‘Good at what? Beating up grieving spouses?’
Ryker paused for a second. He had to expect the continued digs from Walker. Ryker’s strong-armed manner was hardly the right way to get on someone’s good side. But he wasn’t about to apologise for butting Walker in the face. As far as Ryker was concerned it was Walker’s fault for having been so heavy-handed with the woman.
‘I’m good at finding the truth,’ Ryker said.
Walker humphed again, looking uncertain. He took a sip of his milky coffee before setting it down.
‘Who was she?’ Ryker asked. ‘The woman.’
‘None of your goddamn business.’
‘You don’t have to like me, but there really isn’t any benefit in you holding back. Like I told you already, I’m here to help catch your wife’s murderer.’
‘Good. I hope you do. But that doesn’t mean you have the right to pry into all of my personal affairs.’
‘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?’