Tracers

FIFTEEN

‘Still no sign of a Mini,’ said Harry. It was nearly twenty hours later and he and Rik were walking along a quiet back street in Harrow.

It was after six and the light was fading, the predominantly residential area morphing into shadows and yellow lights, and the homeward rumble of through traffic. The houses on each side were part of a small redevelopment, neatly terraced and upmarket, with a variety of large potted plants flanking the doors to give an illusion of greenery. Glossy vehicles were parked on hard standings immediately in front of each house, although none looked as if they were used much.

Only one house showed a vacant space, and had done since their first drive-by earlier that day.

‘She might have dumped it,’ said Rik. ‘If she’s in with Param, they’d know it would be too hot to keep for long.’

They had left Karen and her banks of screens late the previous evening, hopeful possessors of a tenuous lead to Silverman’s whereabouts after he left Heathrow’s Terminal Two. A private cab had arrived minutes after they had watched a tape of the area immediately outside the main exit. It followed a brief period of doubt, during which they thought Silverman must have ducked into a waiting vehicle. But then the younger man had appeared, prowling along the pavement and gesturing animatedly with a mobile phone pressed to his ear.

‘Can we get a print of that?’ Harry had asked, tapping the screen. It was the first full-face view they’d had of Silverman’s greeter, and would be useful when they caught up with the two men. He was convinced that the way the man had kept his face carefully averted from the cameras until now was too deliberate to be accidental.

‘Of course.’ Karen’s fingers danced across the keyboard. The screen blinked and a printer hummed into life. She continued to run the recording and they watched the younger man gesticulating, shoulders hunched and a finger stabbing the air excitedly. In the entrance behind him, Silverman was glancing anxiously around, the bandaged hand a small white flag in the gloom. Although the two men had still not spoken openly, it was clear they were together.

It was even clearer that Silverman, if that was his real name, was under the control of someone who knew his tradecraft.

Two minutes later, a white people-carrier cab nosed in to the kerb, and the younger man leapt forward to open the rear door. Gesturing at Silverman, who scuttled across the pavement and into the car, he jumped in after him and slammed the door. A lurch of the vehicle and they were gone.

‘There’s a number on the roof,’ said Rik.

‘Got it.’ Harry noted the time on the recording and moved away, slipping his mobile from his pocket.

‘You can use one of these if you like,’ suggested Karen, nodding at a phone on a desk across the room. She seemed disappointed at the prospect of her part in the chase being over.

‘Thanks,’ said Harry with a smile. ‘Best not.’ Using one of the landline phones would leave a trail. With no way of knowing how often a phone audit was run on the lines in this building, it was safer if there was no obvious record of them having been here. There wasn’t much they could do about the camera over the front entrance, but they would just have to trust to luck and human fallibility.

He returned five minutes later. ‘The dispatcher says the driver who made the pick-up is due to clock on shortly.’

In the event, they had heard nothing more. They had decided to call it a day, not even allowing the discovery of a flat tyre on Rik’s car to dull their elation at finding Silverman’s trail.

Now, following their initial drive-by of the address on the parking fine for Yvonne Michaels, Ray Param’s former PA, earlier that morning, they had spent the day keeping the house under surveillance. So far they had seen no sign of activity. A brief movement of a front curtain might have been a breeze from an open window, but until they were sure, they were hanging back.

Cautious questions to the neighbours had produced nothing firm, save that someone new had moved in recently. With no sign of the Mini Cooper, and calls to the cab firm yielding no reply from the driver who had picked up Silverman from Heathrow, Harry was fighting a growing feeling of impatience. As leads went, it was up in the high numbers of usefulness, but it was no cause for over-optimism. Firmer leads than this had led nowhere, but it would give them something to do while they waited to speak to the cab driver from the airport.

‘Come on,’ he decided eventually. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ He crossed the pavement and turned into the front yard, and knocked on the door while Rik stepped to one side and waited.

