No Help For The Dying

Chapter 24

The iron gates to the headquarters of the Church of Flowing Light were wide open when Riley and Palmer arrived, and the lodge still looked deserted. Palmer lounged in the passenger seat, checking the surrounding scenery.

‘Open all hours,’ he commented. ‘Unusual, I’d have thought.’

Riley nodded. ‘Maybe they’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Nothing they don’t mind anyone seeing, anyway.’

He had said little since leaving the office at Uxbridge, and Riley guessed he was impatient to find out more about the identity of the two men who were following her. While they were on a long quiet stretch along the M40, he had made a couple of phone calls, one of them to an unnamed contact Riley guessed was in the Met, asking for details on Nicholas Friedman. The person on the other end had said something which left Palmer with a silly grin on his face.

‘So,’ said Riley with studied lightness, after he’d switched off the phone. ‘Your snitch in the records office is a girl.’ She hadn’t seen Palmer act this way before, and it made her want to laugh. She really didn’t know much about his private life, but at least there were signs every now and then that he had one, Nikki Bruce being an exception.

But Palmer wasn’t playing. ‘She’s just a friend.’ He stuffed his phone in his pocket and concentrated on the passing traffic, but Riley could see by the set of his jaw that he was still smiling.

‘Of course. And the relationship is strictly professional. Hah. Tell that to your mother. Incidentally, when you promise to call a girl, you should stick to it. Remember Nikki Bruce?’ She recounted with relish what the reporter had told her, and Palmer seemed to sink in his seat.

‘I wondered when that was going to come up. She’s not my sort, that’s all. She wanted bright lights and lots of attention. Not really my scene. Have you heard from John Mitcheson lately?’

The question was a curved ball to stop Riley asking more questions. When she didn’t reply, Palmer grinned knowingly and settled back with his eyes closed, the conversation over.

Unlike Riley’s first visit, there were no signs of life beyond the chorus of birdsong in the trees surrounding the main house. And when she parked, there was no spooky appearance by Quine from the trees, demanding her car keys. There were no rows of other vehicles in evidence, either. Evidently things were a little slack on the meetings front.

Riley had no specific plan in mind, and after chewing over the options with Palmer on the drive down, had decided to play it by ear. They still only had de Haan’s earlier admission that Henry was with them, but no real proof. All they could hope for was that he might let something slip about Henry’s whereabouts.

The front door was ajar. She pushed it back and stepped inside. The reception area was deserted, although voices drifted in from the direction of the meeting room. Riley walked across to the connecting door de Haan had led her through the other morning. It opened easily and she stepped through, with Palmer close behind.

The room where the crowd of the other morning had gathered was now empty, and the chairs were stacked neatly against one wall to the side of the podium. The banner was gone, as were the microphone and lectern. Riley glanced at Palmer, who merely shrugged. They heard the voices again, one of them loud and accusing. Down at the far end of the room, standing in another doorway, was de Haan, in discussion with a man in overalls. The pastor was stabbing the air and pointing towards a radiator with a broken end of metal pipe leaking into a growing pool of water. He broke off when he heard their footsteps.

When he recognised Riley, his face dropped momentarily into a scowl before resuming the same genial expression he had adopted the first time they met. He flapped a hand at the man in overalls and scurried across the room towards them, his small feet carrying him with deceptive speed.

‘Miss Gavin,’ he said expansively, his voice booming around the panelled walls. He was dressed in a suit today, the expensive fabric immaculately tailored over his bulk, and his shoes gleamed black under the mix of natural and overhead lights. A crisp white shirt and silver tie completed the image of a successful and important man. He lifted one meaty hand in greeting, but looked anything but pleased to see her again. ‘I’m sorry — we’re having trouble with the heating.’ His eyes ran over Palmer before coming back to Riley with a faint frown. ‘Did we have an appointment? Only I have to go out.’

‘This won’t take long,’ said Riley.

‘Good. Good. Let’s go out into the reception area before that man begins banging again.’ He took her arm in a firm grip and ushered them both back through the door, pulling it shut behind him. Then he turned and looked at Palmer, who was studying the wood panelling as if it might yield up some long-held secrets. ‘And this is-?’

