Mitcheson felt the other two staring at him and returned the woman’s look as calmly as possible. He wondered how long it would be before Doug and Howie joined Gary in his gradual drift across the floor to the Grossman camp. If this continued, he was in danger of losing what control he had over them to a woman being carried away by a rush of power to the head.
He took a deep breath. He had no idea what McManus had told Lottie about his findings in Riley’s flat, but it was safe to assume he hadn’t left anything out — including their fight near Piccadilly. He spoke calmly. “She’s a freelance reporter named Riley Gavin. She doesn’t have an inside track on what’s going on, but by the sounds of it she’s managed to trace your address. But that’s all. She doesn’t know about the villa, and there’s no way she can find out — unless there were any clues at the house.”
“Don’t take me for a fool, Mr Mitcheson,” Lottie said softly, her hand beating double-time on her thigh. “Of course there are no clues — I spent weeks stripping the place of anything like that.”
Mitcheson shrugged. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” He returned her stare, irritated by her obsession with position. “The reason I didn’t take steps against her or-” he paused meaningfully, “let McManus anywhere near her, was because we can’t go round getting rid of everyone as casually as swatting flies. It attracts too much attention.”
The silence was broken by the sound of a car pulling up outside. The Rottweiler growled and trotted away to investigate.
Lottie said nothing. To Mitcheson, that was the most worrying of all.
From the hire car under the tree, Palmer and Riley watched as the dust settled from the cream Mercedes that had just passed through the gate. They had caught a brief glimpse of the driver and passenger, and Riley had felt a jolt at recognising the big man she had seen in Piccadilly.
“Seems like Grossman’s gathering his forces,” Palmer said.
“I wish we could get inside,” said Riley. “Perhaps we can come back later.”
“Maybe.” Palmer had his doubts; these people were trained soldiers. “Right now, though, I think we’d better move. Those latest two may have spotted us. If we hang about they could be swarming all over us.”
He started the engine and drove quietly away down the road towards the coast.
Ten minutes later, Doug and Howie stepped out from the trees not far from where the hire-car had been parked. They both carried handguns and had made their way silently all the way round the villa, checking bushes and undergrowth.
Howie spoke into his mobile: “The car’s gone. Could have been tourists.”
“Check the perimeter again, anyway,” Mitcheson’s voice came back. There was a click as he cut the connection.
“Can somebody stop that infernal noise?” A detective of the Malaga Criminal Investigation Unit spoke loudly enough to attract everyone’s attention while he stared at the body of Jerry Bignell. Downstairs a cleaning woman was wailing like an air-raid siren which she’d been doing since she first arrived and made her discovery. While a uniformed officer went down to attend to the woman, the detective sighed and wondered why these English criminals were littering his country with their rubbish. He’d long suspected what Bignell was up to, but hadn’t yet got round to reeling him in. Now there was no need. He couldn’t see the man’s death was any great loss.
He winced at the smell fouling the air, swatting at the flies buzzing around the body. If they left it much longer this place would be a serious health hazard. He went downstairs to call for assistance and see what the wailing woman had to say.
Chapter 26
“I’m going for a walk,” said Palmer, poking his head round the doorway of Riley’s room. “You want anything?”
They had booked into a small hotel along the coast road outside Malaga. It was sandwiched between a new development of half-built holiday apartments and a shopping complex bright with multi-coloured lights and gaudy adverts for suntan oil and Ray-Ban sunglasses.
After hanging around the garden behind the hotel for a while, discussing their next move and subconsciously waiting for dusk to fall, they had returned to their rooms to catch up on the sleep they had missed during their flight from England.
Riley looked up from where she was hunched over her laptop on the bed. “Nothing, thanks,” she said. She had been indulging in some mind-mapping, randomly jotting down thoughts about the investigation. The names of Cook, Page, McKee and the others were dotted about the screen, joined by a series of lines, arrows and exclamation marks. She had just added John Mitcheson’s name with a question mark and another line to Ray Grossman and his wife.
She listened as Palmer’s footsteps echoed down the tiled stairs towards the lobby, and wondered if she shouldn’t have tagged along with him. It might be better than sitting here uselessly staring at her screen while getting eye strain, with her thoughts equally jumbled like scattered pieces of a puzzle. The inactivity was beginning to get to her and she desperately wanted to have another look at the villa. But Palmer would throw a fit if she went without him.
Half an hour later, when he had still not returned, she closed the laptop and drove back along the coast road. She knew it was risky, but she really couldn’t take the waiting any longer. Besides, it would hardly be the first time she had gone snooping alone.
She turned onto the road leading to the Villa Almedina and drove past it into open countryside. In spite of the falling light there was still a remnant of heat-haze in the distance over the fields, and a line of trees danced like chorus girls along the brow of a hill. There was little other movement, save for two men with deeply weathered faces scuffing wearily along the road. Both were dressed in faded work-clothes and carried tool-bags over their shoulders. One wore a scruffy baseball cap with a Coca-Cola logo, while the other fanned himself with a battered straw hat that had seen better days. They stared as Riley drove by, but didn’t pause in their measured tread.
After half a mile she turned the car round and drove slowly back. There was no sign of the two men, so she cut the engine and coasted into the side of the road just before reaching the villa. She climbed out to the sound of a turgid breeze in the trees and the distant hum of an electric motor.
She took a bottle of water and locked the car, then walked along the verge until she reached the stone wall where she and Palmer had stood earlier. The dry undergrowth crackled beneath her boots, and she tried to banish all thoughts of snakes. The atmosphere here was cooler, with a strong smell of sap hanging in the air. She wormed her way into the trees and squatted down to watch the rear of the villa, focusing on the patio and pool.
She sipped sparingly from the water bottle but soon began to wish she’d used the bathroom before coming out. It wouldn’t take long for the thought to become intense and nagging. It’s easy for men on this kind of job, she thought. All they have to do is unzip where they stand and no one gives it a thought.
A twig snapped off to her left. She resisted the impulse to spin round and turned her head slowly, her breathing stopped. A flash of movement caught her eye. When it wasn’t repeated she decided it must have been a bird and settled back on her heels to wait.
Ten minutes later still nothing had happened around the villa. She wondered what Palmer was doing. Probably propping up a bar listening to the gossip, knowing him. Not that she thought he was idle; in fact there was something about Palmer that told her once he took on a job, he was the type never to be off duty. Her opinion of the private detective had risen considerably since she had first met him, and she realised his laid-back aura of weariness was little more than an act. She felt guilty at having come out here without him, but it was too late now.