Tracers by Adrian Magson

Cooper, and calls to the cab firm yielding no reply from the driver who had picked up Silverman from Heathrow, Harry was fighting a growing feeling of impatience. As leads went, it was up in the high numbers of usefulness, but it was no cause for over-optimism. Firmer leads than this had led nowhere, but it would give them something to do while they waited to speak to the cab driver from the airport.
    ‘Come on,’ he decided eventually. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ He crossed the pavement and turned into the front yard, and knocked on the door while Rik stepped to one side and waited.
    The door clicked open and Raymond Param looked out at them from a small hallway. He was dressed in casual slacks and a white shirt. Neither had seen a recent iron, a condition at odds with the photos on display at the house in Highgate. He needed a shave, the stubble adding an extra few pounds of weight, and a hank of hair hung uncontrolled over his forehead. In spite of his appearance, he seemed relaxed for a man who had allegedly deserted his wife and home in favour of a large amount of stolen money.
    ‘Can I help?’ His eyes flicked over them in turn. If there was an indication of nerves, it was in the brief glance he threw past them at the street beyond. That and the way he remained positioned well inside the doorway.
    ‘Hello, Mr Param,’ said Harry. His tone was calm, but left no doubt that he knew who the man was. It was essential in the first moments of contact to alleviate any tendency to panic on the part of the runner.
    For a moment there was no reaction. Then Param seemed to sag visibly as if the air had gone out of him in a rush. He turned away. ‘You’d better come in.’ If he didn’t know who the men were, he knew what they represented.
    He led them through the house to a kitchen overlooking a small courtyard garden bordered by a high wall covered in creepers. The room was simple in design, evidently expensive, and smelled faintly of something herbal. A rustic table and four chairs dominated the room, and the worktops were clean and free of clutter, as if the equipment was rarely used. The atmosphere was quiet, with a faint ticking sound of a boiler emanating from a cupboard at the back of the room.
    ‘Tea or coffee?’ he said, flicking on a kettle. He took out three mugs without waiting for a reply, then turned and faced them. ‘Who sent you – my wife?’ His expression was sour, as if he had been given yet another unpleasant surprise in a long list. ‘I’m surprised you found me. Mind telling me how?’
    ‘Parking fine on the Mini,’ said Harry.
    Param lifted an eyebrow. ‘Bugger. I forgot that.’
    Harry felt almost sorry for him. ‘It’s always the little things. Other than that, you nearly had a free run.’
    Param made no comment, but turned back to the kettle and made the tea. He handed out mugs and gestured to the table, which held a sugar bowl and a carton of milk. ‘Help yourselves.’
    When they were all seated, he looked at his two visitors. ‘I suppose there’s no point in promising you large amounts of money to go away and forget you ever saw me?’
    Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry. It’s not the way we work.’
    ‘Fair enough. Just thought I’d ask.’ Param gave a sad smile. ‘Who’s the more seriously pissed off at me – my wife or the company?’
    ‘The company, by a short head. Your wife’s bearing up surprisingly well, considering. She’s at her sister’s.’ He kept his face carefully blank, but the information drew a wry smile of something close to appreciation from Param.
    ‘Yes, she always had strong support on the family side. Her sister thinks I’m a waster.’ Param shrugged and warmed his hands on his mug. ‘Like I care. So what happens now? Is this where you drag me kicking and screaming to the local nick?’ There was something almost light-hearted in his tone, as if he wasn’t taking their arrival too seriously.
    ‘Is there any reason why we should?’ said