‘I’m not sure,’ Riley replied. ‘I’m sure I saw a friend of mine come in here just now. Tall, black… with dreadlocks?’
‘A friend?’ The receptionist showed her teeth, and Riley realised she had probably blown it. It hadn’t occurred to her that Szulu might be well known here. If he really was a freelance driver-for-hire, this might be one of his regular collection and delivery points.
‘Well, not a friend, exactly,’ she admitted, aiming for a sister-in-need smile. ‘He owes me a key. He never returned it.’
The receptionist made a drawn-out ‘ah’ of understanding and pointed behind her. ‘He’s gone out back to the garden. His client’s waiting for him. She’s not feeling so good. I think she took a bit of a turn earlier.’ Her expression suggested that key or no key, barging in right now to settle a private spat would not be appropriate.
‘No problem,’ said Riley easily. ‘I’ll wait for him to come out.’
The receptionist went back to her phone, and Riley wandered into the lounge. She picked a chair within sight of the foyer and the front desk, and waited until the girl was busy, then stood up and slipped past her to the stairs. If she was lucky, she might be able to get a glimpse of the mysterious Mrs Fraser.
The upper floor was deserted, apart from a cleaner’s trolley outside one of the rooms. The sound of someone humming came from inside, and Riley moved by swiftly, heading for the rear of the building.
At the end of the corridor was a fire-escape door. She peered through the glass and found herself looking down on a stretch of lawn with a few bushes and trees. To one side stood a couple of parasols with tables and chairs.
Szulu was sitting on one chair, elbows resting on his knees. He was facing somebody, and judging by the shoes and legs, which was all Riley could see, that person was an elderly woman.
She waited for the woman to lean forward, impatient to catch a glimpse and leave. But it was soon clear that Mrs Fraser — if it was her — wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
Suddenly the trolley rattled behind her. Riley gave it a few more seconds before deciding enough was enough. As she turned to leave, her phone rang.
It was John Mitcheson.
Chapter 21
‘You’re where?’
‘Heathrow. Landside. But don’t tell anyone. Can we meet?’ Mitcheson sounded undeniably breezy, and Riley could hardly take in the fact that he was just a few miles away from where she was sitting.
‘Are you mad?’ she demanded, momentarily forgetting where she was. ‘If some eagle-eyed immigration drone spots your name, you’ll be arrested!’
‘Well, I haven’t been yet. It’s risky, I know, but I’m fed up with all this subterfuge. I contacted a mate recently… he has connections with Immigration. My name isn’t on any of the lists he can access, and he doesn’t think there are too many others, not unless it’s on one the security bods keep close to their chests.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Riley desperately wanted to tell him to get on the first flight out, but a large part wanted to tell him to stay, to take the chance.
‘I’m leaving later this evening. My mate said if I was on a watch list, unless it was a priority, it would take at least seven hours to filter through the system. They’re more interested in Al Quaeda right now than a dodgy ex-army officer.’
‘You’re not dodgy,’ she protested fiercely. ‘That decision by the MOD was a travesty. Those men took advantage of you and the military let you take the fall.’
He chuckled, making goose-bumps stand up on her neck. ‘God, it’s great to have you on my side. Any chance of getting together — say, for a drink?’
Riley groaned. ‘John, your timing couldn’t be worse. I’m watching someone right now and can’t just… ‘ She chewed her lip. The idea of having Mitcheson within reach yet being unable to do anything about it was agonising. But would it be so bad to leave Szulu for a few hours? Surely Palmer wouldn’t object, since he knew their circumstances. She thought about it. Dammit, Palmer wasn’t her employer. ‘I’ll pick you up.’ There. Decision made. If Palmer didn’t like it, he could charge her with dereliction of duty or whatever the military cop jargon was.
‘Now you’re talking.’ Mitcheson chuckled again. ‘But forget the pick-up. I’ll get the Underground to Acton Town or somewhere and grab a cab.’
‘That’ll take hours.’
‘No, it won’t. I’ll hi-jack it. See you later.’ He rang off, leaving Riley wondering if Mitcheson’s friend in Immigration had got his facts right about how long it took to spot an unwanted entry.
In the privacy of the small garden behind the hotel, Szulu looked at Lottie Grossman and felt something akin to pity. It wasn’t as if she looked that great normally, but right now, she looked like shit. Pale and trembling and surrounded by pumped-up cushions, she resembled a patient in a retirement home. When she’d tried to pick up a glass of water just now, she’d almost dropped it. Whatever was ailing her hadn’t worn down her nasty streak, though.
‘I tell you I’m all right,’ she hissed, her lips barely moving. ‘I’ve felt worse than this after a good night out.’
‘Well, you certainly don’t look all right,’ he muttered. ‘You sure that doctor knew what he was doing?’
Her fingernails scraped on the edge of the table as she leaned forward and pushed a slip of paper across to him. ‘He gave me a prescription for some pills. I need you to find a pharmacy for me.’ She nodded at a plastic bottle by her glass and added, ‘He left me those, just in case. Too many quacks forcing pills down our throats these days.’ She coughed, bringing a spasm of pain across her face. It added to the odd tilt her features had taken since he’d seen her last night, until it was like looking at a distorted reflection in a bad mirror. ‘I want to up the pressure on Palmer and the girl. Make them sweat.’
‘Yeah? You sure about that? He nearly caught me last time.’
In spite of her obvious ill health, Lottie Grossman managed a sneer, her features twisting even further. ‘What’s the matter? Scared of him, are you?’ Her voice was taunting, and suddenly Szulu wanted to reach out and kick her, ill or not.
‘I’m not scared of no-one!’ he snarled, before pulling himself together. Getting angry with this old witch would mean having to face the Ragga.
‘Good,’ she cooed. ‘Glad to hear it. You’d better be off, then. See if you can get the girl alone. Only this time,’ she reached out and slid one of her long fingernails across the back of his hand, making him want to snatch his hand away in revulsion, ‘this time, you can tell her,’ she thought for a moment, eyes pinpoints of pure wickedness. ‘Tell her Lottie’s back.’
‘Is that all?’ He felt relieved that she didn’t want him to do something worse. It was a sign that he needed to be done with her as soon as possible and get back to some normal work.
‘It will do for now. She’ll know what it means. Now go.’
Szulu crossed the lawn towards the hotel, feeling Lottie Grossman’s eyes drilling into his back. He wondered what kept her going. Hate, most likely. If so, it wasn’t doing her a lot of good. He dismissed that and tried to figure out how best to pick up on the Gavin woman’s trail and deliver the message. Maybe he’d try Palmer’s office first. If they were together, it would be two birds with one stone and all that stuff. As long as he took care to stay out of Palmer’s reach; the guy was way too quick for his liking. Then he remembered the.22 Llama in his car. A glimpse of the business end of that would slow the ex-military cop down. It wasn’t a big gun but only a fool would be willing to take a shot they didn’t have to. And Palmer most likely knew better than most what the effect of a.22 slug could be.
As he passed the front desk, he caught the receptionist looking at him. He automatically flashed a smile, but she turned away, giving him the cold shoulder.
‘Hey — what’s up?’ he said. Damn. He thought he was getting somewhere there, too. This was turning into a bad day all round.