Now Roper’s career was in jeopardy because of another of his wife’s affairs, this time with his current commanding officer.
He knew he should have seen it, knew he should have been wiser, but he simply did not believe Emma would betray him in such a brazen manner.
However, when he accused her of this, she spat back that she liked being a slut, admitting with vitriolic glee that it made her feel powerful. Having the ability to manipulate men to her will gave her an enormous thrill and Roper should have been grateful she had the talent and ambition to do it.
Completely unrepentant, she adamantly refused to believe she had done anything wrong.
Roper had always known his wife to be driven by success but the woman standing before him in their bedroom, being so brutally frank, was not the same girl he had married just a few short years before. Indeed, that person had been completely devoured by the ruthless, scheming, sex-obsessed monster his wife had become. Yet far from being ashamed, Emma wholeheartedly embraced her new self and showed not one ounce of remorse for what she had done.
Nonetheless, in the ensuing aftermath, with the gulf between them completely unbreachable, Emma and Roper had duly separated.
She had moved into a brand new house in Dulwich with her lover, the Chief Inspector, who in turn had left his wife and three young children to be with Emma.
Roper, meanwhile, had been summarily suspended from duty pending an investigation into his assault on a superior.
However, after eighteen tortuous months, he had finally been cleared of any wrong doing and the Chief Inspector found guilty of conduct unbecoming of a commanding officer. He had been demoted, transferred, and was presently working at a small rural police station in Cornwall.
Upon the outcome of the investigation, Emma had deserted him and was now living alone in a small bedsit in Highgate and making a modest living as a part-time hairdresser.
She had pleaded with Roper to take her back but even though he no longer bore her any ill will, he had flatly refused, believing it was time they both moved on. Besides, he had no doubt that Emma would not be kept down for long, her boundless ambition and scheming feminine wiles would surely see to that.
As for Roper, he was back on duty at last, working within the same unit he had been with before and led by a brand new female Chief Inspector.
With his colleagues well aware of what had happened with his wife and their former boss, things could have been awkward upon his return to work, but they were not. On the contrary, Roper was well liked and well respected and his work mates rallied round him - particularly the female members of the team who now considered themselves to be in with a chance.
Yet all Roper wanted to do was get back on with the job in hand. Romance, for the time being, was something he could well do without.
Nevertheless, in his absence the case against the Khan brothers had grown stale. Yet recent intelligence had revealed the older of the two ex-mercenaries they were interested in was now back in the U.K. for a meeting with an as yet unknown third party.
Hence the reason for Roper’s current position on the second week back after his long-awaited return to duty.
He was parked in his Mondeo, busily surveilling the scene, anxious not to miss a thing as he drank lukewarm coffee and chain smoked cigarettes with D.S. Dave Eckhart beside him, each of them waiting for Arthur Khan to make an appearance.
***
Sam and Miri had been seated at their table for the past half hour in anticipation of DeVilliers’ arrival.
Knowing the location of the meeting from listening into the telephone conversation the night before, Sam had considered it a better option to wait for DeVilliers at the appointed venue rather than follow him there. Besides, he rather liked the idea of taking Miri to lunch at one of the best restaurants in London regardless of the reason, and she was inclined to agree.
However, the wait was now over because at 1pm precisely, the gleaming silver Bentley, chauffeur driven by Robert, pulled up in front of the famous blue-canopied entrance of The Ritz in Mayfair.
The second the car stopped the smart-suited valet opened the rear door allowing Miles DeVilliers to step pompously out.
He appeared in the lavishly appointed foyer a few moments later wearing a tailored three-piece suit over a pale pink shirt and striped blue tie. A fresh white carnation adorned his lapel and a silk pink handkerchief was spilling rakishly from the breast pocket.
Sam spied on DeVilliers from a table in the restaurant, concealing himself behind the wine list as Miri, nervously sitting with her back to the foyer, stared at Sam himself.
They had secured a table at short notice thanks to Marcus Ellison who had telephoned personally from New York the night before to make the reservation on their behalf; the power of Beresford Industries once again helping to smooth the way.
Indeed, had Sam tried to make a reservation in the name of ‘Ben Meredith’ then he would have had to join a waiting list that stretched back months.
As for DeVilliers, The Ritz kept a table permanently available to him whenever he was in town so he had no need to trouble himself with such minor trivialities.
Nonetheless, as The Fixer ambled into the restaurant to be greeted by the fawning Maître d’, Sam looked on curiously.
He knew it was a risk to show his face at The Ritz, just in case he should be recognised by the very man he was surveilling, which could only jeopardise the plan he and Miri had already set in motion.
However, he was desperate to know whom DeVilliers was there to meet, hoping it might be the man called ‘Locke’ as Sam’s own appointment with that particular individual was now long overdue.
Locke had been the one personally responsible for ending Claudette’s life and killing the baby she was carrying within her so the mere anticipation of finally confronting him made Sam’s thirst for revenge rage once more.
Yet he had already scanned the restaurant a thousand times and saw nobody familiar.