‘Frank Palmer,’ the investigator replied. ‘Along for the ride.’ He smiled pleasantly and took de Haan’s hand. ‘Nice place you’ve got here. Peaceful.’

The pastor shook his hand and gave a ghost of a smile, dropping into professional mode. ‘Thank you. How kind. We like to think it has a certain serene simplicity. Some say we should do it up, modernise, but,’ he shrugged, ‘there are much better things on which we can spend our limited resources. Are you a practising churchgoer, Mr Palmer?’

Palmer shook his head. ‘No, not really. God gave up on me a long time ago.’

De Haan looked almost shocked. ‘I doubt that, Mr Palmer. God never gives up on anyone. Perhaps you need to re-establish contact.’ He let go of Palmer’s hand and turned to Riley. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘I’d still like to see Henry,’ replied Riley. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s much better. But still not up to visitors, I’m afraid.’ Pastor de Haan gave a brief smile. ‘Perhaps in another day or two, when he’s feeling stronger.’

‘Stronger?’ This from Palmer.

‘Yes. He’s been through a traumatic time. It’s taken its toll and he needs complete rest. I’m concerned that anything stressful will put him back completely. Do you suffer from stress, Mr Palmer?’

‘Me? No. At least, only when I think I’m being given the run-around.’ He smiled enigmatically, his eyes never leaving de Haan’s face. ‘That gets to me quite a bit.’

‘Oh.’ De Haan glanced at Riley with a flicker of nerves and she wondered if he was hoping for Quine to appear like a genie out of the aged woodwork and rescue him. But she had a feeling Quine wasn’t around, otherwise he’d have been out here by now.

‘I was talking to Henry’s neighbour the other day,’ she said chattily. ‘She’s looking after Henry’s cat and sends her regards, by the way. She said Henry showed her some snaps once, of a day out with some young people. I got the impression it was here.’

‘Quite possibly,’ de Haan murmured, with a faint frown. ‘We have held barbecues and functions here from time to time, but it’s not something I encourage. The main thrust of our efforts lies in the cities. I suppose Henry might have taken some photos at one time.’ He brushed at a sudden hint of perspiration on his brow, his eyes shifting between Riley and Palmer.

‘So he helps with the young people, then? I thought his efforts were purely on the admin side.’ Riley wondered why de Haan was so nervous. She started to turn away, then looked back at him. ‘I didn’t realise he was so public-spirited. He’s such a dark horse. Still, just like him to record everything.’

De Haan looked as if he wanted to gag, and his face lost its colour. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just that Henry’s a newsman through to his socks. And we tend to over-record everything. You never know when you might stumble on a story. Like these missing kids that are in the news at the moment.’

De Haan’s expression hardened, but he managed a brief nod. ‘A sad sign of the times, I fear.’ Riley pulled out the folded flyer from the coffee house, showing Angelina Boothe-Davison’s details and photograph. It was a spur of the moment thing; until they had entered the building, she’d forgotten all about it. ‘Like this girl. Is this one of your flyers?’

De Haan looked at it as though it might bite, then nodded. ‘We try to help when asked, yes. I remember this one vaguely. A tragic case.’ His expression softened as if to reflect his concern, as if the missing girl was a personal burden he had to bear alone. ‘Poor girl. She stepped off the path. We can only hope she can be persuaded to come back.’

‘So you haven’t found her yet?’

‘Not yet. Why do you need to know?’

Riley ignored the question. ‘But the parents asked for your help? Why would they do that?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘How did they know to approach you? You’re not exactly in Yellow Pages.’

He studied her for a second, a pulse beating in his throat, and glanced at Palmer before answering. ‘Actually, it was a bit of both,’ he admitted carefully. ‘If I remember correctly, a friend of the family asked if we could intervene. I suggested they got the parents to call us.’ He shrugged with elaborate vagueness. ‘I don’t recall the specifics. It seemed more important to get the notices out there so we could begin the search before it was too late. People have very short memories, Miss Gavin. Life moves so quickly, demanding our every spare moment. It’s vital to get people to think before they forget what they have seen. Is this important to you — a family friend, perhaps? Because if you have any ideas about where she might be, you should tell me.’ His words sounded almost syrupy in their sincerity, but Riley thought she detected a sub-text which was more about suspicion. She was also certain he was lying about remembering how the Church became involved. He got the feeling that de Haan was a man who forgot very little.

