No Help For The Dying

Chapter 34

The girl remained silent all the way to Portland Place. Huddled into one corner of the cab, she stared resolutely at the floor, shivering and tense. She had made no attempt to get away from them, and Riley guessed she was in shock. If she recovered enough to start thinking about what was happening, she might panic that she was being moved on somewhere else and start screaming her head off. Riley gradually eased closer, trying to establish contact as a reassuring presence.

‘She ok?’ the driver asked, peering over his shoulder. ‘She ain’t gonna be sick, is she?’

‘Just drive,’ Palmer said quietly, and the man turned back to concentrating on the road. Palmer took out his mobile and dialled the Boothe-Davisons’ number.

‘Will they try to get her back, do you think?’ said Riley softly. She was wondering how much value the Dukes or Quine and his companion placed on Angelina, and whether it might be sufficient to compel them to recover their investment. If they did, then the genteel and open surroundings of the building off Portland Place wouldn’t be the safest place to leave her.

‘I doubt it. But they might not let this go without some kind of response.’ He gave a slight start to indicate the phone had been answered.

‘Great,’ murmured Riley. ‘Maybe this time they’ll tidy my place up again.’

Palmer calmly informed whoever had answered the phone that they were twenty minutes away. By his succinct manner, Riley guessed he was speaking to the former Air Commodore. ‘She’s fine,’ he concluded reassuringly. ‘But you might want a doctor there to check her over, just in case.’ He clicked off and sat back, and Riley wondered if he was as calm as he seemed. She had seen Palmer in action before, and she was under no illusions about how effective he must have been in the military police. He would remain single-minded and controlled until this thing was over — or at least, until Angelina was back with her parents. After that, well, time would tell. She just hoped that when the reaction to her own part in the arches set in, which it surely would, she wouldn’t fall apart like an old wardrobe.

He seemed to sense what she was thinking, and turned to look at her. ‘You ok, Riley? You did well back there.’ He so rarely used her name, it sounded odd. Then he smiled with casual indifference, a welcome trace of the normal laid-back Frank Palmer. ‘Of course, I would have taken the other bloke, too. You just got there first.’

Riley patted his hand in the exaggerated manner of a concerned big sister and gave him a patient look. ‘Of course you would, Palmer. I know that. But you wouldn’t deny a girl some fun, would you?’ She sat back, wondering if she hadn’t just seen another chink in the armour of the Palmer façade; a glimpse to show the man was feeling guilty at having dragged Riley into a situation where things could have gone dramatically wrong.

The cab dropped them outside the front entrance to the building. The street was quiet, with only a few vehicles and very little pedestrian traffic. If anyone had followed them, they had used a stealth craft. With Palmer hovering close by, Riley ushered Angelina across the pavement and through the front door, gently murmuring to her that everything was going to be fine. She had no idea what was going through the girl’s mind, but she guessed she was probably dreading stepping back into her parents’ lives after whatever drama had compelled her to leave.

Mrs Boothe-Davison was waiting at the front door to the flat, and rushed forward to greet her daughter, arms open. Gone was the restraint of their last visit, and amid tears and murmured apologies, they disappeared into a bedroom, followed by a youthful man carrying a black leather briefcase. That left Riley and Palmer with the Air Commodore, who handed them an enormous whisky each in crystal glasses. His whole body was tensed with worry and he nodded gratefully to them in turn before downing his own drink in one hit. The shudder which ran through him afterwards said it all.

‘Don’t know how to thank you,’ he muttered finally. His voice caught on the words, but Riley couldn’t tell if it was the emotion of the moment or the belt of whisky on the back of his throat that caused it. ‘I’m so relieved I can’t explain.’ He sniffed and shook his head, and poured himself another drink. When he came back, he seemed calmer, and it was plain he was exerting a massive amount of self-control. ‘Where did you find her?’

Palmer gave the details in crisp report fashion, as if he was attending a de-briefing session after a military exercise. ‘As far as we know,’ he said carefully, ‘they didn’t harm her. There wouldn’t have been any value in it. But the experience will stay with her for some time. She may need specialist help to see her through — but I’m no expert.’ He drained his whisky and placed the glass on a coffee table. ‘I think you should take her away for a few days. Both of you. Give her time to recover.’

Boothe-Davison nodded. ‘Of course. Good idea.’ He was no fool, and seemed to consider what Palmer had said, before asking the same question that Riley had earlier. ‘You think these men may try to get her back?’

‘Seriously? No. They must know who you are — that you’ve got connections with the MOD. They’ll know if they push it too far and identify themselves, you could call down a lot of firepower on them. They won’t want that. My guess is they’ve already cut their losses and gone. I can give you the address where she was held, but I doubt you’ll find anything. It was a hole they used, that’s all. They’ll have others.’

Riley noticed Palmer said nothing about Quine or the Church of Flowing Light, and wondered why. She decided to go along with him and leave out the presence of de Haan’s sinister colleagues.

Mrs Boothe-Davison intercepted them as they were leaving and took Riley’s arm. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked deathly pale, but managed a tight smile. Riley guessed she was tougher than she looked and would be the mainstay in getting Angelina through the next few days and weeks. ‘Thank you so much,’ the older lady said softly. She gestured towards the bedroom where a man’s voice could be heard speaking in a low murmur. ‘The doctor says she’s fine. A bit bruised here and there, and dirty, of course, but… I’m so grateful to you both.’

