Then, wearing only his silk boxers, he glanced over at Miri as she stood in front of the workstation in just her bra and panties, her dark hair spilling freely over her naked shoulders.
Christ she looked good.
As he admired her, he was aware that they had a significant amount of time to kill before putting their plan into action later that night and, studying Miri’s wondrous form, he could not think of anything better than spending the intervening hours in bed with her. Indeed, it would certainly help to cheer them both up and take their minds off the possible dangers that lay ahead.
However, before he could ponder it further, the doorbell rang.
At the sound of it, they instantly looked to each other, both equally alarmed and momentarily frozen with shock.
In theory it was not possible for such a thing to happen as all visitors should be announced by a call from the receptionist on the ground floor. Upon Sam or Miri’s approval, they would then be sent up in the private elevator to their penthouse apartment.
Yet no such call had been received, which was extremely strange as it went against all the tight security protocols the sales agent had promised them.
However, it was an issue which would have to wait for another time. Indeed, before Sam and Miri had a chance to properly consider it the doorbell rang for a second time.
“Who the hell could that be?” Miri whispered, her eyes wide with fear. No one but their friends knew where they were and visitors were definitely not expected.
“I don’t know,” said Sam, keeping his voice low and calm as he tossed Miri a T-shirt and jeans whilst he, himself, hurriedly pulled on some sweat pants and a loose-fitting hoodie.
“Quickly, get dressed,” he added. “And shut those screens down while I go check it out.”
As he spoke he glanced at the monitors, relieved to see DeVilliers and his two minders going about their usual business. They, too had only just returned and clearly had no idea what was happening above their heads as the bell rang for a third time.
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Sam said as Miri hastily threw on her T-shirt. Then, as soon as she had hoisted up her tight jeans and zipped them up she set the monitors to ‘sleep’ mode.
“Okay,” she said, nodding to indicate she was ready as Sam crossed to the door and peered through the spy hole.
For a moment he did not recognise the tired looking, unshaven man standing outside in the foyer. He was wearing a brown cord sports jacket over a light blue shirt; its top button undone and an olive green tie pulled slightly askew. His grey chinos needed a good press and the well-worn brogues on his feet looked as though they were nearing the end of a long life.
However, although undeniably scruffy, there was something about the man’s appearance which registered with Sam. He had a kind, understanding face which he guessed women would find extremely attractive - but it was his eyes that effected Sam most and he had definitely seen them before.
Then it struck him. It was Sergeant Coyle - the policeman - the detective who had been working on Claudette’s murder.
Yet that was in Cambridge and this was London and much water had passed under the bridge since they had last spoken to each other. Even so, Sam could not help but hope that the detective might have some news to impart about the men he still sought.
“It’s alright, Miri,” he whispered. “Nothing to worry about - in fact I think it might be good news.”
Intrigued but pleased, Miri breathed a huge sigh of relief; her body visibly relaxing as Sam turned the latch and pulled open the door.
“Hey, Sergeant Coyle,” He said, “what an unexpected pleasure.”
“Hello to you, Mr. Ryder,” replied Roper, shaking Sam’s hand warmly, realising, too late, that he had been spotted through the spy hole. “My apologies for turning up unannounced - but please don’t blame your receptionist, it’s all my fault I promise, I was hoping to surprise you - I hope you don’t mind?”
“Well you certainly managed to do that,” said Sam, thinking it a little odd as the first niggle of doubt crept into his brain. “But no, I don’t mind, Sergeant. Far from it - it’s very nice to see you.”
Roper smiled, “It’s actually Detective Inspector now - but, yes, nice to see you, too, Mr. Ryder, it’s been a long time.”
“Call me Sam, please - and you’re quite right, it has been a long time. Congratulations on the promotion by the way - well deserved I’m sure.”
“Luck mostly,” Coyle said, trying not to dwell on his ex-wife’s misguided attempts to boost his career. “Right place, right time and all that.”
“I suspect you’re being much too modest,” Sam said. “And I’m guessing you’re no longer with the Cambridge force either then?”
“That’s right. I’ve been back at the The Met now for over nine years.”
“Wow!” Sam replied, struck once more by how much time had passed since last they met and what he, himself, had done in those intervening years.
As he thought about it, he found himself back in the glade on that fateful summer’s day, lying in the grass, dying and helpless whilst his girlfriend was raped and murdered in front of his very eyes.
The anger rose within him again, as if it was only yesterday, but he forced it down, conscious of where he was and to whom he was speaking, purposely maintaining a calm exterior.
“You must know Miriam of course?” He said, suddenly remembering she was there and turning to see her standing in front of the workstation, looking a little awkward.
“Yes, indeed. Miss Dufour - how are you?” Said Coyle.
“Very well, thank you, Detective Inspector. In fact it’s Doctor Dufour now - I guess we’ve both been promoted. But please call me Miriam - Miri.”
“Doctor!” Exclaimed Coyle, “Well, it seems congratulations are in order all round - I’m guessing you two are a couple now, too, yes?”