She folded the flyer away and shook her head. ‘I don’t. But when we spoke last time, I got the impression you only took people in — and then only if they came to you for help. This sounds as if you actually go out looking for missing people on behalf of their families.’ She waited for a response.

He inclined his head as if dealing with a persistent and not terribly quick child. ‘Well, we do that, too, of course. When we’re asked. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear before. But I fail to see why this should be of interest to you or-’ he glanced at Palmer, ‘your friend, here. We have certain facilities and skills which allow us to perform that function. It would be wrong to waste them. Now, if you don’t-’

‘In exchange for a fee?’

He stiffened. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.’

‘I’m sorry, too. The grateful parents show their gratitude, is what I mean.’

De Haan took several seconds to answer, as if willing himself under control. ‘Some do, of course. But it is not and never has been a condition of supplying our expertise. That would be little better than bounty-hunting.’ His mouth clamped shut on the words in evident distaste.

‘And Mr Quine?’

De Haan frowned. ‘Mr Quine is a valuable asset. He has a great deal of experience in this area. I would be foolish if I denied anyone the opportunity to use his skills. I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Henry Pearcy?’

‘Where does he get them?’ Palmer put in, taking the lead.

‘Get what?’ De Haan looked confused by the switch.

‘His skills. Finding missing kids isn’t something you get through the Open University or as an NVQ. What is he — ex-police?’

‘I really have no idea. I seem to recall he may have once worked in the law enforcement field, now you mention it. As far as our work is involved, he has an understanding of the habits and networks in current use among the young, which is invaluable. As I said to you before, over the years we have built up some expertise at tracing runaways. It’s not our main activity, but I’m proud to say we have an enviable record of success… when we’re permitted to work freely, that is.’ He bit the words off with a snap, which Riley took as a sign that she was finally getting under his skin.

‘Permitted?’

‘Unhappily, not all those who are found wish to go home.’ He shrugged impatiently, wanting rid of the subject and, no doubt, the two of them. ‘There’s very little we can do to force them, under those circumstances. We do our best, but sometimes prior… events are against us.’

‘Such as?’

‘Family matters. I’m sure I don’t have to go into that. Adults, you see, usually find their own solutions, Miss Gavin. One way or another. The young do not have that luxury, and it is they who have most need of guidance when they feel the need to tread their own paths. But you probably know that already.’

Riley felt the sudden force of de Haan’s anger. From irritation at being questioned, he now looked as if he had stepped over an invisible line he had not intended to cross. Or was it the passion of the true believer? He ducked his head, his cheeks showing a sheen of perspiration, and Riley wondered if he was always this affected by his own rhetoric. ‘Forgive me,’ he added lamely. ‘It’s simply that I feel… very strongly about what we do here.’

‘I can tell. Thank you — you’ve been very helpful.’ She turned to go, then paused. ‘By the way, has Mr Quine been to the Suffolk coast recently?’

De Haan’s eyes flared in surprise before he clamped down on his reactions. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Suffolk. It’s on the east coast. Has he been there?’

‘I have absolutely no idea, Miss Gavin. You’ll have to ask him, won’t you?’ His expression was suddenly ice cold, all attempts at geniality gone.

‘Maybe I will.’

Riley turned and walked out, leaving Palmer to follow. Her head was ringing with the echo of de Haan’s words: ‘But you probably know that already.’

She had deliberately not told de Haan about Katie, yet she was certain that he knew. Could Henry have told him about her? She wondered if it was the real explanation for his unease. Pastor de Haan had allowed his control to slip a fraction, letting Riley know that he knew more about Katie’s past than he had any right to.

Back in the car, Riley glanced at Palmer. ‘What do you think?’

Palmer toyed with a cigarette, flicking it against his thumbnail. He wore a slight frown. ‘If I was a betting man,’ he said finally, ‘I’d say Pastor de Haan, along with his changeable accent, is as bent as a dead dog’s dick.’

