No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 13

“It’s the ambulance,” the matron explained. She glanced towards the door, stopping Riley before she could move. “The doors make a special sound… you get used to it in this job. You won’t say anything, will you — about being in here? I could lose my job. They’re clamping down on security now.” Her eyes looked imploringly at Riley, desperate for the whole thing to go away. Yet even she must have known it was not as simple as that.

“I won’t say a word, Mrs Marsh,” Riley assured her. “But I think you’ll have to. They’re bound to do a post-mortem.”

Riley suspected that while Mrs Marsh might have taken some financial favour here and there to give special consideration to a resident, going against the law by covering up what she suspected to be a death from unnatural causes was beyond her.

She put a hand on the matron’s arm. “Mrs Marsh. Were you expecting him to die?”

The woman shook her head. “No. He was weak, of course, but not terminally ill.” She looked beseechingly at Riley. “Who could have done such a thing?”

Without waiting for a reply she left the room and went downstairs to admit the ambulance crew. The moment she was out of sight, Riley went through the bedside cabinet, but it was devoid of any papers save for some cheap books and magazines. Evidently anything of a personal nature had been cleared out. She checked the cabinet over the sink but that revealed no helpful clues, either. And no aftershave.

There wasn’t time to get Palmer in here to take a look; he’d have to rely on her observations. She followed Mrs Marsh downstairs. A private ambulance stood near the front door and one of the crew was just entering. Mrs Marsh’s voice floated out from inside, giving directions, telling them to mind the furniture. She sounded more in control now she was on familiar ground.

Palmer was leaning against the car smoking, with the cat they had seen earlier winding its way round his ankles. When he saw Riley he flicked the cigarette into the hedge and shooed the cat away before sliding into the rear seat. “Any luck?”

Riley shook her head and tossed her shoulder bag into the back. “He’s dead. The matron’s terrified and thinks he was helped along. So do I.” She explained about the indentations in the pillow and the leaves lying around inside.

“Convenient,” Palmer muttered bluntly. “Any chance she deliberately left the door unlocked?”

Riley glanced in the mirror at him. “You’ve got a nasty mind, Frank Palmer. She may be open to the odd inducement, but our Mrs Marsh isn’t the conspiracy sort — certainly not to murder. And the only reason I noticed the leaves was because the place is spotless.”

Palmer nodded. “Sounds like somebody’s doing a spot of clearing up of a different kind.”

“Yes. I wonder if there are any more old associates like Page and Cook — ones I never found a mention of? If there are, they must be wondering who’s going to be next on the list.”

“You said there was a third man at the top of the tree — someone who ran things with Cage and McKee.”

“There was. But no one knows who he was — or even if he’s still alive. And Cage and McKee aren’t telling.”

Riley started the car and drove away. As they passed the driveway, Mrs Marsh was standing by the open rear doors of the ambulance, staring off into space.

Back at Palmer’s office, Riley checked her mobile for messages. There was one. It was a familiar voice: “Riley? John Mitcheson… Remember, we met on the plane? How about that dinner we talked about? Give me a call.” His voice was calm and steady, as confident as she remembered from their talk on the plane. There was no hesitation when he had finished speaking, no repeated goodbye. He simply left a number and rang off.

“Will you go?” Palmer asked, when Riley explained about the message.

“Probably. Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“You tell me.”

Riley caught his eye and reflected that Palmer wasn’t as sleepy as he pretended. “I never gave him my mobile number.”

“Well,” Palmer commented, plugging in the kettle and scratching for tea bags in a drawer, “that’s no big deal. If it was me that wanted to track down a hot babe I’d met on holiday, I’d drop a few Euros down the hotel manager’s shirtfront. Tea… coffee?”

“Nothing, thanks,” Riley said, flushing at the thought that she had planned to do exactly what Palmer had just suggested. “But I didn’t give the hotel my number, either. I never give it to anyone — not even my mother. It’s strictly for outward use when I’m on the move. How could anyone trace it so quickly?”

Frank contemplated the ceiling, then said: “Maybe he’s not just anyone.”