Nevertheless, a moment later, DeVilliers walked directly past their table as the Maître d’ led him to one on the far side of the restaurant in a quiet corner. Instinctively Sam slunk down in his chair and concealed his face with the wine list, but he need not have worried as DeVilliers paid neither him nor Miri any mind.
What is more, as DeVilliers reached his table on the far side of the elegant dining room, a tall man of Egyptian appearance rose from his chair and stretched out a hand in greeting.
As DeVilliers grasped it and shook it firmly, Sam’s heart sank. He had absolutely no clue as to whom the mysterious dining companion might be, certain only that he had never seen the man before.
Miri sensed Sam’s disappointment and placed a reassuring hand over his. “Never mind, cheri. We have one, two would have been too much to wish for,” she whispered. “Let’s concentrate our efforts on DeVilliers - after all, the plan is good and will surely result in us finding out more.”
Sam knew she was right. Indeed, the man DeVilliers was meeting with might well be related to Claudette’s murder in some way, although his instincts told him that was not the case.
However only time and a more private meeting with DeVilliers himself would tell.
Nonetheless, Sam and Miri ate slowly and lingered over their coffee, giving DeVilliers and his companion time to finish their lunch.
When Sam suspected they were readying to leave, he quickly paid for his and Miri’s own meal then waited until the two men duly made their way out of the restaurant.
As soon as it was safe, he and Miri then followed on behind.
However, before leaving the restaurant, Sam quickly crossed to the Maître d’ and said, “Excuse me, I hope you can help. Mr. DeVilliers just asked my wife and I to join him and his associate for dinner this evening but I quite forgot to ask the other gentleman’s name?”
“Of course sir,” replied the Maître d’
, “That’s Mr. Khan, sir. Mr. Arthur Khan. Just back from overseas or so I gather.”
“Great, that’s very helpful, thankyou,” said Sam, shaking the man’s hand and palming him a crisp new twenty pound note.
“Not at all, sir. My pleasure,” smiled the Maître d’, surreptitiously slipping the note discreetly into his jacket pocket. “Glad to be of service.”
As Sam hurried to catch up with Miri, who was eagerly watching where DeVilliers and his friend were headed, he logged the information he had gleaned.
Even though it meant nothing to him at present, the name might prove to be useful at some point in the future, especially if it belonged to a man connected with the hiring of mercenaries.
It might even help Sam to find James Locke.
Either way, it would certainly be worth remembering the name ‘Arthur Khan’.
***
Roper swallowed the last mouthful of his tuna salad sandwich, fetched for him twenty minutes earlier by Eckhart from Marks and Spencer who had, himself, just wolfed down a cheese and tomato roll, two mini pork pies and a packet of cheesy puffs.
Two styrene cups of fresh coffee were also cooling on the dashboard of the litter strewn Mondeo.
It was now after 2pm but there was still no sign of their mark who had been inside for well over an hour.
However, just as Roper picked up his coffee, preparing himself for another hour or two cooped up in the car, he saw Khan appear in the doorway. Next to him stood a foppish character wearing an obvious toupee whom he did not recognise.
“Dave, heads up,” he said.
“On it,” replied Eckhart, as he picked up the camera and began taking photos; the whir and click of the expensive Nikon immediately ringing in Roper’s ears by way of confirmation.
The two detectives watched as Khan and the other man chatted for a moment under The Ritz’s blue canopy before descending the short flight of steps to the cleanly swept pavement below.
A valet wearing the hotel’s distinctive livery then summoned forth a shiny new Bentley which had been waiting patiently a few yards away.
However, as Khan and his dining companion shook hands and said their goodbyes, Roper suddenly noticed two other people loitering close by, just inside the entrance to The Ritz.
What is more, he felt sure by their furtive demeanour that these people were tailing one or both of the gentlemen on the pavement outside. He had no clue as to their reason for this but knew it to be extremely dangerous as Arthur Khan was definitely not a man to cross.
Nonetheless, Roper was momentarily stunned by the unexpected sight of them.
Indeed, even though it had been well over ten years, he had thought of them many times and would have known them anywhere, so there could definitely be no mistake.
Roper Coyle was staring directly at Miriam Dufour and Sam Beresford.
***
On impulse, Roper left Eckhart at The Ritz to be picked up by the support unit with orders to keep on Khan’s tail and see if it led to a much needed breakthrough in their case.
Roper himself opted to follow Beresford and Dufour in the Mondeo. They, in turn, had jumped into a taxi in pursuit of the chauffeur driven Bentley belonging to Khan’s luncheon companion, who was presently reading the newspaper in the back of the highly polished limousine as it wound its way through the city centre.
Nonetheless, an hour later, after a hellish drive through heavy traffic, all three vehicles finally wound up in Canary Wharf.
Pulling over in a discreet position, Roper watched as the Bentley disappeared into the underground parking garage of a brand new development which was only partially completed.
Then, with his curiosity well and truly piqued, witnessed Beresford and Dufour purposely wait until the Bentley was out of sight before then alighting from the taxi and strolling casually into the foyer of the exact same building.
