Sorted by Jeff Gulvin

Author:Jeff Gulvin [Gulvin, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-1833-2
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-03-28T17:15:00+00:00

Thirteen

VANNER STOOD IN THE doorway of the Banca Di Roma on Gresham Street in the City. Across the road was a pair of double doors, one of which stood open. He could see a marbled hallway beyond. It was lunchtime and the narrow street was choked with people; business-suited men and perfectly manicured women. A few of them glanced briefly at him as they passed. He looked again at the open double door. Thrimble and Grace, a gentleman’s tailor, crowded it on one side and The Last Wine Bar on the other.

He crossed the road and paused, looking beyond the inner glass door to the foyer. The lift jutted out, blocking half his view. An antique table was placed neatly against the other wall, a mirror rising above it. He read the list of company names that occupied the board to the right of the lift. Glendale & Watts were on the second floor.

The stairs were narrow, curving tightly in a spiral with barely enough room for one person to walk. On the second floor he came out onto a landing, much the same as the ground floor with the lift butting up to the wall. The door to the office faced him, the name of the company, plaque-like, in the middle of it.

For a moment he remained where he was. Andrew Riley. A personal, undeclared interest and Weir waiting in the background. He shook his head at himself, thought about Lisa Morgan and narrowed his eyes. Then the years rolled back, eleven of them and a lifetime of friendship before that. How many times had he dreamt of stumbling across Riley? Nothing premeditated—that would bear out all that they said about him—but just happening upon him. He used to think about it in the night, when the ache in his gut chewed at him as he led his men through Divis.

Inside, the receptionist did not smile. A turquoise suit fastened to the neck: she clutched a retractable pencil between crimson cambered nails and looked him up and down.

‘Andrew Riley,’ he said.

‘And you are?’

‘Detective Inspector Vanner.’ He pulled out his warrant card and dropped it on the desk.

‘North West London Drug Squad.’

She sat up straighten ‘He’s not in right now.’

‘Where is he?’

‘At lunch.’

‘Where?’

‘He’s with clients.’

‘Where?’

She hesitated, glanced at the desktop, then looked up at him again. ‘I’m not sure. Next door, I think.’

Vanner took his ID back from her and slipped it into his pocket. He looked beyond her then, to the nameplates on the doors. ‘What about Mr Bentt?’

‘He’s on his honeymoon.’

‘Simon Smith?’

‘Away on business. Mr Phelps is at lunch with Mr Riley.’

‘How long will they be?’

‘Shouldn’t be very long. They’ve been gone over an hour.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll wait then.’

He sat in the high-backed chair across from her and lifted his ankle over his knee. He kept his hands in his pockets and watched her. He knew he made her nervous. She kept shifting in her seat, scribbling now and then on her pad. The phone rang and she lifted the receiver almost gratefully.

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