‘How quaint. Should we tell DS McKinley? He might be able to force them to produce Henry. At least then he might take me off his list of possible suspects.’

Palmer shrugged and said nothing, so Riley stopped the car by the gates and took out the card the police officer had given her. He answered after three rings. ‘McKinley.’

‘You asked me to call if I heard anything about Henry Pearcy,’ Riley announced.‘

Did I?’ McKinley sounded tired. ‘Yes. Sorry, that’s no longer an investigation.’

What?’ Riley was surprised. ‘But you said his disappearance was suspicious.’

‘So it was. But not any longer. Word came from on high; Mr Pearcy had some kind of breakdown. As a result of taking some anti-depressants, he had a fall in his hotel room. He’s now staying with friends. There’s nothing more I can do, I’m afraid. Now, if that’s all, I have an urgent call.’

‘Breakdown? But that’s crazy-’ But the line was dead. McKinley had hung up.

Riley switched off her mobile and dropped it in her lap. ‘Do you believe that? What does that mean, word from on high?’ She drove out of the gates, causing a spurt of gravel behind her.

Palmer pulled a face. ‘It means a senior person on the totem pole pulled rank. You don’t argue with that if you value your pension. De Haan must have got to somebody.’

‘And that’s it? That’s all you’re prepared to do?’ She looked at him in exasperation. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and light your cigarette; it might give you some inspiration.’

‘Well, if you wanted me to tie de Haan to a chair and beat him over the head with a rubber hose, you should have said. I said he’s bent, but that doesn’t mean he’s involved in Katie Pyle’s death. And if he’s convinced the Met that Henry’s safe, there’s nothing we can do.’ He gave a wry smile and put the unlit cigarette back in the packet. ‘All the same, it might be interesting to go back and take a quiet look around.’

Riley smiled with relief and put her foot down.

When they were close to Uxbridge, Palmer gave her directions to s small block of flats set in a leafy back road. He asked her if she wanted to come in.

‘I don’t know. Is it safe?’

‘Perfectly. Why shouldn’t it be?’ He gave her a shark-like smile. ‘If I’d wanted to tie you up and do unspeakable things to you, I’d have done it before now.’ He punished her by taking out a cigarette and lighting it, and blowing the smoke around the inside of the car.

Riley ignored the provocation and tried another tack. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to risk upsetting your girlfriend. Or doesn’t she mind you inviting strange women into your lair?’

He gave her a sideways look. ‘God, you women are so transparent. Actually, my girlfriend, as you insist on calling her, doesn’t mind. In any case, she’s a lot stranger than you are.’ He opened the door and got out. ‘Tea, coffee or see you tomorrow?’

‘Palmer, you’ve got a real way with women. Make it tea.’ She followed him into a two-storey block of apartments, where he led the way to the first floor. He unlocked the door and ushered her into a neat, well-ordered sitting room with a small kitchen. The furniture was good quality and comfortable, and the colour scheme pleasing if unspectacular. Riley was surprised by how tidy the place was, in spite of needing a dusting.

Palmer noticed her look as he walked through to the kitchen. ‘I don’t do dust. I prefer to wait for the local electricity sub-station to build up a bit of static.’ While he made tea, Riley nosed around, peering at bookshelves and out into the rear gardens. She resisted the temptation of intruding into the bedroom. When he came in with two mugs of tea, she sat and sipped hers.

‘You just don’t get this, do you?’ said Palmer with a smile, stirring his tea. ‘You’d have been happier if I’d turned out to be a slob with pizza boxes piled up on the table and empty beer bottles rolling around on the carpet.’

Riley felt guilty. ‘Actually, I didn’t know what to expect. Something a little less orderly, I suppose.’

He licked his teaspoon and shrugged. ‘So, you reckon I’ve burned my bridges with Nikki Bruce, then?’

‘Burned and dropped in the river. Unless you fancy a girlfriend in the broadcasting media.’ She couldn’t help hoping he’d say no.

‘Forget it. Anyway, I prefer police uniforms to designer jackets.’ He tried to give what Riley guessed was a deliberately boyish snigger, but missed it by a mile. They talked a little about what they would do next, then Riley left him to it and drove home.

What she didn’t expect to find was a stranger sitting on the front steps.