No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 35

Riley was edgy. So far Mitcheson hadn’t responded to her message for a meeting. Palmer had gone off earlier to watch the Palacio, and although she had argued that she should cover it, he had pointed out that if Mitcheson did call, she should be ready to move quickly. The centre of Malaga wasn’t the place to do that.

She finished her drink and went up to her room to go over her notes. After that she lay down on the bed to get some rest. If things were going to start moving, she’d need all the energy she could get. Within seconds she was fast asleep, head filled with tangled dreams of dogs, gun and Peter Willis and his wife, laughing as they queued for check-in at the airport.

As Riley gave in to a restless sleep, downstairs in reception a large man was pushing his way through a crowd of new arrivals clamouring for attention.

McManus used his bulk to get through and held up his car keys to the clerk. “Hire car for Miss Gavin,” he announced. “She needs to sign. Can I use the house phone?”

The receptionist, relieved at not having another job to do, told McManus the room number and indicated an internal phone to one side. McManus smiled. This was going to be easy.

The moment the receptionist looked away he replaced the phone and slipped round the corner to check the layout of the exits and the room numbers. Then he went back to his car and parked it at the nearest side door to the emergency staircase. Re-entering the hotel, he went to the lift and punched the call button. In his pocket he fingered a length of nylon cord.

Mitcheson was feeling a growing sense of desperation. His phone had disappeared and he couldn’t think where he’d left it. He had to warn Riley before McManus got to her. The man was like a bloodhound and wouldn’t stop until he had her. He couldn’t take a chance on using the phone in the hall because of the risk of being overheard, and he knew how voices echoed in this place.

He checked through his clothes again, then scoured the house a second time, throwing chairs aside. Eventually he came across the cleaning lady tidying up in the living room.

“Have you seen a mobile phone?” he asked her, indicating his shirt pocket. “Cellphone? Telefono?” She stared mutely back at him, shaking her head, then turned to arrange the cushions on the chairs.

He continued searching, flicking open doors in the sideboard and checking the wastebasket, his nerves like a series of tiny needles under his skin. Give it two more minutes and he’d go crazy. He turned to watch the cleaner, finally running out of ideas and ready to take the chance with the phone in the hall. To hell with it; he couldn’t stand by here and let McManus get his hands on Riley. Just then the cleaner lifted one of the cushions off the sofa and he saw the mobile nestling underneath.

She picked it up and turned to him, holding out the phone with her fingertips. She was frowning and making what he assumed was a Spanish tutting noise, plainly unhappy about something.

Mitcheson switched it on and saw the message symbol flashing. He punched in the code and listened to Riley’s message. As he did so, he felt a sticky substance on the back of the instrument and realised why the cleaner was so unhappy and was now scrubbing furiously with a damp cloth at the sofa. He turned the mobile over.

Red jam.

His blood ran cold.

He dialled Riley’s number.

Riley was shaken by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. Struggling to wake up, she levered herself off the bed, her mouth gummy and dry. She felt a stab of alarm, then told herself it was probably Palmer forgotten his keys. After all, who else knew they were here?

Another knock, this time more urgent, followed by a man’s voice. “Police. Open, please.”

Riley swore softly, and wondered how they had found her. After the police captain’s warning, this meant instant deportation or worse. She stumbled across the room to the door, and had just lifted the safety catch out of its slot when her muddled brain triggered the realisation that the voice sounded wrong.

On the bedside table, her mobile phone began ringing.

She pushed furiously against the door and tried to slide the chain back into place, but the door slammed against her like a battering ram, propelling her backwards into the room. As she fell, she caught a glimpse of McManus’s huge shape bearing down on her, a smile of triumph on his face.

Although winded, she broke her fall with the flat of her hands and desperately kicked out with her right foot, connecting with the side of McManus’s left kneecap. He didn’t even flinch but grasped her foot and twisted it painfully, flipping her onto her face. In his other hand he was holding a length of rope. With practised ease and two turns of the rope, he had Riley effectively neutralised on the floor.

