No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 26

“I’m going for a walk,” said Palmer, poking his head round the doorway of Riley’s room. “You want anything?”

They had booked into a small hotel along the coast road outside Malaga. It was sandwiched between a new development of half-built holiday apartments and a shopping complex bright with multi-coloured lights and gaudy adverts for suntan oil and Ray-Ban sunglasses.

After hanging around the garden behind the hotel for a while, discussing their next move and subconsciously waiting for dusk to fall, they had returned to their rooms to catch up on the sleep they had missed during their flight from England.

Riley looked up from where she was hunched over her laptop on the bed. “Nothing, thanks,” she said. She had been indulging in some mind-mapping, randomly jotting down thoughts about the investigation. The names of Cook, Page, McKee and the others were dotted about the screen, joined by a series of lines, arrows and exclamation marks. She had just added John Mitcheson’s name with a question mark and another line to Ray Grossman and his wife.

She listened as Palmer’s footsteps echoed down the tiled stairs towards the lobby, and wondered if she shouldn’t have tagged along with him. It might be better than sitting here uselessly staring at her screen while getting eye strain, with her thoughts equally jumbled like scattered pieces of a puzzle. The inactivity was beginning to get to her and she desperately wanted to have another look at the villa. But Palmer would throw a fit if she went without him.

Half an hour later, when he had still not returned, she closed the laptop and drove back along the coast road. She knew it was risky, but she really couldn’t take the waiting any longer. Besides, it would hardly be the first time she had gone snooping alone.

She turned onto the road leading to the Villa Almedina and drove past it into open countryside. In spite of the falling light there was still a remnant of heat-haze in the distance over the fields, and a line of trees danced like chorus girls along the brow of a hill. There was little other movement, save for two men with deeply weathered faces scuffing wearily along the road. Both were dressed in faded work-clothes and carried tool-bags over their shoulders. One wore a scruffy baseball cap with a Coca-Cola logo, while the other fanned himself with a battered straw hat that had seen better days. They stared as Riley drove by, but didn’t pause in their measured tread.

After half a mile she turned the car round and drove slowly back. There was no sign of the two men, so she cut the engine and coasted into the side of the road just before reaching the villa. She climbed out to the sound of a turgid breeze in the trees and the distant hum of an electric motor.

She took a bottle of water and locked the car, then walked along the verge until she reached the stone wall where she and Palmer had stood earlier. The dry undergrowth crackled beneath her boots, and she tried to banish all thoughts of snakes. The atmosphere here was cooler, with a strong smell of sap hanging in the air. She wormed her way into the trees and squatted down to watch the rear of the villa, focusing on the patio and pool.

She sipped sparingly from the water bottle but soon began to wish she’d used the bathroom before coming out. It wouldn’t take long for the thought to become intense and nagging. It’s easy for men on this kind of job, she thought. All they have to do is unzip where they stand and no one gives it a thought.

A twig snapped off to her left. She resisted the impulse to spin round and turned her head slowly, her breathing stopped. A flash of movement caught her eye. When it wasn’t repeated she decided it must have been a bird and settled back on her heels to wait.

Ten minutes later still nothing had happened around the villa. She wondered what Palmer was doing. Probably propping up a bar listening to the gossip, knowing him. Not that she thought he was idle; in fact there was something about Palmer that told her once he took on a job, he was the type never to be off duty. Her opinion of the private detective had risen considerably since she had first met him, and she realised his laid-back aura of weariness was little more than an act. She felt guilty at having come out here without him, but it was too late now.

A car engine sounded nearby and she saw a flash of light off paintwork towards the front of the house. Doors slammed and voices drifted through the branches, then silence. More members of the household, or visitors?

There was a scuff of movement to her left. Again she turned her head but couldn’t see anything. Then she heard a low growl to her front. She looked towards the sound and realised that what she had first taken to be a dark patch of tree trunk was now moving.

The Rottweiler was standing barely twenty feet away, looking right at her.

The yellow eyes stayed on her as the animal approached. Its pupils contained pale flecks, and there was a line of dried, white saliva around the dog’s jaws. Riley could see the muscle bunched around the beast’s shoulders, and her mouth went dry as she realised trying to run would be hopeless; this animal would be on her before she got to her feet.

Another snap sounded to her left and someone muttered a low curse. The effect on the dog was instantaneous. It stopped dead, its head whipping round.

The result was dramatic. A man rose from the undergrowth thirty feet away and stared at the dog with a look of terror. His face was deeply tanned, and he wore a familiar baseball cap bearing a Coca-Cola motif. It was one of the workmen Riley had seen earlier along the road.

It explained why she hadn’t seen the two men on her way back. So this was where they had gone, to catch some sleep under the trees. Now one of them had woken up and disturbed the Rottweiler.

It was then she realised that the man was holding a handgun.

The dog saw it in the same instant and launched itself forward through the trees like an arrow, a deep rumbling coming from its chest. There was a crash of trampled undergrowth as the man stumbled backwards, then a noise like a branch snapping. The dog gave a howl.

Then silence.

Voices called from the direction of the villa, and Riley decided it was time to go. She turned and hopped over the wall, running along the verge to the car. Behind her she heard shouting and more snapping sounds from among the trees.

She fumbled with the car keys, perspiration making them slippery. Finally the door opened and she skidded off the grass verge onto the road, a billowing cloud of dust building behind her, masking her from the view of anyone coming out of the trees.

At the end of the road she pulled out onto the main coastal highway. Her nerves were screaming at her close brush with disaster. Palmer would throw a fit if he found out. She shivered again at the thought of the dog, and thanked the gods that its attention had been diverted by the man in the cap.

As she accelerated in the direction of the hotel, a figure in a dark uniform stepped out from the side of the road a hundred yards ahead. She instantly felt a leaden feeling in her stomach. He was pointing at her and waving her down. Behind him stood a police car, its blue light flashing.