[James Ryker 01.0] The Red Cobra

by Rob Sinclair

  ‘Affairs?’ Ryker said. ‘Perhaps you should choose your words more carefully.’

  Walker blushed crimson. Ryker knew he was right.

  ‘She’s got nothing to do with what happened to Kim.’

  ‘Says you.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re going to be a dick about this then you get out of my house. Right now!’

  Ryker didn’t move. ‘I saw a van coming out of here when I arrived earlier. Delivering furniture. Or taking some away. You moving out?’

  ‘Does it look like I am?’

  ‘I’m not sure. That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘No, I’m not moving out. I was just... clearing some of Kim’s things.’

  Ryker didn’t outwardly react to the explanation. He wasn’t one to question someone’s response to their spouse being murdered. But Kim Walker had been dead less than a week, and clearing out her things so soon seemed odd. It could be nothing.

  Walker looked at his watch. It was the fourth time he'd done so since the two men had sat with their coffee. The man was clearly nervous, on edge in Ryker’s presence, and they hadn’t yet had any sort of meaningful conversation.

  A loud buzzing noise came from out in the hallway. Ryker heard the pitter-patter of light feet across the marble floor and then Valeria’s soft voice as she answered the intercom. Walker took one more sip of his coffee then got to his feet.

  ‘Looks like he’s here. About bloody time too.’

  Walker couldn’t wait to get out of the room. He shot past Ryker who casually stood and followed Walker to the front door. Walker was already out on the driveway when the blue saloon car pulled to a stop.

  The man who stepped out of the car looked to be in his late fifties, possibly early sixties. He had a goatee beard that was almost grey, the salt and pepper effect matching the short, thin hair on his head. He was at least a couple of stones overweight with a round belly that protruded over the rim of his creased trousers. His cheeks were flushed red and his forehead was wet with sweat.

  ‘Detective,’ Walker said as he walked up to the man and shook his hand.

  Walker turned round and faced Ryker, as did the man.

  ‘This is him?’ the man asked.

  He moved toward Ryker, stretched out his hand.

  ‘DS Green. Metropolitan Police. I’ve been expecting you. Though not quite like this.’

  Ryker shook Green’s hand. ‘James Ryker.’

  A Detective Sergeant. Not a very senior rank for a man pushing retirement age, Ryker mused. However unfair it might have been, he drew a conclusion from Green’s rank and his appearance as to the type of policeman he was. A stalwart. A man who did things his way and no other. An old school detective who hadn’t moved with the times and hated to be told what to do by those younger than him. Perhaps he was a decent enough policeman in the field – on his own. But Ryker would bet his boots that Green lacked any kind of leadership qualities and people skills.

  ‘I think we should probably have a bit of a chat, don’t you?’ Green said.

  ‘Yeah. Why not.’ Ryker turned to head back inside.

  ‘Not here. I think Mr Walker has probably had enough of you for one day. Come on, let’s go and get something to eat.’

  Ryker shrugged. He noticed the smug look on Walker’s face but Ryker couldn’t care less. He wasn’t there to get one over on anyone.

  Without another word, they jumped into Green’s car and headed back up the hill toward the village.

  ‘Quite an entrance you made,’ Green said.

  ‘Self-defence.’

  ‘You’re lucky you’re not working for me or you’d be on the first plane back home. You realise he could sue you, sue us, for what you did?’

  ‘He could try.’

  ‘And he might well win, regardless of whether you think you were in the right. He’s got the clout to do it. Walker is a rich and powerful man around here. And the last thing you want is the local police on your case. They’re unhelpful at the best of times.’

  ‘I’ll admit it was a mistake,’ Ryker said. ‘But he didn’t give me much of an option. He needs to be more careful who he picks fights with.’

  ‘Perhaps the same could be said of you.’