‘Hey, don’t mention it,’ said Riley airily, suddenly keen to escape. They needed time alone, the three of them. Mending fences. ‘It was Palmer who got all hairy-chested, not me.’ She took the older woman’s hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Give her time.’

They left the family to begin the course of recovery and stood for a moment on the pavement, allowing the night air to flow around them. Palmer lit a cigarette, inhaled, then sent it spinning away into the gutter with a sigh. ‘I smoke too much. It’s the stress of being around you that does it.’

‘Did you mean what you said back there?’ asked Riley. ‘We can’t just let it go; there could be other kids like Angelina.’

‘I’m not going to. I’ll feed him the address in a day or two when he’s feeling calmer…and when they’re not expecting it. Any sooner and he’d send in the troops all guns blazing and get nothing.’ He turned to Riley. ‘Anyway, you’re writing the story, aren’t you? That’ll set the hounds running. I just don’t want them tramping all over us in the meantime. We need to finish this.’

Riley took his arm and they began to walk towards Portland Place, where they could pick up a cab. ‘We need to find Henry. He’ll fill in the blanks.’

‘If he’s still alive.’ Then Palmer stopped dead, snapping his fingers. ‘Christ, I must be getting slow. Henry’s car — didn’t you say it was missing from his garage?’

‘That’s right.’

‘So how did he get to the Scandair, if not by car?’

Riley saw where he was going and shook her head at her lack of foresight. Find Henry’s car and it might give up a clue they could use. ‘It must still be at the hotel. But wouldn’t the police have thought of that? The first thing they’d do would be to check the register. Unless… ‘ She paused, thinking back to something Henry had said on the phone.

‘What?’

‘I’ve just remembered. When I spoke to Henry the other morning, he sounded rattled. He’d switched off his mobile at one point, and when I finally got him back, he wanted me to meet him at the Scandair rather than talk over the phone. He said something about meeting me, but that he couldn’t get to his car… get to it easily, or something like that. I forget the exact words.’

‘He must have been on foot.’ Palmer stared at the pavement. ‘If he didn’t have it at the hotel, he’d parked it somewhere else. What did you say it was?’

‘An old Rover. Running boards, crank handle, the lot.’

‘There’s your answer. A classic — and easily identifiable. Anyone looking for him would only have to find the car to know he wasn’t far away.’

‘But the Church must have tracked him down by some other means.’

‘Unless they were already watching him. If they found out he’d been talking to Eric Friedman, it would be more than enough reason to want to shut him down. It explains why they got heavy-handed at the hotel.’

‘But would Henry have been thinking clearly enough to hide it? He’s hardly the ready-made secret agent type. The more I think about it, the more I get the impression he was simply running. All he wanted from me was… well, I can only guess.’ She thought about what Friedman had told her. If Henry really had been suffering acute pangs of conscience at what he’d discovered, he would have wanted to unload the information he had on to someone he knew could do something with it. And that would be reason enough for Quine to be after him. Given what Henry had been doing, according to Friedman, he probably had enough information in his possession to light up Broadcote Hall with blue lights for weeks.

‘Thinking straight or not, he’d still have enough sense to keep the car handy. He’d have needed it for the following morning, to get to the airport. You said he was flying out somewhere.’

‘But he was already at the airport. And the Scandair is served by a shuttle bus like all the others.’

Palmer pulled a face. ‘You’re right. But the parking around Heathrow is vast. There’s the official long-term and short-term car parks, the off-site private parking companies — they’re spread out all over the place — and God knows how many smaller firms. It could take weeks.’

Riley gripped Palmer’s arm. ‘What about the hotels? Some of them have parking arrangements. At least, the ones I’ve used do. The fees are a bit steep, but at least the car doesn’t get dumped miles from anywhere in a gravel pit and forgotten for two weeks.’

‘That narrows it down. But which one? There are dozens.’

Riley smiled triumphantly, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘I don’t know. But I know a man who might. And there’s something else I want to ask him, too. Remember the white van I saw the night Henry disappeared? I bet he saw it, too.’

‘Good thinking, Batwoman. Let’s hope his memory’s still good.’

She dug out her mobile and dialled the Scandair. After a brief chat, she switched off and nodded to Palmer. ‘He’s in tomorrow morning.’ She yawned. ‘I could do with a bath and bed. Where’s the nearest hotel?’

‘Forget it. You can doss down at my place as long as you don’t mind the settee.’

‘No, I couldn’t. Anyway, I need to pick up the car then arrange for the flat to be cleaned and redecorated.’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t face it. I’ll be fine eventually, but I can’t go back there until it’s spotless again.’

Palmer nodded. ‘I know someone who’ll do that for you. I’ll call him tomorrow. In the meantime, we can pick up the car on the way to my place. I’ll even throw in coffee and toast for breakfast at no extra charge.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. But if you snore, I’ll kick you out.’

Riley looked at him and blinked, then slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Palmer, stop it,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘Christ, you’ll have me sobbing any minute.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘Ok, deal. Have you got a shower? I prefer showers to baths. And how about some shampoo for colour-treated hair… and conditioner? I do like my conditioner.’

Palmer sighed theatrically. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have bothered.’