you
saying?’

‘It looks as if
they distribute the magazines from London. It probably looks better than coming
out of Georgia. The list, though, was only for the next two issues. I thought
it was odd having such an inflated mailing for two editions.’

Riley said
nothing, so Palmer continued, ‘I think this first one – number 1572 – could be
a mailing tester to flush out any problems with the list and to set up the next
one.’

‘Or it’s a
simple marketing exercise to increase circulation.’ Riley still sounded
prickly, but her tone wasn’t quite so sure. She turned to the editorial page,
then looked at Palmer with a sombre expression. ‘I think you’re right.’ She
handed him the magazine, pointing at an editorial piece at the bottom of the
page.

In the next edition of East European
Trade, we take you behind the scenes of the developing battle for control of
the next-generation telecommunications network across the planet’s largest land
mass. What is the Low Earth Orbit BATNEV system? What does it promise for
consumers in remote areas of Eastern Europe and beyond? Who will be the winners
and losers in the forthcoming round of bids? Will it be the current giants of
the telecoms industry expanding their business base even further, or is there
room for newcomers in this exciting consumer market? We introduce you to one
surprise bidder in this field – ‘Kim’ Al-Bashir, Egyptian-born London
billionaire entrepreneur, who is staking his claim to a portion of this global
business. He has the nerve, he has a formidable investment background, and an
army of oil-rich Middle East fund-holders. But has he any weak links in his
armour? Is there anything about Al-Bashir that might derail his plans at the
last minute? His traditional and ultra-conservative Muslim backers are known to
favour secrecy and a lack of anything approaching scandal in their dealings.
But we ask, is this man, married to a beautiful young wife, Asiyah, perhaps
anything but conservative? To find out, you must read the next explosive
edition of ETT!

Palmer
finished reading. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘They’re
talking about my article,’ she said. ‘The article Richard wants me to write.
It’s going in the next issue.’

‘But you
haven’t written it yet.’ 

‘Nor can I.
This is a smear-job… it would be professional suicide. Al-Bashir would nail my
skin to the doors of the High Court.’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, I knew there
was some salacious stuff in the notes Richard gave me, but I didn’t expect them
to go for this kind of angle- ‘ She broke off and paced the room, eyes flashing
with growing anger. ‘They must have planned it this way this all along - and I
stumbled right into it!’

They were both
startled by the phone ringing.

Riley picked up
the phone and listened, then glanced involuntarily towards the front window.
‘You’re here?’ She looked at Palmer and mouthed Varley’s name. 

Palmer jumped
to his feet and pointed upwards. It was best if he stayed out of the way. He
wondered if his visit to the shop in Camden had anything to do with it,
although he couldn’t see how. As far as Varley was concerned, there was no
connection between him and Riley Gavin, and that was how he wanted to keep it.

Riley nodded
and said, ‘Richard, just give me a minute, will you?’ She put the phone down, a
determined set to her jaw. ‘Good timing, really. I’m going to tell him I’m
pulling out. I can’t put my name to the sort of stuff he’s talking about.’ She
picked up the magazine. ‘You’d better take this with you. What are you going to
do?’

‘I want to see
if he came alone.’

‘You’re
thinking of those security men.’

Palmer nodded.

‘And if he
didn’t?’

‘Then we’ll
know what we’re up against.’

********

Riley
went downstairs and opened the front door. Richard Varley was standing on the
steps. He was as elegant and expensively dressed as before, and seemed to fill
the doorway.

She led him
upstairs. This time the roles were reversed and it was he who seemed
ill-at-ease. She wondered what had happened to bring him here like this.

‘Is there a
problem?’ She kept her voice level, wondering how long to give him before
telling him to take his assignment away.

‘Yes.’ He
looked paler than usual and had cut himself shaving. She found it an oddly
appealing sign. ‘I’m sorry, Riley, for coming round here like this… invading
your space. But I’ve heard some unpleasant news.’

‘What about?’
Riley had a sudden image of Palmer’s face. Had they made the connection?

‘I have,’
Richard began, his voice uncertain, ‘some… principals in the publishing
business. Directors, shareholders, if you like. They have made substantial
investments over the years and are very watchful about what we publish. It has
come to my - their - notice… that you’ve had a meeting with Al-Bashir. Is that
correct?’