  They reached the village, and Green found a parking space on the side of the road next to a row of cafes and restaurants. The two men got out of the car and headed to the nearest open place. They took a shady table on the pavement terrace, out of the fierce midday sun. The waiter came and Ryker ordered a steak and chips and a bottle of sparkling water. Green nodded in appreciation of Ryker’s choice then asked for the same, adding a half bottle of red wine to his order.

  ‘A private investigator, huh?’ Green said, referring to the fake identity that Winter had set up for Ryker.

  ‘That’s what they say,’ Ryker said, wanting to embellish as little as he could. He’d become well used to being undercover over the years he’d worked for the JIA, and had learned it was best to give little away about a fake identity. The less he gave, the less chance for slip-ups.

  ‘You work on your own?’ Green asked.

  ‘When I can.’

  ‘Ex-police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How’d you get into it then?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘It’s early in the day. I’m sure you could tell it if you wanted.’

  ‘If I wanted to, yeah.’

  The waiter brought the drinks over, and both men took a large swig of their waters. Ryker was parched from the heat and Green too seemed to be struggling – his face was even redder and sweatier now than when he’d first stepped out of his car at Walker’s house.

  ‘I could never get used to this heat,’ Green said, as if picking up on Ryker’s train of thought.

  ‘That’s why the locals have siestas,’ Ryker said. ‘No one likes being out in this kind of heat.’

  ‘Except mad dogs and Englishmen.’

  Ryker smiled.

  ‘How long have you been investigating?’ Green asked.

  ‘Long enough.’

  Green shook his head. ‘I’m sensing you’re a man of few words.’

  ‘I use the ones that are needed.’

  ‘You’ve investigated murders before?’

  ‘Are you interviewing me for a job here?’

  ‘No, I’m just trying to figure out what kind of a man you are. I mean, here we are in a foreign country where we have no legal jurisdiction, assisting the local police in the murder of a British national, and after five minutes on the case you go and punch the victim’s husband in the face.’

  ‘I didn’t punch him.’

  ‘What? Punch, head-butt, that’s beside the point.’

  ‘Then what’s the point?’

  ‘The point is I haven’t a clue why they’d send someone like you here.’

  ‘Someone like me?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure yet what you’re bringing to the table.’

  ‘What, because you have all the answers?’

  ‘No. I don’t. Not yet.’

  ‘So do you or do not know who killed Kim Walker?’

  ‘No, I–’

  ‘That’s why I’m here,’ Ryker said. ‘And that’s all you need to know.’

  16

  The food came and Ryker blasted through his steak and chips in less than five minutes. He’d not had a full meal since boarding the first pond-hopping plane almost two days earlier. He wished he’d had some red wine to wash the food down with but he knew that with the combination of the heat, the early hour, and his groggy state, alcohol was the last thing he needed.

  Green ate his food at a much more leisurely pace. ‘How much do you know so far?’ He took a swig of his wine.

  ‘Not a lot. I’d intended to talk to Walker about that, find the lay of the land. But we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.’

  ‘No. You didn’t. And if you’d come to me beforehand, like I expected you to, then I’d have warned you against speaking to him anyway. He’s gi
ven official statements to me and the Spanish police on numerous occasions already. He’s grieving. This is a tough time for him – it’s only been a few days. We need to keep out of his hair if possible.’

  ‘If possible.’

  ‘He’s also got a prominent and rather noisy lawyer. Things will get messy for you very quickly if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Why is his lawyer involved?’

  ‘I’m not that bothered what your history is, but think about what you’re dealing with here. A man has lost his wife. You need to show some tact.’

  ‘Have you ruled him out?’

  Green chewed on a bit of meat before answering. ‘Not officially. But I don’t think it was him.’

  ‘So what’s your theory then?’

  ‘You’re asking me? From what I gather it’s theories being spouted by the boffins back home that have caused you to be here.’

  ‘And which theories would those be?’

  ‘That Kim Walker wasn’t who she said she was. She was using a bogus identity. And she may have been killed as some sort of revenge attack because of her past.’

