No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 20

Riley double-checked the address on the slip of paper Palmer had given her. It turned out to be a ratty, run-down Victorian villa on the southern edges of Isleworth. Heavy net curtains hung drunkenly at the dust-blown windows, and the remains of an old trials bike was rusting in the small front plot behind a low brick wall topped with drunken coping stones. Six cracked steps led up from the pavement to the battered front door, and a panel showing a row of bell-pushes with name-tags. The house had once been proud, and no doubt the property of a single household. But over it now hung an air of despair, with peeling paint, frost-damaged brickwork and the grey tinge of a building dying of neglect.

Riley parked outside a deserted building site nearby and waited. She took out the note Palmer had given her and checked the registration and make against the cars at the kerb. None of them matched. Maybe it was parked in a secure lock-up nearby.

According to Donald’s information, the assigned driver of the car was a Raymond Szulu, whose address was given as Flat 3A. She studied the building carefully, wondering which window belonged to Mr Szulu. Like many large Victorian-style properties in the capital, this one had been broken up into small flats or bed-sits, catering to an ever-shifting population. She was tempted to take a closer look, but as Palmer had pointed out, Szulu now knew what Riley looked like. If 3A looked out onto the street, and Szulu was the cautious type. He’d have a clear view of everyone walking by. If he was brazen enough to make an entry into her house to frighten her, there was no saying how he might react if he saw her encroaching on his own turf.

She wondered if Palmer was having any joy at VTS. After her brief encounter with Szulu, she would have preferred to have Palmer here with her, but pride had prevented her saying so. Besides, he was probably enjoying himself, skulking around the commercial estate looking for an opening. Knowing Palmer, he’d probably come away with a job driving a forklift before the day was out.

The front door to Szulu’s house opened, and a woman came out, followed by two small children, both with their hair in mini-dreadlocks. Szulu’s, perhaps? She watched as the trio gathered together on the top step while the woman organised a clutch of bags and told one of the children to close the front door. It banged shut but, unnoticed by the woman, didn’t quite catch.

Riley waited, excitement building in her chest, as they walked away up the street. Risky or not, this might be the only opportunity she’d get to see Szulu’s place at close hand and check if he was in or not. Otherwise she could be out here for hours, waiting for him to put in an appearance.

She got out of the car and rummaged in the boot. Among the debris and clutter was an old fleece she kept for emergencies. She pulled it on over her jacket and swept her hand roughly through her hair from back to front, then the other way. A brief look in the side window to check that she now had a suitable air of untidiness, and she set off across the street, hoping that she wasn’t already in Szulu’s sights.

The broken steps rocked beneath her feet as she approached the front door. She ignored the name-tags on the panel of bell-pushes. If Szulu was in, the last thing she wanted was to announce her arrival. She pushed the door open. Inside was a large lobby with a cracked tile floor in a chequerboard pattern, and a battered table holding a scattering of envelopes, free papers and junk mail. Riley flicked through the pile, but saw nothing addressed to Szulu. In front of her was a broad staircase, the treads covered by a worn carpet. The air smelled of a cleaning product with a hint of lemon.

Two doors led off the lobby, both marked PRIVATE. She guessed these were the landlord’s or a tenant-manager, if there was one. She’d check out 3A first, then come back here as a last resort. A corridor ran along one side of the staircase, with a bicycle against the wall and a pushchair just beyond it. A glass-panelled door opened onto a garden at the rear.

Riley climbed the stairs, wincing as the treads creaked loudly. If this was one of Szulu’s warning signals of unexpected visitors, he’d now be on high alert and waiting for her.

She reached the first floor landing, with two doors in front of her and one at each end. Number 3A was to her right, but as she turned towards it, one of the doors facing her swung open, and an elderly black woman in a raincoat and scarf stepped out. She eyed Riley with suspicion before slamming the door behind her.

‘You don’t live here,’ the woman muttered in a Caribbean drawl, pulling herself up to her full height. ‘Who you looking for?’

Riley wanted to tell the woman to lower her voice in case Szulu heard and came out to investigate. But something in the woman’s eyes told her she wasn’t the sort to listen to any kind of advice, and probably saw herself as the house custodian. Maybe she and Mr Grobowski belonged to the same club.

‘His name’s Ray,’ she said hesitantly, pulling her fleece closely around her. ‘I met him… I met him in a club and he said to call by if I was in the area.’ She shrugged. ‘So I thought, why not?’

The woman looked Riley up and down with narrowed eyes and shook her head. Her expression spoke of disapproval and pity in equal measures.

‘You mean Ray Szulu?’

Riley nodded. ‘I think that’s what he said. He’s got-’ She gestured to her head. ‘-dreadlocks.’

