day. Not much remained for 2 4 2 P E T E R
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him in London, except to try to contact Dirty Dick Burgess again and see if Sophia would answer her phone.
It would make more sense to head up back to Eastvale today and have another go at Wyman. Surely even Superintendent Gervaise would agree, after hearing Tom Savage’s story, that they had enough to arrest him, or at least bring him in for questioning, on incitement or harassment. Annie had done right not to tell her yesterday, but perhaps it was time she knew. If he could convince the superintendent that the business was nothing to do with Silbert and the spooks, but something personal between Wyman and Hardcastle, then maybe she would see the point in trying to find out exactly what had happened.
Banks was about to try Sophia and Burgess again on the pay-as-you-go mobile when it rang. It wasn’t Annie this time, or Burgess.
“Mr. Banks?”
“Yes.”
“This is Tom. Tom Savage.”
“Tomasina. What is it?”
“Some people were here. They were waiting when I got in this morning. They . . . I’m scared, Mr. Banks.”
Banks gripped the phone tightly. His palm felt sweaty. “Are they still there?”
“No. They’ve gone. They’ve taken stuff . . . I . . .” Banks thought he could hear her sobbing.
“You’re still at the office?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Stay right there.” He looked at his watch. Great Marlborough Street wasn’t that far; it wouldn’t even be worth taking a taxi.
“I’ll be over in about ten minutes. Don’t move.”
“Thank you. I’m not usually so . . . a baby . . . I just don’t . . .”
“It’s okay, Tomasina. Hang on. I’ll be there.”
Banks turned off the phone, slipped it in his pocket and hurried out into the street cursing as he went.
“ I ’ M S O R R Y to disturb you at work,” said Annie, “but do you think you could spare me a few moments?”
A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
2 4 3
Carol Wyman turned to the young girl beside her. “Can you cover for me, Sue? I’m just off for a coffee.” Sue seemed a little surprised, but she smiled and said okay. They were both standing behind a counter.
Two other women were sitting at a desk in the small anteroom surrounded by filing cabinets. From what Annie could see, the office behind was lined with cabinets too. Everyone appeared to be busy.
There was nothing quite like the sight of the National Health Service meeting its quotas to get your blood rising, thought Annie.
Carol Wyman grabbed her handbag and ducked under the f lap.
“There’s a nice coffee shop just over the road,” she said. “If that’s all right.”
“Perfect,” said Annie. It was nine o’clock on Friday morning, and she was ready for her second cup of the day. It had to be better than the swill they got at the station.
“What’s it all about, by the way?” asked Carol as they stood at the zebra crossing in the morning sunshine waiting for the traffic to stop.
The medical center was an old gabled three-story building, once a Victorian parsonage, made of limestone and millstone grit with a slate roof. Broad stone steps led up to the heavy varnished wood door. It was set back from Market Street behind a courtyard where the staff parked their cars, wedged between two strips of shops, about a hundred yards north of the theater on the other side of the street. Handy for Carol to meet her husband after work, Annie thought, though their hours were no doubt very different.
“Just a few routine questions,” said Annie as they crossed Market Street and headed for the Whistling Monk. The place was fairly quiet, as it was too late for the prework crowd and too early for the tourist coaches. They found a small table by the window. The blue-and-white-checked tablecloth was impeccably clean and ironed, and a menu printed on faux parchment in blue italics stood wedged between the salt and pepper shakers.
A young waitress scribbled their orders after apologizing that the espresso machine wasn’t working. Annie settled for cafe American and Carol went for a cup of herbal tea. Both also ordered toasted tea cakes.
“Remember the days when all you could get was Nescafe?” said Annie.
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“Just the powdered stuff, before all those fancy granules and gold blends,” said Carol.
“If you were lucky you might get Kona.”
“But it was expensive.”
