No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 27

Riley and Palmer drove back towards central London in silence, leaving Cecile Wachter staring at the collection of memories spread out on her coffee table. In spite of their requests and promises to take care of it, she had steadfastly refused to let them have the photo of Claus and Radnor, saying it was the last one she had of her brother and could not bear to part with it.

Palmer had relented, suggesting they bring back a portable scanner or copier so the photo wouldn’t have to leave her possession. She had agreed with reluctance, but only if they didn’t come back until tomorrow, as she had some translation work to complete and could not afford to miss her deadline.

‘Did we do the right thing?’ Riley eventually broke the silence, ‘telling her what Radnor did?’

‘She already knew,’ Palmer replied with conviction. ‘She just didn’t want to say it. It meant opening up all the memories.’

‘Maybe.’ Minutes later, she said, ‘One thing puzzles me. Bringing Wachter over would have cut Radnor’s supply-line to the artwork, wouldn’t it?’

‘I doubt it. If Radnor was any good as an agent-runner, he’d have had a standby waiting in the background. It’s how people like him operate. Never put all your eggs, and so forth. His bigger problem was Wachter, who could put him in prison if he ever got to the West.’

‘So he killed him.’

‘Cleverer than that: he allowed the border guards to do it. That way, no involvement, no links back to him. It happened all the time, so who would question it? Not the East Germans; as far as they were concerned, Wachter was a crook and a malcontent, so no great loss. Radnor’s men would have had time to strip the body of any incriminating evidence before we got there, and Radnor possessed the clout to cover it up as an Intelligence matter, so no questions were asked.’

‘Except by Reg Paris.’

‘Yeah. Except by Reg.’

‘It was still very risky, though. What if Wachter had got through somewhere else?’

‘Radnor probably had limited choices. Getting an isolated farmer on the western side of the border out of the way for a couple of days was fairly easy — especially with the promise of a compensation payment. But bribing an East German border guard or trying to co-opt their local military or intelligence hierarchy would have been impossible without blowing his cover. Radnor needed an insurance policy.’

‘The man with the rifle.’

‘Yes. If it looked like Wachter was going to make it across, his man would shoot him and they’d retrieve the body and blame the border guards. It was his way of controlling the situation.’

‘Or so he thought.’

‘Well, it worked. He had the authority to call out the nearest RMPs, to make it look like a military or Intelligence matter, and to keep a tight lid on it. The army weren’t about to argue — they don’t like getting snarled up in intelligence issues, anyway. They’d have treated him like germ warfare and kept him at a safe distance.’

‘Except for Reg.’

‘Reg was suspicious about it from the start. He probably made it a bit too clear what he thought and Radnor realised he’d got the wrong military cop involved. I was too junior and inexperienced, so I didn’t count. But Reg was something else. In the end, Radnor must have decided he couldn’t risk it, because if Reg discovered the farmer had been eased out of the way under a false pretext, he might have blown the whole thing wide open.’

‘So he killed Reg, too.’

‘I’d lay money on it. I don’t know how, but he either arranged for the truck to follow him and wipe him out, or he put something in a drink along the way, timed to take hold along the motorway. Radnor probably bailed out early on some pretext, saying he would meet Reg in Frankfurt.’

‘Wouldn’t Reg have been suspicious?’

‘He hated spooks — he was probably glad to get rid of him. Anyway, on the way to making an official statement, what was there to suspect? It would all have seemed on the level, and there’s no way Reg would have suspected Radnor was going to kill him. They were on the same side, for Christ’s sake.’

‘But Radnor never counted on a woman with a camera. Is that photo going to be enough to stand up?’

‘It proves Radnor knew Claus Wachter, and it puts him in East Germany. Where doesn’t matter, because we know Wachter never left until the day he died. Whether Radnor has a story for knowing Wachter that would tie into his Intelligence brief… I’ve no idea. But if I was in Radnor’s shoes, I’d say the photo Cecile took was enough to bury me.’

They were silent for a few more minutes, then Riley said, ‘It would be helpful if we can definitely link Radnor and Michael to Gillivray’s death.’

