No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 19

VTS Transit occupied the end unit in a row of small, single-storey shell structures on a commercial estate in Hayes, a few minutes from the M4 motorway and to the west of London. Overshadowed by a variety of gaudily sign-posted businesses including double-glazing fitters, panel-beaters, design workshops and printers, VTS was almost insignificant, veiled behind a busy clutter of cars, skips, trailers and tractor cabs. The air smelled of hot plastic, metal and some unidentifiable cooking aromas, and the atmosphere was one of industry and urgency.

Riley and Palmer approached a glass door marked OFFICE, set alongside a blue roller door with a hand-scrawled VTS Transit sign, as if identifying the occupants had been an afterthought. The roller was three-quarters open, revealing a small warehouse containing a jumble of pallets and boxes, and a scattering of discarded cardboard packing on a concrete floor. Along one wall stood a workbench, and beyond it, in the rear corner of the unit, was a stretch of mesh steel fencing secured with a padlocked door. Inside this cage were several heavy-looking wooden crates. A man was standing at the workbench, writing on a pad. If he was aware of their approach, he did not bother looking up, but continued with his task.

‘Hi,’ said Palmer, ducking beneath the roller door. Riley followed, scanning the interior for signs of other staff.

The man turned and stared at them with a strange lack of curiosity. He was tall and bulky, dressed in blue overalls and heavy work boots. A patch of dark bristle covered a weak chin, and his skin had an unhealthy, doughy appearance as if he spent too much time indoors. He looked from Palmer to Riley and back and lifted his chin.

‘What you want?’ His voice was heavily accented.

‘We’re looking for a reliable courier company,’ said Riley, making the man drag his eyes away from Palmer. ‘A friend said you offered a good service.’ She indicated the estate outside. ‘We were in the area and thought we’d drop by.’

‘Friend? What friend?’ The man turned back to his work. He wrote heavily, stabbing the pen onto the paper as if he hated his job and would rather be dissecting small animals with a chisel.

‘A place in Harrow.’ She named the building, but it brought no obvious reaction. ‘He said you seemed pretty switched on and reliable.’

The man shook his head. ‘Switched on? I not know this. We are busy. Big contract take long time. No take on new business.’ If the man had ever attended any kind of training course, he had plainly fallen asleep before they got to the part about customer relations.

‘Not enough vans?’ Palmer said, looking around. The dust of the concrete floor revealed a single set of tyre tracks. In spite of the clutter, the building did not indicate signs of a fleet of vehicles.

‘Correct.’ The man said slowly, and ripped the form from the pad, folding it into a plastic see-through envelope with a sticky surround. He bent and slapped the envelope onto a large cardboard package on a nearby pallet.

‘You ship overseas, I see,’ put in Riley, indicating the form he’d just completed. ‘Anywhere specific?’

‘All over. States of America, Europe.’ He shrugged.

Palmer nodded towards the caged area containing the wooden crates. ‘I see you’ve got a secure storage area, too. That’s good.’

The man looked at the cage and shrugged. ‘Is for high value.’

‘Really?’ Riley asked. ‘Such as?’

The man gave a hint of a smile and reached behind him to pick up a phone. ‘I get my colleague.’ He dialled a number and waited, studying them by turn, then muttered something in a language neither Riley nor Palmer understood, before slapping the phone back on its rest. ‘He come. You wait. Two minutes.’ He settled back against the workbench, arms folded across his chest, no longer interested in working.

Palmer shrugged and lifted his foot to pick at something on his shoe, while Riley bent to peer at the label on the parcel.

Three minutes later, a grating sound came from the rear of the warehouse, and a man appeared. He was in his fifties, with a pale complexion and crinkly hair, dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt. Above the breast pocket was a logo and the word SkyPrint in flowing script.

‘Can I help?’ he said, with the same lifting of the chin as the man in the overalls. His accent was less noticeable, but he seemed no more welcoming than his colleague. He looked from Palmer to Riley with a frown, then at the man against the bench, who merely shrugged and mumbled a few words.

Palmer repeated the story they had agreed on, then waited while the man processed the information.

