No Sleep for the Dead

Chapter 9

‘I don’t like the sound of this.’ Arthur Radnor drummed his fingers on the top of his desk and stared hard at Michael. ‘Not a bit.’

‘I agree.’ The Russian was sitting on the other side of the desk, casually flicking a trace of something from his trouser cuffs. If he felt he was at the focus of Radnor’s comment in some way, he gave no indication. ‘I think we should try to dissuade this man Palmer. Just in case.’

Radnor sat back with an irritated flick of his hand, and loosened his tie, a rare sign that he was under pressure. From what Michael had discovered, the company on the sixth floor, Stairwell Management, had suddenly surfaced as a problem right on their own doorstep. How much of one he wasn’t sure right at the moment, but his instincts told him that if they didn’t find some way of controlling things, it could get badly out of hand. ‘I’m not sure. Is Gillivray a conman? Is that it?’

‘It’s all I could find. He has been convicted of petty offences so far, mostly to do with businesses which do not exist, or at least, do not provide what they offer.’

‘What sort of businesses?’

Michael shrugged. ‘Take your pick — he has tried so many; mail order schemes, website design, advertising, printing services, site management. He sets up a company through a PO box or a temporary mailing address, advertises in local papers and draws in some customers looking for a cheap deal. He takes their money, then closes the company. None of the companies are legal, or course, but by the time the customers find out, it is too late and they are untraceable. He has had some clients track him down, possibly through bad luck or carelessness, but he seems to have handled things by buying them off. One or two have threatened violence, but nothing serious.’ Michael pulled a face. ‘He is a nothing — a minor criminal.’

‘He may be a nothing,’ Radnor snorted, ‘but if he’s attracted the attention of people like Palmer, that’s too close for comfort. Who knows how many others are watching him? What did Palmer want with him?’

‘Palmer apparently gave some legal papers to him, which made him angry.’

‘Served papers,’ Radnor corrected him. ‘It means a solicitor is after him on behalf of a client. Christ, that’s all we need; next thing we know the police will be sniffing around, followed by Customs and Excise and the Inland Revenue.’ He threw his head back, agitated at the idea of their previously peaceful existence being threatened by the arrival of men with summonses or arrest warrants — and most of the traffic going past their front door.

‘You worry too much,’ Michael said easily, trying to inject a measure of calm. He was aware that Radnor had been under a great deal more pressure than this in his chequered past, including the danger of imprisonment or worse in various parts of the world, and was therefore surprised at this level of agitation.

‘Well, someone has to,’ Radnor snapped. ‘I’ve had a feeling something wasn’t right for a while.’ He stabbed a finger into his stomach. ‘A feeling in here. It’s gut instinct — and it hasn’t failed me yet. We’ve got too much invested to have it turned upside down at this stage. There are shipments coming in which we can’t stop.’

‘The shipments won’t be affected,’ Michael countered reasonably. ‘We let them go to the usual place. We just move this part of the operation somewhere else instead, away from Palmer’s focus. There are plenty of other offices to rent.’

‘It’s not that simple, though, is it?’ Radnor sighed and made an effort to calm down. ‘We can’t operate from some crummy lock-up, otherwise it’ll look as if we can’t compete. And if we start moving around and changing addresses, it’ll make the others jittery. They’ll think we’re not stable, and we can’t risk that.’

Michael nodded. As he knew only too well, their suppliers, based in some of the more inhospitable parts of the former eastern bloc, seemed fixated on the idea that their ‘partners’ in the west should have every sign of respectability, as if that would, by association, enhance their own standing. They also had appallingly low tolerance levels for sudden change, and tended to regard any minor deviation from the norm as a sign of bad faith. If they detected what they thought was a show of instability in their business contacts, even as a precautionary measure against some perceived outside threat, they might not react in a reasonable manner. And among men who traditionally settled disputes with alarming finality, the effect could be disastrous in more ways than merely financial, even this far removed.

‘So what do you suggest?’ He smiled coldly, and made the sign of a gun with his forefinger and thumb, adding a cocking sound. ‘Where I come from, it would be a simple matter. No more Gillivray.’

Radnor gave him a baleful look, but for once, did not discount the idea out of hand. He finally shook his head. ‘It’s risky. This is Harrow — not Kabul.’

If Michael minded this reference to his past employment with the Soviet security forces, he gave no sign. ‘Okay. So I deal with Palmer instead. Nobody would know.’

‘That wouldn’t work, either. The solicitors would simply hire someone else. Before we knew it, we’d have even more people nosing around — someone we didn’t know.’

‘Then our options are limited.’

‘I know. I know.’ Radnor stood up to pull on his jacket, and picked up his briefcase. He walked over to the door. When he spoke again, he sounded calmer. ‘I have to go to Hayes to inspect the latest shipment.’

Michael nodded with a smile, recognising that it was going to be left to him to come up with a solution to their problem. Radnor merely needed to be persuaded into saying so. ‘What are you saying?’