Palmer shrugged. ‘There’s the tie clip. But if the police didn’t come up with something more positive, I’m not sure we will.’

‘The people in Gillivray’s office might know something. I could go back and give it a try.’

‘Why you?’ Palmer didn’t doubt her abilities or her courage, but was aware of the risks, especially if Radnor or Michael saw her in the building.

‘Because they might open up more easily to me. And I’m not the one who braced him with the papers.’ She smiled artfully, knowing she had the upper hand. ‘And I can change my appearance so they’ll never recognise me. Don’t argue, Palmer — you know it makes sense.’

Michael watched Riley and Palmer drive away from the house where Cecile Wachter lived, and dialled a number on his mobile.

‘Yes?’ Radnor answered, a hum of traffic in the background. He was out looking for other warehouse premises to replace the void left in the wake of Palmer and Riley’s visit, and had tasked Michael to keep an eye on the two investigators. Michael had lost them on the way out of central London, but a chance call to Radnor, who knew of Cecile Wachter’s presence in the area, had led him here.

‘They’ve just left the Wachter woman’s house,’ Michael reported. ‘They were there for twenty minutes, maybe less.’

‘How did they seem?’

‘Neither pleased nor displeased. Perhaps she did not tell them anything.’ He was toying with a small set of binoculars. They had proved useless against Wachter’s net curtains, and there had been too many nosey neighbours to allow him to check the rear of the house. ‘But something tells me they might be back.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Because of who they are… their body language. And I do not think they are the kind to wait for others to call. Do you?’

There was a brief silence, then Radnor said, ‘I agree. Wachter’s no longer in the east, and I don’t trust these people not to get something out of her. I should have thought of this before, when she first came over here.’

Michael did not argue the point, but said, ‘What can she tell them? You said Wachter never spoke of your involvement, because he didn’t trust her. She can hardly implicate you now.’

‘We don’t know if he stuck to that. Claus might have given her something — some documents, maybe, to use if she had to.’ He paused, then asked: ‘Can you get in without being seen?’

‘Of course.’

‘All right. Do it.’

Michael switched off the phone and got out of the car. There was nobody in sight, and traffic was a muted sound in the distance. He walked along the pavement and turned in at the Wachter house. He rang the bell.

Cecile Wachter answered the door with a faint smile, clearly expecting to see Palmer and Riley back again. ‘It is not yet tomorrow-’ The smile dropped from her face and the words died on her lips. She stared at Michael for several seconds, confusion giving way to a kind of recognition. The expression meant she had seen men like him before, and knew what he represented. She moved quickly, driven by desperation and catching him by surprise. She tried to close the door, but only managed to slip the safety chain into place. Then she turned and hurried down the hall towards the rear of the house.

Michael stepped up close to the door and lunged forward with his shoulder. The wood was old and brittle, and the chain parted with a low crack. He strode after her, slamming the door behind him. He knew he might only have a few minutes before someone came to investigate the noise, although experience told him people in most cities were remarkably keen not to get involved with the troubles of others. He caught up with her in a conservatory. She was on her knees by a coffee table, clutching a handful of faded photos and trying frantically to stuff them into a small wooden box. Even when he stood over her, she ignored him and continued with her efforts, mouth set in a stubborn line.

Michael checked the conservatory door, satisfied that she wasn’t going anywhere. It was private and secluded here, with no overlooking windows. But there was a back gate just a few yards away. He nodded in satisfaction and took off his jacket, laying it across the arm of a wicker chair and taking care not to crease the sleeves.

‘Going over old times?’ he asked quietly in German, eyeing the photos. ‘How sentimental.’ One had fallen from her trembling hands, and he bent and retrieved it, craning his neck to study the faded image. It showed three elderly women in heavy, sombre clothing, sitting outside a house and smiling nervously at the camera. The detail told him nothing, as it would tell others who might look. He flicked it away with a hiss of contempt. It clattered off the furniture with a dry sound.

‘What do you want?’ asked Cecile, her voice a whisper. She had given up trying to put the photos away, and was now still, not looking at him. Instead, her eyes were on the garden outside, staring through the window at the ordered shrubs and flower borders as if seeing another country a long, long way off.