Sam crossed over and took Miri’s hand. “Yes,” he said, speaking for them both. “It took a long time but I’m afraid she’s just got no hope of getting rid of me now.”
Coyle smiled again, finding himself genuinely pleased for both of them. “So what - are you married? Have you got any kids?”
Sam and Miri looked at each other before she answered. “No. Neither of those yet but definitely at some point. We’re in no rush. We’ve still got much to do before all of that.”
“Ah yes, much to do,” Roper replied, choosing his words carefully, “I’m sure you have. I’m sure you’ve both been very busy.”
Sam detected the undertone but chose to ignore it. “So, Detective Inspector, what brings you here - and how did you find us?”
Roper rubbed his stubbled chin. “Just a hunch, that’s all. The name you’re using here also gave me a clue.”
Sam nodded, realising that anyone who knew him would have been able to put the pieces together, but he was still impressed. “Of course, yes. It’s merely about privacy, Detective - after all, I’m a wealthy man now whether I like it or not and protection is important.”
“No need to explain, I quite understand,” said Roper waving his hand dismissively before casting his gaze around the very spacious, extremely luxurious apartment. “Looks like you’re thriving on it though?”
“Yes, I suppose.” Sam replied, immediately aware of the sparseness of the interior and how strange it must appear. “But please excuse us, we’ve only just moved in so we’re a little short on furniture at the moment.”
“Well I’m sure decorating the place will be half the fun,” remarked Roper, his eyes settling with intrigue on the three large monitors sitting atop the elaborate state-of-the-art computer terminal in the centre of the vast space.
“It will indeed,” said Miri, shifting her position slightly in a futile attempt to conceal the workstation, she, too, now sensing Coyle was there for something a little more ominous than the good news Sam was
hoping for.
Sam read what she was thinking, her concerns echoing his own. “So, how can we help you?” He asked at last. “I’m hoping you’ve got something new to tell us about the case - that perhaps you’ve found the men responsible?”
Roper shrugged his shoulders and chewed his lip as he studied Sam for a moment, looking deeply into his eyes as he searched for the innocent young student he had known over ten years before.
The face was undeniably the same - indeed, Roper had known it instantly when he saw Sam loitering in the entrance of The Ritz. But the person he was staring at now had most definitely lived a life. What is more, the boy had now grown into a tough, strong man but in those clear blue eyes Roper could also see many hard times and years of immeasurable suffering - it was all there, plain to see.
Again he had that feeling of sympathy. But he was also a policeman and four men had been murdered - probably more - and Roper still had a job to do.
“I’m afraid I haven’t got anything new to tell you, no,” he admitted finally. “However, I have discovered quite a bit about the men responsible.”
Sam was immediately interested. “Please, come and sit down - tell us everything you know.”
“Thank you,” Coyle replied as they all walked over to the dining table and four chairs which had been positioned close the tall windows and represented the only furniture aside from the bed and the workstation in the entire place.
When they were all seated, Sam said, “Please Detective Inspector, continue.”
Coyle brushed a hand through his messy brown hair, purposely taking a beat before doing as instructed, knowing what he was about to do was far from orthodox and most definitely not in line with his training. But he was done with protocol.
It was time now for answers.
“Actually, it started with something you said, as you lay in your hospital bed injured all those years ago,” he began.
“It did - how?” Asked Sam, intrigued.
“You probably don’t remember,” continued Coyle. “After all, you were delirious, close to death. But the nurse said you kept repeating the same thing over and over again before you slipped into a coma.”
“Repeating what?” Said Miri, suddenly fascinated and having no clue as to where Coyle’s story might lead.
“Hare, bulldog, finch,” replied Roper. “I’ve mentioned those words to you both before but, like I said, it was a long time ago so I’m sure neither of you can recall it, particularly as they seemed so inconsequential in relation to what had happened. However, as it turns out, those three words were the very key to the whole case.” He was looking directly at Sam as he said this, who felt his stomach stir with dread.
“For a long time I wondered what they meant, convinced that they did actually mean something and not - if you’ll forgive me, Sam - just the ravings of a dying man.”
Sam nodded, “Of course.”
“The words stuck with me,” Coyle went on, “floated around in my head for a long time. Then one night, two skinheads were found murdered in Cambridge City Centre - nasty, evil bastards the pair of them—“ he paused and looked at Miri. “Please, excuse my language.”
Miri waved a hand. “D’accord, no problem - please, go on.”
Roper smiled his thanks. “As I was saying, these two men were racists and rotten to the core. One had a harelip, the other a bulldog tattoo - which didn’t mean anything to me at the time. But then some months later another murdered body turned up - this one burned to a crisp in the woods near the village of Pemberton on the outskirts of Cambridge. This man’s name was Roger Finch - another known racist. Well, suddenly it all made sense - as I’m sure you know Sam.”
The colour drained from Miri’s face but Sam remained calm, unruffled. Indeed he did know what Coyle meant and there was no point in denying it. “Yeah, I guess I do - but why don’t you tell us anyway.”
