No Help For The Dying

Chapter 36

The machine whirred and clicked, and suddenly Riley was staring at a database of names, addresses and figures. At first glance it appeared to be a basic system, devoid of any fancy drop-down menus or graphics other than a series of generic headings. But on closer examination she noticed a number of highlighted boxes which she guessed were probably hypertext links to other parts of the original database. When she clicked on them, which should have instantly taken her elsewhere in the data, nothing happened. She tried a few more, but with the same results. It was as if part of the puzzle was missing. Or had been left out.

She scrolled down and recognised one of the names: James Van de Meuve. It was one of the victims Nikki had mentioned. In the next box was a host of family data recording parents, ages, names, income and other personal details including the de Meuve’s positions on the board of at least three Dutch companies. The final box in the section made Riley go cold. Against James’s name was the single word: DECEASED.

‘Palmer, look at this.’ Riley hit EDIT and FIND, and entered Angelina’s name. It came up with a mass of Boothe-Davison data, complete with the Air Commodore’s service history, postings, courses and professional connections. No information about what might have happened to her, though. Next she entered Katie Pyle’s name. A split second later she was staring at Susan and John Pyle’s names, address and a mass of other family details. At the end of her file was another highlighted box, but no indication of what her fate had been. It came as no surprise that a cell had been inserted with Susan Pyle’s current address in Dunwich.

She sat back feeling numbed. The amount of stuff in this small section alone was amazing; the entire database would have been stunning. They must have literally scoured an enormous number of sources for this level of detail.

Palmer whistled. ‘How big is that file?’

Riley shrugged. ‘It’s only a 1.4 megabyte disk, so this is probably a fraction of what they have. There are cells linked to other stuff — probably databases or other files — but they don’t go anywhere. It’s as if Henry lifted sufficient to hand over without all the other material. But there’s probably enough on here to create a solid case against the Church to get an investigation started.’ She watched as the screen scrolled upwards, each batch of text and figures summarising the details of a family’s life, a twisted balance sheet in an annual report of criminal behaviour.

‘If nothing else, it proves they were gathering personal information. But that by itself might not be enough.’ He stared hard at one section of the screen. ‘Interesting. One of the parents is a senior officer in the Met.’ He took out a pen and notebook and began scribbling down phone numbers while Riley scrolled down the list. ‘I want to check something. Give me a few minutes.’

‘Fine. Where’s your email connection?’

Palmer pointed to an icon on the screen, and Riley clicked on it to begin the dial-up. Seconds later a copy of the file was on its way to Donald Brask and another copy to her own email. ‘Just in case we get separated from the disk,’ she explained neutrally. She would have to get a new laptop to access it, but the insurance company would have to take care of that.

Palmer was talking softly on the phone and making occasional notes. Twenty minutes later he dropped the phone onto its cradle. ‘That’s just six of the names of parents I’ve managed to contact. Every one of them said the Church of Flowing Light contacted them after their kids went walkabout, not the other way round. None had never even heard of the Church before.’

It confirmed what Nikki Bruce and Eric Friedman had said. ‘Which means the Church not only trawled for business…’

Palmer nodded and finished the sentence. ‘…they could have engineered it — or had a strong hand in drawing the runners in, anyway. Then they set about draining them of information or gossip — or both. Heads we win, tails you lose. Neat.’

‘What about the policeman?’

‘He wouldn’t talk. Just said his daughter was home and they wanted to forget it. I mentioned DS McKinley and he told me to forget it or he’d slap a harassment charge against me. End of conversation.’

‘So now we know where McKinley’s instructions to drop it came from.’

Palmer nodded. ‘Must be. Like I said, totem pole-’ There was a squeal of brakes outside and Palmer went across to the window. ‘We’ve got visitors. Leave that — it’s time to go.’

Riley joined him. The white van was parked at an angle to the kerb and the black-coated figures of Quine and Meaker were already crossing the pavement. Two other men were climbing from a large BMW and following them. It was the men from the arches.

Palmer snatched the disk from the tower beneath the desk and stepped over to the office door, pushing Riley ahead of him. ‘Turn right and go through the cupboard door,’ he urged quietly. ‘Don’t look back.’

Riley ducked through the door and found the cupboard was actually a narrow flight of bare wooden steps leading up to the roof. There was just enough room for one person, and she began to climb as Palmer closed the door behind him, shutting out the light.

Riley felt around at the top and found a trapdoor. She turned a handle and stumbled out onto a roof space overlooking the back of the building and a series of other rooftops stretching away into the distance. A large, peeling flagpole stood squarely in the centre of the roof space, which explained the original purpose of the steps. Now it was unused, a short strand of rotting hemp flapping uselessly from the pulley at the top.

The roof surface was laid with a thin screed of loose gravel on a waterproof membrane and cluttered with a series of vents pointing at the sky. Somebody had attempted to start a small garden on a trestle table. Most of the pots were dried to a crust, the remnants of plants withered and black.