The door clicked open and Raymond Param looked out at them from a small hallway. He was dressed in casual slacks and a white shirt. Neither had seen a recent iron, a condition at odds with the photos on display at the house in Highgate. He needed a shave, the stubble adding an extra few pounds of weight, and a hank of hair hung uncontrolled over his forehead. In spite of his appearance, he seemed relaxed for a man who had allegedly deserted his wife and home in favour of a large amount of stolen money.

‘Can I help?’ His eyes flicked over them in turn. If there was an indication of nerves, it was in the brief glance he threw past them at the street beyond. That and the way he remained positioned well inside the doorway.

‘Hello, Mr Param,’ said Harry. His tone was calm, but left no doubt that he knew who the man was. It was essential in the first moments of contact to alleviate any tendency to panic on the part of the runner.

For a moment there was no reaction. Then Param seemed to sag visibly as if the air had gone out of him in a rush. He turned away. ‘You’d better come in.’ If he didn’t know who the men were, he knew what they represented.

He led them through the house to a kitchen overlooking a small courtyard garden bordered by a high wall covered in creepers. The room was simple in design, evidently expensive, and smelled faintly of something herbal. A rustic table and four chairs dominated the room, and the worktops were clean and free of clutter, as if the equipment was rarely used. The atmosphere was quiet, with a faint ticking sound of a boiler emanating from a cupboard at the back of the room.

‘Tea or coffee?’ he said, flicking on a kettle. He took out three mugs without waiting for a reply, then turned and faced them. ‘Who sent you — my wife?’ His expression was sour, as if he had been given yet another unpleasant surprise in a long list. ‘I’m surprised you found me. Mind telling me how?’

‘Parking fine on the Mini,’ said Harry.

Param lifted an eyebrow. ‘Bugger. I forgot that.’

Harry felt almost sorry for him. ‘It’s always the little things. Other than that, you nearly had a free run.’

Param made no comment, but turned back to the kettle and made the tea. He handed out mugs and gestured to the table, which held a sugar bowl and a carton of milk. ‘Help yourselves.’

When they were all seated, he looked at his two visitors. ‘I suppose there’s no point in promising you large amounts of money to go away and forget you ever saw me?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry. It’s not the way we work.’

‘Fair enough. Just thought I’d ask.’ Param gave a sad smile. ‘Who’s the more seriously pissed off at me — my wife or the company?’

‘The company, by a short head. Your wife’s bearing up surprisingly well, considering. She’s at her sister’s.’ He kept his face carefully blank, but the information drew a wry smile of something close to appreciation from Param.

‘Yes, she always had strong support on the family side. Her sister thinks I’m a waster.’ Param shrugged and warmed his hands on his mug. ‘Like I care. So what happens now? Is this where you drag me kicking and screaming to the local nick?’ There was something almost light-hearted in his tone, as if he wasn’t taking their arrival too seriously.

‘Is there any reason why we should?’ said Rik. ‘The company wants its money back. I’m not sure about your wife, though.’

Param showed a set of even white teeth. ‘My wife will want the house, the cars and my testicles, in that order. The company will want the money but they’ll shy away from the embarrassment of publicity. It doesn’t look good to investors when a manager siphons off a load of cash.’ He sighed, the levity dying. ‘Unfortunately, they’re both in for a nasty surprise.’

‘Oh?’ Harry sipped his tea, wondering what the man had in store for them. There was something — he could feel it in the air. He eased himself back in his chair, ready to make a move.

‘Well, unknown to my dear wife, who doesn’t really bother herself with matters of finance, the house is mortgaged to the eaves. And there’s no money, company or otherwise.’ He looked apologetic. ‘Sorry — the offer of cash was a dud.’

‘What do you mean, none?’ Rik asked.

‘None. Not a cent. It’s all gone.’

Harry watched the man’s face for signs of lying, but saw none. Param had been much too calm and resigned. For a man caught within an ace of getting away with a large amount of money, he should have been depressed at failing. But he wasn’t.

Now he knew why.