“Okay,” said Roper. “Well, they - the two skinheads - were quite obviously the Hare and The Bulldog - the reference, which I had missed earlier, being the harelip and the bulldog tattoo - and the body in Pemberton Woods, well he was, of course, Finch. And all three of them were present at the scene of Miss Sekibo’s—“
“Yep, we get the picture,” Sam interrupted. “You can skip that part.”
“Of course, yes. My apologies,” said Roper. “Anyhow, their D.N.A. confirmed that they were, indeed, three of the men responsible.”
“That’s surely good news isn’t it, Detective Inspector?” Said Miri, “I mean it’s great—“
Sam put his hand over hers, to quieten her. “I’m guessing there’s more, Detective - isn’t that right?” He said, knowing precisely where Coyle was going.
“Very perceptive,” replied Roper, “There is indeed.”
“Please, continue then.”
“Very well,” nodded Coyle. “Evidence revealed that each of these men had all been killed by the same person - two of them, Finch and one of the skinheads, had wounds inflicted by the very same knife, even though the incidents were months apart.
“Now, to my mind, there was only one person with enough motive to kill these men - who could link them all together at the same crime scene. Indeed, the only witness to the evil thing they had done.”
As he revealed this, Roper stared directly at Sam, their eyes meeting with mutual understanding as Miri looked on, a shiver of fear running down her spine.
However, Coyle was still speaking. “But I had no concrete proof,” he said, “and my superiors for one reason or another were reluctant to press forward with the case - so it got put on the back burner and forgotten about - by everyone except me.
“Anyway, fast forward a few years and I am now working at The Met on a completely unrelated case, when the body of a man we are interested in is repatriated to the U.K. from Siberia.”
At this Miri involuntarily let out an audible gasp, dreading what Coyle was about to say.
“Indeed, Dr. Dufour,” continued Roper, “I sense you know where this is going.
“The floor’s yours, Detective, you might as well make the most of it,” said Sam with growing resignation.
“Well okay then,” Agreed Coyle. “As both of you have now probably gathered, the body from Siberia was that of another nasty character by the name of Brendan Williams - an ex-mercenary amongst other things - with a long history of violence.
Unfortunately, though, his D.N.A. did not help me with the case I was working on - the one I am still working on in fact - but it was flagged up as a match for that found at Claudette Sekibo’s murder scene. Which meant, of course, he was a fourth member of the gang!” Roper shook his head with disbelief.
“It was hell of a discovery I can tell you.” He said.
“Yet more amazing still, was that this man - Williams - was killed by a white American by the name of ‘Sam Ryder’ - both of them prisoners in a notorious Siberian prison camp.
“On a hunch, I got my sergeant to go back through all the airline passenger manifests from flights to the U.K. for around the time the two skinheads were murdered back in ‘94 - and sure enough he finds a passenger listed as ‘Sam Ryder’.
Roper then leaned in, staring intently at Sam again. “Now tell me if I’m wrong, Mr. Beresford, but wasn’t your mother’s maiden name ‘Ryder’?”
Sam smiled and shrugged. There was no more need for pretence. “Yes, it was Detective Inspector. And if you are asking me if I killed those men, then the answer is ‘yes’. I killed every fucking one of them.”
***
After Sam’s rather startling confession, he asked Miri to put on a pot of coffee so they might all sit down and calmly discuss it. She did as instructed, then returned to the table, her hands trembling slightly as she set down the cups.
She was nervous about what might come next but was content to follow Sam’s lead, trusting that he knew what he was doing.
Indeed, he thought it was time to finally come clean. The detective had put the pieces together perfectly so there was no point in trying to deny it.
Besides, even though he believed his actions to be completely justified, he felt Coyle’s doggedness deserved an explanation.
He was bitterly disappointed, however, that his plan for DeVilliers would now come to nothing and the others involved in Claudette’s murder - namely James Locke and the shadowy figure who had originally orchestrated the attack - would escape unpunished.
Sam was also aware that a life of imprisonment must now surely await him, yet aside from leaving Miri he had only one regret.
And it would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He had failed to fulfil his oath to avenge Claudette and their unborn child and the fact he believed himself so tantalisingly close to completing his task made it even harder to accept.
After all, Sam knew DeVilliers to be the key not just to finding Locke and his evil paymaster but also to him finally understanding exactly why his fiancé had been killed.
Finding the reason he had long searched for might then help him explain her death to her father, Ekon Sekibo, whom Sam had felt unable to confront in all the years since his daughter’s brutal murder.
Deep down Sam had always felt guilty for what had happened - fearing the reason she had died was in someway down to him - which was why he had never been able to face her father.
However, if he could fully understand why she had been targeted, then he might finally be exonerated and the burden of guilt he had carried for all those years lifted from his shoulders at last.
Yet it was not to be. He had reached the end of the road. Coyle had done an excellent job of joining the dots and now he had to face up to what he had done.
So, as Miri and Roper sipped their coffee and listened, Sam slowly began to tell his story.
He left nothing out, relating all that he could remember, every detail about how he set about finding the men who had attacked him and Claudette on that hot summer’s day many years earlier.
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