Palmer closed the trapdoor and led Riley across the roof towards the rear of the adjacent building. Stepping over a series of cables and guttering, he used a key to open another trapdoor set at an angle in a slated roof, and ushered Riley inside. Another set of steps disappeared down into the gloom.

‘How long have you had this bolt-hole?’ Riley asked him, as he followed her and closed the door.

‘Ever since that time I got my office re-arranged with baseball bats,’ said Palmer pointedly, referring to when two former marines were ordered to warn him and Riley off an investigation. ‘It put me off having only one way out.’

Minutes later they were walking down an alleyway between two office blocks and into a small car park, where Palmer kept his Saab. He opened the door and climbed in. ‘I’m a genius,’ he said, turning the key. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is get away without being seen.’

He nosed out of the car park and turned away from the main street, circling the block to bring them up a hundred yards away from his office. Riley kept one eye on their rear while Palmer studied the side streets, ready to take off. There was no sign of the BMW.

‘Is that it?’ she asked. ‘You lost them just like that?’

Palmer looked at her. ‘What did you expect — a re-run of Bullitt? This is Uxbridge, not San Francisco.’

He had spoken too soon. ‘Palmer!’ Riley yelled. A flash of movement behind them indicated that the BMW had shot into view from a side road. The men from the arches must have decided to circle round and cover the rear of the property.

‘Got it.’ Palmer nodded calmly and put his foot down, making the Saab engine howl. A horn sounded behind them as the BMW narrowly missed broadsiding a small Fiat nosing out of a driveway, and a flash of lights came from another car as the larger car swerved across the road.

The streets blurred as Palmer increased speed, and Riley decided it was better not to look at the speedometer. Palmer knew what he was doing. She looked back momentarily and was horrified to see the other car gaining on them.

They took a mini roundabout with barely a swerve, the suspension thumping briefly over the low-profile circle. Down a long gradual slope with cars on one side and a high kerb on the other, and round a sharp curve with the faintest hint of tyre squeal.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Riley asked. She figured Palmer had some kind of plan in mind, and would have computed the eventuality of a chase some time ago. It was the kind of thing she had come to expect of him, given his training in the military police and his current line of work. ‘Or is the plan top secret?’

He glanced across at her with a studiously blank look. ‘Plan? What plan? I’m just driving. I was hoping you were going to get the A-Z out of the glove box and navigate us out of here.’

‘Palmer!’ Riley nearly hit him. She dived into the glove box. No A-Z. ‘Where do you keep it?’ She turned and peered over the back seat, but the rear of the car was as clean and tidy as the rest of the vehicle. She turned to face the front again as Palmer steered them round a corner with a gentle hint of a slide, correcting the drift with an easy nudge of the wheel. She didn’t know this part of the world, and had no idea where they could go to lose the men following them.

‘What are you doing?’ Suddenly Palmer was slowing down, allowing the other car to get closer. After the heavily built-up area near his office, they were now driving along an open road with playing fields on one side and large, detached properties on the other, set back off the road.

‘Buckle up tight,’ said Palmer. ‘And keep your head away from the window.’

‘Why? What are you going to do?’ Riley didn’t like the sound of this. When Palmer went quiet, it was a bad sign.

‘See the end of the road?’ he said, and nodded to a line of trees barely two hundred yards away. Behind the trees was a short expanse of green, then a stretch of heavy metal fencing. The road they were on took a sharp right, but was hard to see with the rolling movement of the car.

‘I see it.’ Riley felt sick. She suddenly knew what he was planning.

Palmer hit the accelerator, the Saab jumping forward and catching the BMW by surprise. For a few brief moments they surged away, leaving the other car behind. Then the bigger engine brought it rapidly closer again, and Riley could see the driver’s face quite clearly. It was the knife man from the arches, grim and intent, with the other man mouthing something at him. She turned back to the front and was horrified to see the trees suddenly right in front of them.

‘Now!’ Palmer hit the brakes at the very last second and hauled the car round to the right. Riley just had time to brace herself and avoid slamming into the door as the energy of the turn tugged at her body. The Saab tyres squealed and the car drifted across the road and began to bite into the edge of the verge, throwing up a volley of grass, dust and gravel which hammered against the car body. In the wing mirror, Riley caught a glimpse of the other car trying to follow and failing. The cruel scream of rubber seemed to go on for a long time before the BMW hit the grass. Then came a crash, followed by a grinding noise of twisting metal and glass.

Palmer was already changing down and braking, with one eye on the mirror. ‘You all right?’ he said to Riley without breaking his concentration.

She nodded and kept her eyes to the front, wondering if he was going to turn back. But he showed no signs of stopping. ‘What about them? Shouldn’t we check?’

Palmer shook his head. ‘Nobody else was involved — they went through the fence into an abandoned site. They took their chances.’ His voice was calm and cold. Then he added softly, ‘Don’t forget they had Angelina… and God knows how many kids before her.’

Riley had nothing to say. She knew he was right.