But after a few seconds, Ryker was distracted. Off to his left, he spotted the pavement terrace of Casa Colon. Along one side a passageway ran between the buildings to a lookout point that gave a glimpse of the sea beyond. Another dancer – taking a break perhaps – was there. Dressed similarly to the other two, but she was... different.
She was with a man. They were too far away for Ryker to hear a word of the conversation but it was clearly heated. Both were gesticulating, glaring at the other, their mouths moving wildly as they spoke. She went to walk away but the man grabbed her by the wrist. She spun round and slapped him hard in the face before storming along the passageway back to the square, where she moved through the crowd toward the stage.
Ryker’s gaze fixed back on the man. At first he looked shocked, holding a hand to his cheek where the woman had belted him. His look quickly turned to anger and he glowered at her walking away from him.
The man was smartly dressed in a pair of khaki trousers, shiny brown loafers, and a white cotton shirt that had several buttons undone. He had neat black hair and designer aviator sunglasses that obscured much of his face.
But even with the sunglasses on, Ryker had no doubt who the man was. He’d seen his picture in the papers Winter had given him.
He was exactly the man Ryker was looking for: Patrick Walker.
CHAPTER 14
Ryker stared on at Walker; hands now on his hips, the anger on his face unmistakeable. His left cheek was burning red from the slap. After a few moments, Walker walked forward, through the passageway to the edge of the crowd. He stopped. Ryker turned his attention back to the stage where Walker’s steely glare was now fixed.
The music had stopped and the woman Walker had been talking to joined the other two dancers just as the next song began. She was similar in age and size to the other two, her dress was cut the same, her hair styled the same. Yet she stood out. Her lipstick was darker – not far off black and a stark contrast to the bright red of the others. She had a black rose tied into her hair, where the other two had red. She was definitely attractive. Not the most beautiful woman Ryker had ever seen, but there was something about her. She was mesmerising.
As the dance began, Ryker couldn’t take his eyes off the black-flowered woman. The way she moved, her body gliding, hips swaying, it was almost hypnotic. She was doing the exact same dance as the other two yet her performance was so much more powerful, dramatic. Angry.
For the next five minutes, Ryker didn’t once look away. He wondered whether her striking performance was part of the show, the story of the dance. Good versus evil. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had a dark side.
And Ryker was drawn to it.
When the music stopped, the crowd erupted in rapturous applause. The two red-flowered dancers looked at each other and smiled, then began thanking the crowd profusely. The black-flowered woman turned and stormed off the stage. She grabbed a small holdall and edged her way through the crowd who clapped and cheered her as she passed – the undoubted star of the show.
She headed for a narrow street at the far end of the square that led upward to where the town’s small bullring was visible. Ryker looked over and spotted Walker. He was barging through the audience, heading after her.
A second later, Ryker was doing the same.
Ryker was twenty yards behind Walker by the time he’d squeezed his way through the crowd. He picked up his pace, passed the bullring then walked around the edge of an ancient brick church whose bell tower looked as though it was actually part of an old Moorish castle. The church sat prominently at the top of a rocky outcrop and was surrounded by trees, fountains, and flowered gardens.
Walker caught up with the woman, who was stomping away as best she could in her high-heeled shoes. Walker grabbed her by one wrist, swung her round and grabbed the other too. He shouted at her. She shouted back, no fear in her face or voice. Only anger.
Ryker bounded up to them. His movement caught the woman’s attention, which in turn distracted Walker, who let go of one of her wrists and began to turn round. Ryker didn’t give him a chance to say or do a thing. He grabbed hold of Walker’s arm and twisted it into a hammerlock. Walker squirmed and cried out.
‘Let her go,’ Ryker said.
Walker turned his head. His face was creased with rage. Ryker, on the other hand, was calm. Walker began to spin, trying to move out of the hold. He balled his fist, swinging it around.
Ryker saw it coming.
He let go of Walker’s arm, caught the flying fist mid-air and sent a head-butt onto the crown of Walker’s nose. Ryker didn’t put his all into it. Just enough to set the scene. Send a message.
Walker fell to his knees and clutched at his nose which poured with thick red blood. ‘What the hell!’ he screamed. ‘My nose! You’ve broken my nose!’
‘It’s not broken,’ Ryker said. ‘I barely touched you.’
Ryker looked up. The woman was stood in front of him, staring. He gazed into her dark eyes. She looked away, down at Walker, then back up at Ryker. She flicked a devilish smile then picked up her bag, turned, and walked away.
Ryker watched, unable to take his eyes off her swaying hips. At least not until Walker brought him back down.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Walker said.
‘You know what?’ Ryker said. ‘I’m still trying to find the answer to that.’
CHAPTER 15
An hour later, Ryker was sitting on an opulent cream leather sofa in Patrick Walker’s lounge. The housemaid, Valeria, had made them a large pot of filter coffee, which was sitting, half-empty, on the glass coffee table that separated the two men. Walker’s nose had stopped bleeding, though a layer of dried blood was visible on the edges of his nostrils. His manner toward his guest was nothing but hostile.
Not surprising really, given their introduction to each other. Walker had only invited Ryker to his home after the intervention of Detective Green, the police officer from London who’d been sent to Spain to help figure out who Kim Walker really was, and who had killed her. Walker had called Green at Ryker’s insistence – it was the only way Ryker could see to stop the situation in the village escalating out of control. Green was now on his way to Walker’s. There were no pleasantries between Ryker and the host as they waited.
‘What did you say your name was again?’ Walker said, eying up Ryker not just with suspicion but with outright disdain. Walker had a Southern English accent. Not Queen’s English but certainly he seemed to come from money, or at least had had an expensive education, Ryker decided.
‘James Ryker.’
‘But you’re not with the police.’
‘I’m not a policeman. I’m working with them.’
‘You’d better hope you have some high friends because you can be sure I’m reporting you for this.’
‘Go ahead. And that way you can properly explain what you were doing with that woman up in the village.’
Walker humphed but said nothing to that.
‘If you’re not police, then why are you here?’ Walker asked.
‘Because I’m good.’