  Ryker was a little surprised at how much of the true picture Green had figured out. Whether that was through his own work, official channels or simply the inevitable chin-wagging within police forces he couldn’t be sure. But he’d be careful not to give Green any tangible details of what he knew about the Red Cobra. Not unless he needed to.

  ‘And does that fit what you know?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘It could do. But at the moment we’ve got a lot of loose ends and no one knows what direction this investigation will go in. Kim Walker was pregnant, did you know that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ryker said with a sickening feeling. Whoever Kim Walker really was, her murder was one of the most gruesome and heart-wrenching he’d ever seen.

  ‘Four months,’ Green said, a hint of anger in his voice. ‘The forensics team believe the baby died before she did, though how they can be so sure of that, I really don’t know. A blunt-force blow to Kim’s stomach was the most likely cause of the baby’s death.’ Green reached down into his briefcase and took some papers which he passed over to Ryker. ‘Kim was attacked as she walked into her house. The intruder was already inside, we think.’

  ‘No signs of forced entry.’

  ‘No, none. The husband, the maid, the gardener, the pool cleaner, anyone who knows that house, who had any kind of access, they all have solid alibis.’

  ‘No cameras?’

  ‘CCTV? No. The Walkers had decent enough security but they weren’t paranoid. Just good old locks and bolts.’

  Ryker looked down at the papers. They included the same bloody photographs that Winter had already shown him. Ryker didn’t need to see those again. He handed them back to Green, averting his eyes from the gory images.

  ‘It was horrific,’ Green said. ‘The maid found her like that. Lucky, I guess, that it wasn’t the husband.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Kim was knocked unconscious with chloroform. She was raped. Her stomach was cut open while she was still alive. It’s not clear why. The baby wasn't taken out. There were numerous other stab wounds, slashes, all non-fatal. She was partly suffocated, a plastic bag put over her head and tied around her neck, but it was a blunt-force blow that killed her. One of several that she received to her face and head.’

  ‘And the scene?’ Ryker asked.

  Green paused as a young couple – both with bright-white skin, Northern European tourists, no doubt – walked arm in arm along the street in front of the restaurant terrace. The grisly conversation was hardly something they’d be keen to overhear on their sunny Spanish getaway.

  ‘Kim was found in the entrance hall,’ Green carried on when the couple were out of earshot. ‘Attacked, beaten and killed in the same spot, it looks like, though the ordeal certainly wasn’t quick. We’ve found zero trace evidence of a third party. The house was clean. I mean, the maid seems to scrub that place from top to bottom every day from what I’ve seen anyway, but the area around Kim’s body was heavily bleached. The door and frame of the front entrance were thoroughly scrubbed down too, no prints on them. Not even Kim’s or Patrick’s.’

  ‘And no other trace evidence? Clothing fibres? Blood? DNA?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Nothing. Maybe the killer was wearing a plastic suit. Gloves. Shoe covers. But nothing’s been recovered to confirm that.’

  ‘All in all very professional then.’

  ‘Very,’ Green said. ‘But also an absolute statement. A killer with that kind of forethought and knowledge of evidence transfer... I mean he could have taken the body and disposed of it, and we’d have no clue where Kim went or what happened.’

  ‘He?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said he. The killer.’

  ‘A figure of speech. An assumption.’

  ‘Those are two different things,’ Ryker said.

  ‘An assumption then. And she was raped. Yeah, perhaps with an object rather than a dick, but I’ve never seen a woman do a thing like that.’

  ‘You haven’t. I have.’

  ‘You don’t think the killer’s a he?’ Green said, perturbed. ‘You know something I don’t?’

  ‘I know lots of things you don’t.’

  ‘About this case?’

  ‘I’m just saying. Don’t assume it’s a he.’

  ‘Thanks for the lesson,’ Green said, his irritation evident. It looked like Ryker’s initial assessment of Green had been spot on. Here was a man who really didn’t like to be questioned.

  ‘My point was about the body,’ Green said. ‘Left on display like that, in the hallway of her home. The killer – he or she or it or whatever you want to say – wanted her to be found that way.’