However, what Roper found even more intriguing, was that they then waved to the female receptionist with an almost casual familiarity before entering one of the five private elevators completely unchecked.
Indeed, they did not receive so much as a curious glance in return.
Roper pondered this for several minutes before convincing himself that all those who had entered The Tea Clipper building were actually residents there. It was quite simply the most logical explanation even though it did not make a scrap of sense.
Nonetheless, he decided to test his theory by approaching the girl on reception with a disarming smile on his extremely appealing face.
“Hi,” he said, as the girl looked up from her computer screen, immediately taken with the attractively messy man standing before her.
“Good afternoon, sir, can I help you?” She beamed, automatically sitting up a little straighter and pushing out her impressive chest.
“I hope so,” he said, flashing his warrant card. “My name’s Detective Inspector Roper Coyle and I was wondering if you could tell me if the young couple who just came in are residents here?”
Suddenly the girl’s smile disappeared and she looked a little flustered. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not allowed to disclose any information on the people who live here - it’s company policy I’m afraid.
Coyle was unruffled as he leant casually on the desk; his smile still in place. The girl was early twenties and clearly new to the job as the building was still under construction. “But they do live here?”
“I’m sorry, I really can’t—“ she began before Roper cut in.
“Look,” he said, keeping his tone friendly, “I completely understand. The problem is, if you don’t tell me then I’ve gotta go get a warrant - which will then lead to a bunch of uniforms in God knows how many patrol cars coming down here and going through everything - which I’m guessing is an advertisement your employers could well do without.”
The girl looked absolutely horrified by this scenario.
“I dare say it won’t do you any favours either,” Roper said, pressing his point.
She did not reply but her face told him everything she was thinking.
“All I need to know is if that couple live here,” he continued. “If so, I need a very quick word with them and then I’ll be on my way - and you’ll hear no more about it, I promise.”
The girl looked into Coyle’s darkly alluring eyes. “You promise?”
He nodded. “Cross my heart.”
She hesitated for a moment longer then blurted, “Yes, they live here, moved in a couple of weeks ago I think.”
“Great. Thank you, that’s really helpful,” replied Roper, piling on the charm, before adding, “Don’t suppose you know their names do you?”
The question was more out of curiosity than anything else as he knew exactly who they were but it occurred to him that if they were working some scheme then they might well be using different identities.
The girl frowned. “I’m not sure of the lady’s name but I know she sounds French - and he’s an American, I think.”
“And his name?”
“Meredith,” she said with certainty, “Mr. Ben Meredith.” Then, as an afterthought added, “They’re both really nice. I’m sure they’ve done nothing wrong - they’re just a normal couple and ever so friendly.”
Roper smiled again. “I’m sure they are. Now please, which floor are they on? I’d like to surprise them.”
***
Using the receptionist’s master key, Roper rode the elevator up to the fifty-eighth floor, his heart suddenly beating a little faster in his chest. The name ‘Ben Meredith’ made sense to him even though it would not mean much to others. Indeed, he clearly remembered the tragic deaths of Sam Beresford’s parents on the same day that his girlfriend had been murdered and the alias he was using - obviously a combination of their two first names - was no doubt in tribute to them.
Nonetheless, by confronting Sam, Roper
was very aware that he might well be making the worst decision of his life. After all, if his suspicions were correct, the man was already responsible for killing at least four people.
What is more, Roper was acting of his own volition. No one knew where he was, not even Eckhart, so if anything should go wrong he was completely alone.
However, as he stepped out of the elevator into the spacious foyer of the fifty-eighth floor and stared at the door immediately opposite, his instincts told him he would be perfectly safe.
In truth, Roper had a great deal of sympathy for Sam, regardless of whether he was now a murderer or not, as the brutal slaying of Claudette Sekibo had deeply effected him, too - so much so, that he had never forgotten it.
Furthermore, he knew that if he had been in Sam’s position he may well have acted similarly. Even now, more than a year after divorcing Emma, the thought of someone doing such vile things to her - or any other woman - made him want to vomit.
So, if nothing else, he was inclined to hear Sam out, listen to what he had to say, because the case had haunted Roper for far too long and it was finally time to get some closure.
Assuming, of course, Sam would talk to him.
As to what happened after that, Roper had not yet made up his mind.
Chapter Forty-Six
The moment they got back, Miri crossed to the workstation and tapped the spacebar on the keyboard to wake the three large displays, eager to know what was happening in the penthouse below.
She knew Sam was feeling frustrated, having hoped that DeVilliers’ lunchtime meeting might reveal more, yet unfortunately it had not.
Nevertheless, both were confident that tonight they would fair much better - although Miri could not help but feel a little worried by their high risk strategy.
Yet she buried her anxieties, knowing they would not do either her or Sam any good and instead focussed on the monitors, determinedly listening and looking for anything which might effect their plans.
As she watched, she slipped off her shoes and wriggled out of the pretty dress she had worn for lunch at The Ritz. Sam also undressed; pulling off his silk tie before stripping out of his lightweight tailored suit and handmade shirt, throwing them casually on the bed afterwards.
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