Radnor shrugged, the final act of hand-washing. ‘Do what you think best.’

Michael waited ten minutes after Radnor had gone, running over the range of options available to him. He dismissed them one by one, invariably coming back to the same idea that had been building ever since the Palmer problem had shown up. Then he stood up and left the office, locking the door carefully behind him. He walked down the back stairs, footsteps echoing on the tiled floor, and emerged by the twin doors to the loading bay. The space was clear except for a collection of packaging material, a strapping machine and some spare pallets. The area wasn’t used much except by him and Radnor, so he was accustomed to coming here without bumping into anyone from the other offices, save the occasional security guard doing his rounds.

He opened one of the twin doors and stepped out onto the raised bay, scanning the car park and the street beyond. It was quiet out here. There were one or two vehicles in their bays, indicating that some of the building’s tenants were still at work, but that was all. It was something to be mindful of.

His eyes lit on a silver Audi TT parked with its nose to the building. He checked the registration number against a scrap of paper in his pocket. Satisfied it was the one he was looking for, he walked down the concrete steps to the parking level, pausing to check that he was not being observed. The angle here was such that only someone leaning out of an upstairs window would see him, although the chance of that happening was remote. True, there was always the chance appearance of a tenant going to their car. That might be a problem, depending on how late it was. But he could adapt to suit the circumstances; it was what he was good at.

He stepped up close to the Audi. It was Gillivray’s car, a gleaming, highly-polished toy, and carried enough optional extras and gadgets, such as an impressively obvious satellite navigation screen, to show the man believed in conspicuous wealth. He shook his head at the stupidity of some people. Men like Gillivray deserved to fail.

Taking out his door keys, he took another look around. This had to look real, in case he couldn’t finish it this evening. He jabbed the keys viciously into the Audi’s wing, gouging a deep line into the paintwork just above the rear offside wheel. The bay next to it was empty, and the immediate impression by anyone seeing the damage would be that the departing vehicle had clipped the Audi as it reversed out.

Satisfied, he went back upstairs, but instead of returning to the office on the first floor, he continued on up to the sixth level and pressed the bell outside the Stairwell Management suite. Through the glass, a young woman was just slipping her bag over her shoulder and flicking off switches ready to leave. She paused and buzzed him in.

‘Hi,’ he said smoothly. ‘Does anyone here drive an Audi TT?’ He made a show of glancing at a piece of paper in his hand and read off the Audi’s registration number, although he now knew it by heart.

The girl nodded. ‘Yes, that’s Mr Gillivray’s car. Is there a problem?’

Michael shrugged. ‘Well, not for me, exactly. But somebody just hit it and I thought he’d like to know. I work downstairs, by the way. Nasty scrape… such a pity with a beautiful car like that.’

The girl’s mouth made an ‘O’, and she bent and pressed a button on the switchboard panel. When a gruff voice answered, she said, ‘Doug? There’s a man here from downstairs, name of…?’ she looked up at Michael expectantly.

‘It’s Mike,’ he said.

‘His name’s Mike, and he says somebody’s hit your car.’

There was a muffled curse, and she put the phone down and looked at Michael with a grimace. ‘Oops, doesn’t sound like he’s too happy. He loves that car.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Michael sympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t be happy, either.’

Seconds later, a short, stocky man bustled into the reception area, his face thunderous and ready for trouble. He was dressed in a flashy suit and a loud tie, which seemed to fit with Michael’s idea of the over-optioned vehicle in the car park downstairs. ‘What’s this about my car?’ he demanded, and fixed Michael with a suspicious glare. ‘Who hit it — did you see?’

Michael deflected the none-too-subtle accusation with ease, wondering if the man knew how, in other circumstances, he would have received immediate retaliation. However, he’d been prepared for this reaction; it made what he’d planned all the more enjoyable. ‘I’m afraid not. I just noticed the damage, that’s all. If it was my car, I’d want to know about it.’ He smiled sympathetically, and wondered how long it would take for the receptionist to decide to go home. ‘I could show you, if you like? Maybe act as a witness for the insurance claim.’

Gillivray looked surprised by his generosity, but nodded eagerly. ‘Sure. Why not? Let me get my jacket.’

‘Doug.’ The receptionist stepped forward and pointed to her watch. ‘Do you mind if I go? I’ll miss my train. Everybody else has gone.’

‘Of course. You go,’ said Gillivray, flapping a vague hand. ‘I’ll lock up, don’t worry.’ He turned back to Michael. ‘Hang on, will you, um… Mike?’

‘Sure.’ Michael smiled easily. An empty office, no witnesses. This was going to be easier than he’d thought. ‘Take your time — I’m in no hurry.’

He stepped across to the door and opened it for the young woman, then closed it carefully behind her. He waited until she stepped into the lift and the doors closed, then he turned and followed the stocky figure of Gillivray along the corridor.