  Ryker didn’t say a word for a minute or two. Slowly he could see Green calming again. Ryker wasn’t going to set out to rile the detective, but he also wasn’t the type to sit back and keep schtum when the obvious needed stating.

  ‘Where was Walker?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Playing golf,’ Green said. ‘Three of his friends confirm they were with him. And four members of staff at the golf club say they saw him there that day.’

  ‘And was he home on time?’

  ‘Actually he was later than planned. By about two hours.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just was. Drinking. Eating. Socialising. Business. Whatever rich men do after golf.’

  Green said the last words with a hint of contempt. Or was it jealousy?

  ‘He was supposed to find the body,’ Ryker said.

  Green shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And you say you have no theories?’

  ‘I didn’t say that exactly.’

  ‘No, not exactly. But you’ve not been very open about what you think happened, either.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ Green protested.

  ‘No, you’ve told me all the facts. You haven’t told me what you think.’

  ‘What I think?’

  ‘Why do you think Kim Walker was killed?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘It’s pretty damn obvious to me.’

  ‘Obvious?’ Green said, offended. ‘Go on then, tell me.’

  ‘One way or another, Kim Walker was killed because of Patrick Walker. Her husband. I’m certain of it.’

  17

  ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Green said.

  Ryker raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And there’s you warning me about making assumptions,’ Green added, a look of incredulity on his sweat-drenched face.

  ‘It’s not an assumption,’ Ryker said. ‘It’s a deduction. Or call it a hypothesis if you like.’

  ‘I don’t think Patrick Walker killed his wife.’

  ‘No. He didn’t. I didn’t say that.’

  ‘And I don’t think he paid to have her killed either.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Because there’s no motive for him to do so.’

  ‘How ab
out because he was screwing someone else behind her back.’

  Green said nothing. He took another sip of his wine but his gaze never once left Ryker.

  ‘You knew about that, right?’ Ryker asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you think it’s connected?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Her name’s Eva.’

  ‘Where can I find her?’

  ‘I already spoke to her. The Spanish police too. I’m not sure what you expect her to tell you. She’s a kid. Twenty-three.’

  ‘You said I can’t speak to Walker either. So who exactly would you like me to speak to?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Just that I don’t think you should go around harassing everyone. There’s plenty of material, statements, that the locals and I have put together that you can read.’

  ‘Yeah. Because all of those statements have gotten you so far already.’

  ‘Oh, so you think everyone’s going to all of a sudden give a different story, tell us exactly what happened, just because you’re on the scene now?’

  ‘I can but try,’ Ryker said, smiling. Green didn’t reciprocate. ‘You already told me you don’t know why Kim Walker was killed or who did it. So I’m not sure why I’d waste my time reading your reports. You can help me here or I can do this on my own. But one way or another, I’ll get to the bottom of what’s happened.’

  Green sighed and poured himself another glass of wine. ‘Do you want to work with me? Because I get the sense you’re not really looking to do that. That you’re a lone wolf who’d rather tread on everyone’s toes.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever’s needed.’

  ‘I was like you once,’ Green said after taking a long drag of wine from his glass.

  ‘I don’t think you were.’

  Green shook his head. ‘It’s true. I was headstrong like you, never trusted anyone, always thought I’d do a better job than anyone else would.’

  ‘You’re using the past tense. You don’t think that way anymore?’

  ‘Of course I do. But I’m not as naive as I used to be. I see now that such an approach doesn’t always work in my favour. And when I see those same faults in other people, it’s always so damn obvious.’

  Ryker stopped for a few seconds as Green’s words sunk in. There was a lot of truth to them. That was the way Ryker had always been. As an agent for the JIA, he was supposed to have done nothing but follow orders. Never question, just do. But whatever training they’d put Ryker through, however much they’d tried to control his mind, make him nothing more than a killing machine, he had always fought back. He’d always questioned and looked for answers. It was simply part of his nature, something that could never be taken away from him.