No Peace For The Wicked

Chapter 42

The white Toyota was halfway across the car park before it registered on either Riley or Palmer that something had happened. With tyres screaming it skidded on the gravel and out onto the road heading towards Malaga, nearly hitting a local bus coming the other way. In the Flores lounge, tourists craned their necks, muttered disapproval, then returned to their meals.

“Someone forgot an appointment, you reckon?” Riley asked.

“Either that or something much closer to home,” Palmer replied enigmatically.

“Segassa’s men?”

But Palmer was already rising, and Riley grabbed her bag. “You pay — I’ll get the car,” she said, and hurried through the sliding doors out to the car park.

Palmer called the waiter over and settled the bill. As he was about to follow Riley, a figure stepped up alongside him carrying a rolled-up beach towel. He turned and found himself looking at the smiling face of Doug.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Doug smiled, “if it isn’t Frank Palmer, ace investigator.” He prodded Palmer in the ribs with something hard. It was a large automatic pistol with the safety catch off, wrapped in the towel so nobody would see it.

“I didn’t bring my computer with me today,” Palmer said dryly, “if that’s what you’re after.” He risked a quick glance across the road to where Riley was digging in her bag for her car keys. He guessed the ex-Marine hadn’t spotted her and turned to keep the man’s attention on himself. Very carefully, he put his cigarette lighter down on the table beside his binoculars.

“Good one, Frank,” Doug smiled. “Very funny, considering your position. Come on — we’re going for a ride, you and me.” He bent and picked up the binoculars Palmer had put down and motioned for him to lead the way out of the door. They walked across to the Land Cruiser, where Doug opened the door and shuffled Palmer into the driver’s seat. Then he hopped into the rear, the gun never shifting away from Palmer for an instant, and threw the binoculars into the back. “Okay, Frank. Let’s go to Malaga.”

Palmer pulled out of the car park and followed Doug’s directions. He’d never driven one of the big cars before, and found the size uncomfortable after the small hire-car he’d been using. The gun at his back didn’t help. As he passed Riley, she was leaning on the roof of the car, staring out to sea, unaware of what had happened behind her. He sighed with relief and pressed his foot down.

“Have you been following me?” he asked Doug. He could feel the man’s gun resting on the seat against his back and detected the familiar smell of gun oil.

“You kidding? I thought it was the other way round. That’s what you snoopers do, isn’t it — follow people?”

Palmer said nothing, aware that if he let too much slip it could endanger Mitcheson’s position. It wouldn’t take the gang long to work out that Mitcheson’s earlier absence could have been for entirely different reasons than searching for McManus. And as one of the handful who knew the arrangements for bringing in the drugs at this point along the coast, the finger of suspicion would soon be pointing his way.

“Where’s the girlfriend?” Doug asked. ‘Had a row, have you?’

“She in Malaga. Shopping,” said Palmer.

The gun tapped on his shoulder. “Speed, Frank. Keep it down, there’s a good fella. We don’t want to get hauled over, do we?” He chuckled at the thought, then leaned closer to Palmer. “Now, while we’re all comfortable and that, what were you doing out here? Sun-bathing all by yourself? You don’t look very tanned — and where did you get those shorts?”

Palmer racked his brains for a reason that would sound halfway plausible without dragging Mitcheson into it. If they suspected the ex-officer was looking for a way out, they would have no choice but to deal with him the same way as Bignell.

“The white Toyota in the car park back there,” he said finally. “Did you see it go like a bat out of hell?”

“Yeah — I saw it. Thought he was going to bend himself round that bus for a moment. Spanish drivers, eh? What of it?”

“He was supposed to be one of Bignell’s men. He said he had information about the set-up.”

“Set-up?”

“The drugs route Bignell had been using. He said if I came to this beach, he’d show me where the stuff used to be landed. They used the survey boats as cover, he reckoned.” Palmer added a touch of accusation to his voice. “He must have spotted you and decided to take off.”

The seat back shifted as Doug leaned back to consider the details. Evidently it sounded likely enough to the ex-Marine. He shrugged and pointed through the front window. “See that sign for new apartments?” They were travelling along a short, deserted stretch of road with arid grass and rock on either side. Up to the right on the hillside, two or three ramshackle farm buildings were the only signs of local habitation. A giant hoarding advertising a building development was coming up on the left. “There’s a small turning just after it. Swing left there.”

“Where are we going?”

Palmer sensed the grin on Doug’s face. “We’re going shopping, Frank. Like your girlfriend, only we didn’t spend any money.”

Riley swore silently as she waited for Palmer to appear, and drummed impatiently on the roof of the car. Whatever had got into the Toyota driver she felt sure it was connected with the Grossman business. And if that was the case, she hoped it wasn’t going to be bad news for John Mitcheson.

Out on the horizon a boat was cutting a white path through the waves, its prow high in the air. It looked as though it was heading down the coast towards Malaga and the vast boat-parking lot they called a marina. Where the hell was Palmer?

When she looked round towards the hotel to see where he’d got to, she felt a sudden jolt in her stomach. The Land Cruiser was gone.

Palmer followed Doug’s directions and swung round the hoarding onto a narrow track heading towards the sea. The surface was rough and overgrown with grass but the Land Cruiser flowed over the bumps and through the potholes with barely a sign. They passed derelict huts and some rusting machinery before emerging between two small hills onto a tiny plateau above the sea. The water was a deep, brochure blue, and melted into the sky along the horizon. As they neared the edge a white arrow cut across the blue surface of the water and moved inshore, the boat bouncing from wave to wave.

Doug told him to park the vehicle facing back the way they had come, then climbed out, motioning Palmer to follow. “Come on, Frank. I’ve got some work for you. I hope you’re feeling strong.”

They followed a narrow path down the side of the slope to a flat, rocky platform just above the waterline. Palmer felt suddenly vulnerable here; he wasn’t the world’s best swimmer, and either side of the platform the water looked dark and threatening. It was a geological oddity, and he guessed the lack of room and the swirling currents made it unattractive to tourists. Ideal, however, for drug-runners.

A powerful-looking white launch was nosing in towards the platform and Palmer recognised the muscular form of Howie standing at the wheel. A younger, smaller man sat on the prow clutching a rope with a small grappling anchor attached. In his other hand he held an automatic, a quizzical look on his face.

“Easy, Frank,” Doug warned him. “The little fella’s a bit touchy on the trigger. I think he wants to shoot someone.”

Howie showed his expertise at handling boats by nosing the launch smoothly against the rock with the barest kiss, while the younger man tossed the anchor across. Palmer let it bounce on the rock before bending to settle it into a crack where it would hold fast.

“How’d it go?” Doug called across as the engine died.

Howie nodded and jumped ashore. “It went. What’s he doing here?” His gaze was not unfriendly — merely curious.

Doug grinned and looked at Palmer. “You remember Frank, don’t you? Of course you do. Frank’s volunteered to help us carry the goods.” His eyes turned cold and he hefted the pistol. “The alternative being we shoot him right now and drop him in the water. How about it, Frank?”