‘Like he said, we don’t need more business at the moment,’ he informed them. ‘Who did you say recommended us?’ His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite believe anyone had done such a thing.

‘Somebody we know,’ Palmer replied. ‘It’s no big deal. If you can’t help, we’ll find someone else.’ He turned towards the entrance. As he did so, another man ducked beneath the roller door and stood in the opening. Physically, he was a clone of the man in overalls, except that he was dressed in a black towelling jump suit and trainers. He also looked a lot lighter on his feet.

‘Neat,’ said Palmer. ‘You guys have a unique approach to business.’

The man in shirtsleeves considered Palmer’s words before muttering something. The newcomer stepped aside with a sour show of reluctance.

‘Get anything useful?’ asked Riley, on the way back to the car. She looked over her shoulder. The three men were standing in the entrance, watching them.

‘You mean apart from the shitty welcome, the heavy in the romper suit and where the man in the white shirt sprang from? Not much.’

‘It could be a genuine set-up.’

Palmer nodded. ‘Yeah. At least, some of it.’

‘Well, well. Look at that.’ Riley looked pointedly in the direction of a unit they had just passed. Similar in size to VTS, it bore a large sign printed with the word SkyPrint and the logo they had seen on the man’s shirt.

Palmer nodded. Signs out front offered express printing jobs; any value, walk in, wait, walk out. ‘Good cover,’ he said. ‘They turn over regular cash work, establish local credibility and the boss can keep a watchful eye on VTS, without appearing to be too involved.’

‘I wonder if Radnor and Michael ever come here.’

‘I’d bet on it. Radnor doesn’t strike me as the trusting kind.’

As he climbed in the car, Palmer opened his hand. He was holding a tiny scrap of heavy, greasy paper, coated in dust. He rubbed the surface to reveal a dull sheen.

‘It’s the same as the piece you found inside the art book in Radnor’s office,’ said Riley.

‘Funny, that. They’re getting careless.’

‘So, what now?’

Palmer considered their options for a moment. He had not forgotten the intruder of the evening before, and was sure Riley hadn’t. Was he connected with Radnor? Was he a contract ‘soldier’ hired to find out what Riley and Palmer were up to? If what Nobby had said about Radnor’s racist inclinations was correct, it didn’t seem likely. Then there was the woman named Fraser, who had hired the car and driver in the first place. But why the interest in Riley? ‘We’ve got two strands to look at,’ he concluded. ‘There’s the Fraser woman and her driver, and there’s Radnor and his little operation. Our problem is, we don’t know if they’re connected, and I get the feeling we’re running short of time.’

Riley nodded. She knew no more than Palmer about the people involved, but her instincts were telling her they were unconnected. ‘They feel… different in some way.’

‘I agree. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough hands to check them both.’

‘Not unless we split up.’

‘Makes sense,’ Palmer agreed. ‘Can you handle taking a look at the driver, see where he’s based?’ He studied her carefully. It would mean Riley coming close again to the man with dreadlocks. Some people might not be able to handle that. But Riley wasn’t some people. He gave her the note he’d made after Donald’s call with information from the DVLA. ‘Just nail down where he is. If you can get a look at the woman, that would help. At least we’d know what she looks like. But keep your distance until we know more.’

Riley folded the note into her pocket. ‘What are you going to do?’

He gave her one of his annoyingly enigmatic smiles and looked towards the VTS unit. ‘I’m going to hang around for a bit. I want to see what they’ve got in that storage area at the back of the warehouse. I’ll see you back at your place.’

Riley looked around at the lack of obvious cover in the area. Other than a regular flow of commercial vehicles into and out of the estate, there were few pedestrians, and passing traffic on the road running through the area was light. And it wasn’t as if Palmer could keep a watch on the place from a convenient café, because there wasn’t one. ‘They’ll spot you, Palmer. And how will you get back?’

But Palmer shook his head. ‘Drop me up the road. I saw some waste ground behind this estate, with a couple of abandoned buildings. It’ll do me nicely. I’ve coped with less.’ He smiled confidently and checked his mobile. ‘Don’t worry — when I need to bug out, I’ll call a cab.’