He pressed a foot against the side of her neck and leered down at her. “Ain’t no good strugglin’,” he told her. “You’ll only make things worse.” He stepped over to the bedside cabinet where Riley’s mobile phone was still ringing and stabbed the ‘off’ button.

“The good news is, your message got through to soldier boy. The bad news is, he couldn’t make it so I’ve come instead.” He flicked the curtain aside and peered out onto the car park. Satisfied the way was clear he came back and lifted her on to the bed. She could smell coffee on his breath and a strong aftershave that made her feel nauseous.

“Now listen, darlin’,” he said, face close to hers. “I ain’t messin’, so don’t piss me about. We’re goin’ walkies. Out of this room, down the back stairs and out to the car park. Simple and easy, okay?”

Riley stared up at him, her revulsion evident by the white-hot look in her eyes.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I said okay?” He prodded her stomach with a massive finger, doubling her forward.

She nodded. “Yes… all right.”

“Good.” He cupped a huge hand around her neck. “Do anything silly, I’ll snap your spine like a twig. And believe me, darlin’, I’ve snapped stronger than yours.”

He untied the cord from her wrists and flung it to one side, then pushed her across to the door and opened it.

“Remember,” he whispered. “One wrong move and you’re dead.” Then he pushed her out into the corridor.

Mitcheson switched off his phone, a sick feeling in his gut. The phone had started ringing, then been switched off. Why should she do that?

He went out to the hallway and picked up a local business directory. According to the listing the Ascona was just along the coast road. He dialled the number. No reply. He swore, glancing at his watch. There was plenty of time before the afternoon meeting in Malaga. Lottie Grossman wouldn’t like the idea of him going walkabout, any more than McManus would, but that was too bad. They didn’t own him lock, stock and barrel — not yet.

He found Doug standing by the front door, eyeing the surrounding scenery.

“I’ll be back in a while,” he told him. “Did McManus go out?”

Doug nodded. “Yeah. Beats me the caveman can even drive. He looked like he’d won the Lottery. What’s going on?”

Mitcheson felt guilty not trusting a man he’d known for a number of years, but he couldn’t take the chance. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”

The Land Cruiser was free, so he got in and wheeled it down the drive.

When Frank Palmer returned to the hotel for lunch, he walked along the corridor to Riley’s room and was surprised to see the door open. Inside he found John Mitcheson standing at the window looking out. The bed was rumpled and Mitcheson was holding a length of nylon cord.

“I wouldn’t have thought that was your scene,” Palmer said softly.

Mitcheson snapped round, eyes seeking a way out. When he saw who it was, he relaxed slightly, but began to move towards the door. “Frank Palmer, isn’t it?” His voice was calm and relaxed, as though meeting an old friend.

The investigator stepped aside and indicated the open doorway. He had no illusions about being able to take on the former soldier; the man was younger, fitter and had the advantage of desperation on his side. All Palmer would get in the process was a trampled body and bruised pride.

“You can go if you like,” he said coolly. “I won’t stop you. But I’d rather you told me what’s happened to Riley first.”

Mitcheson stopped and reassessed Palmer. “I don’t know,” he told Palmer with obvious honesty. “I was supposed to meet her here at midday.” He glanced at his watch; it was just gone eleven.

“Bit eager, aren’t you?”

Mitcheson ignored the crack. “I think the message was intercepted by McManus. If it was, she’s in real trouble.”

Palmer indicated the cord in Mitcheson’s hand. “Well, I doubt Riley’s into bondage, so that could only have been left by your primeval mate. Where would he have taken her — the villa?”

“No there, no. Lottie Grossman told him to deal with her. Where he takes her is up to him.” He glanced at his watch again. “I have to be at a meeting soon. If I don't turn up Riley definitely won’t survive.”

Palmer nodded. “Well, that gives us a bit of time, doesn’t it?” He glanced around the room, then went to the wardrobe where Riley’s laptop sat on a shelf. Evidently McManus hadn’t been interested in taking anything else. He left it where it was; Riley had already emailed her notes to Brask. He turned back to Mitcheson. “We’d better come up with something bloody quick. And while we’re about it, you’d best figure out which side of the fence you’re on.”