‘That’s the one.’ The woman gave a humourless smile. ‘What you doing calling on a man when you don’t even know his name?’ She gestured towards 3A and walked past Riley, stopping to add quietly: ‘He’s out. Best you take that as a good omen and look elsewhere, girl. He’s not what my mother would have called decent company you know?’ She nodded fiercely and walked down the stairs, slamming the front door firmly behind her.

Riley waited until the vibrations had ceased, then stepped over to Szulu’s door and put her ear to the woodwork. There were no sounds from inside, so she decided to cut her losses. Two minutes later, she was back in her car, watching the street.

Time ticked by slowly. Then a large, black Lexus saloon drifted neatly into a slot a hundred yards away and a tall, athletic figure stepped out and surveyed the street. Riley felt her skin crawl as she recognised the familiar shape. Even with the poor lighting in the stairway, there was now no mistaking him or the dark swirl of braided hair around his head.

He walked along the pavement with a graceful gait and disappeared inside the house. Five minutes later, he came back out and returned to the car, before driving smoothly away from the kerb, heading north.

Riley followed, keeping station four vehicles behind him. Her heart was thumping at the idea that she was so close to the man without being seen, and she remembered Palmer once telling her that the excitement of the chase was what often put the follower at risk of detection. Insert ‘amateur’ follower, Riley thought, and he would have been more accurate, although less kind.

The Lexus was heading west, Riley realised, towards the A30. Ahead lay the vastness of Heathrow, and beyond that, the more salubrious area of Windsor. According to Donald, this was where the woman named Fraser was staying. This could be interesting, getting the two heads together at once.

Szulu drove in a smooth, unfussy manner, using the road with evident skill. He rarely exceeded the speed limit, but took advantage of quiet stretches wherever he could. It was obvious he knew the road and the area well, a fact that made Riley take extra precautions to avoid being left adrift with no vehicles between them.

He eventually turned off the A30 and approached Windsor from the south east, through Wraysbury. When he gave a right signal just before a large hotel sign, Riley pulled into the kerb and watched as he drove into the front parking area and left the Lexus.

Riley’s patience lasted ten minutes before the temptation to do something became too strong. Locking the car, she dodged across the road and entered the hotel, scanning the foyer.

The reception area was all glass and aluminium, with large ferns and yuccas dotted about to counter the almost sterile atmosphere. A waterfall trickled into a pool to one side of a staircase, and tuneless musak hummed through the air. Through an archway to her right, Riley saw a dining room, and to the left a lounge. Just past the reception desk, a wall sign pointed towards the rooms and a lift.

The receptionist, a young blonde with high cheekbones and a glossy smile, was busy on the phone. There was no sign of Szulu.

Riley peered round the edge of the lounge door. There were club chairs, comfortable sofas but no people. She walked across to the dining area. Empty save for an elderly waiter, slapping crumbs off tablecloths with a folded napkin. It was evidently the dead hour for the hotel trade.

‘May I help you?’ The receptionist had finished with the phone and looked up with a faint frown. Riley was relieved she had discarded her tatty fleece.

‘I’m not sure,’ Riley replied. ‘I’m sure I saw a friend of mine come in here just now. Tall, black… with dreadlocks?’

‘A friend?’ The receptionist showed her teeth, and Riley realised she had probably blown it. It hadn’t occurred to her that Szulu might be well known here. If he really was a freelance driver-for-hire, this might be one of his regular collection and delivery points.

‘Well, not a friend, exactly,’ she admitted, aiming for a sister-in-need smile. ‘He owes me a key. He never returned it.’

The receptionist made a drawn-out ‘ah’ of understanding and pointed behind her. ‘He’s gone out back to the garden. His client’s waiting for him. She’s not feeling so good. I think she took a bit of a turn earlier.’ Her expression suggested that key or no key, barging in right now to settle a private spat would not be appropriate.

‘No problem,’ said Riley easily. ‘I’ll wait for him to come out.’

The receptionist went back to her phone, and Riley wandered into the lounge. She picked a chair within sight of the foyer and the front desk, and waited until the girl was busy, then stood up and slipped past her to the stairs. If she was lucky, she might be able to get a glimpse of the mysterious Mrs Fraser.

The upper floor was deserted, apart from a cleaner’s trolley outside one of the rooms. The sound of someone humming came from inside, and Riley moved by swiftly, heading for the rear of the building.

At the end of the corridor was a fire-escape door. She peered through the glass and found herself looking down on a stretch of lawn with a few bushes and trees. To one side stood a couple of parasols with tables and chairs.

Szulu was sitting on one chair, elbows resting on his knees. He was facing somebody, and judging by the shoes and legs, which was all Riley could see, that person was an elderly woman.

She waited for the woman to lean forward, impatient to catch a glimpse and leave. But it was soon clear that Mrs Fraser — if it was her — wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

Suddenly the trolley rattled behind her. Riley gave it a few more seconds before deciding enough was enough. As she turned to leave, her phone rang.

It was John Mitcheson.