No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 40

Riley tensed as Frank Palmer appeared in the hotel entrance. Another figure hovered momentarily in the doorway behind him, then stepped back into the shadows and was gone.

Palmer stood for a moment on the outside, breathing in the warm air like a man who has been cooped up inside for far too long. He had his hands in his pockets, but Riley could tell he was not as relaxed as he appeared. He saw her waiting and walked across the forecourt to join her, dodging a taxi turning in off the Strand.

‘What did they say?’ she asked, as they walked together towards Trafalgar Square, where the usual crush of tourists was clustered around the fountains, eyeing the pigeons and taking photos in front of Nelson’s Column.

Palmer didn’t answer immediately, but led her across the road to the square and stopped at an ice cream cart. He bought two cones and asked the man to add two sticks of chocolate. He handed one to Riley.

‘Not much,’ he said eventually, when they were out of earshot of the vendor. He lounged against a stretch of guardrail, watching the stream of traffic heading south towards Whitehall. ‘One blustered and bullied, one didn’t. In the end, they did what civil servants always do: they gave nothing away.’

Riley turned to him, her ice cream forgotten. ‘So Radnor gets away with it? That sucks.’ She took an angry bite of the cone, scattering flakes of chocolate and startling an elderly Japanese tourist standing nearby.

‘What did you expect — a happy ending?’ Palmer turned his head and looked at her with a level gaze. ‘Actually, he won’t get away with anything. They weren’t just civil servants.’

‘So who, then?’

‘At a guess, they come from under a stone on the other side of the river — the one with tacky bits of green on the front.’

‘Oh.’ Riley finally understood. ‘Radnor’s old firm.’

‘Yup.’ He studied his cone and licked around the middle. ‘Not the kind to mess with.’

Something in the tone of his voice drew Riley’s attention. When he talked like this, it usually came from the darker side of Palmer’s experiences, the same part which recognised that pragmatism sometimes overruled what normal society might judge to be right and just. Still, for Palmer to find a suit scary was saying something. She let it ride.

Palmer finished all but the nub of his cone, dumping the rest on the pavement, where it was quickly pounced on by a watchful pigeon.

‘You’re not allowed to feed them,’ advised Riley sternly. ‘They’re vermin, didn’t you know?’

Palmer took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers. ‘Give me them any day,’ he said softly, ‘compared with some.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘Well, there won’t be a trial.’ He studied his fingers. ‘What could they charge him with? Treason? I doubt it. Fraud? Who did he defraud — they’re all gone. Theft? Proving it would be a nightmare. He’d die of old age first.’

‘What about murders? The man on the border, and Gillivray and Cecile Wachter?’

‘Says who? The border guards pulled the trigger, not Radnor. And he’ll have already taken care of the men who were with him that night. As for the others, I think Rubinov will cop for them.’ He shook his head. ‘There won’t be a trial, but it doesn’t mean Radnor will get away with it.’ He gave an almost undetectable nod back towards the hotel. ‘They’ll see to that.’

He strolled away and Riley hurried to catch up with him, scattering a handful of pigeons in her wake. As they flapped away, she had visions of a dark night and blurred figures in a bleak landscape, and justice being done. Justice of a sort, anyway. Damn it, this wasn’t right.

‘And you’re happy with that, are you?’ She knew she was being unfair. It wasn’t Palmer’s fault that politics intruded where justice should have its say.

‘Happy, no. But there are some battles you can’t win. Best let it go. Get on with something else.’

He was right, of course, she knew that. She shivered and wondered why it was so chilly in spite of the warm sun. She needed something else to think about. Something lighter and easier and totally mundane, to repel the shadows. Thankfully, John Mitcheson would be back soon and she could stop thinking about work for a while. That would certainly help.

‘So where are we going?’

Palmer gave her a sideways look. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m going for a massage and some kip. This has all been too bloody tiring. I’m not as young as I used to be.’

Riley dug her fingers into his arm. ‘Ixnay, Palmer,’ she muttered. ‘You owe me a dinner, remember? The one you never turned up for? But never mind, lunch will do just as well. In fact, I haven’t done lunch in ages. Or tea. The Ritz for tea would be nice.’ She smiled brightly, determined not to let the day end on a downer. If she did, tomorrow was going to be all the more difficult. ‘How about The Greenhouse?’

‘Can’t. You have to book.’

‘Really?’ She was surprised Palmer would know such a thing, and wondered who he’d taken there. ‘Okay, how about somewhere a little different, then? I know — there’s this brilliant little sushi place off Leicester Square. You like raw fish, don’t you? It’s supposed to be good for you.’

But Palmer had already detached himself from her arm and was walking away, laughing and shaking his head.

‘Palmer, wait. A girl’s got to have more to look forward to than NHS scams and illegal fruit-pickers, you know.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Massage? Did you say massage? Who by? Palmer…’