All the Colors of Darkness

“When exactly did it happen?”

“Fifteenth October, 2002. I won’t forget that date in a hurry.”

“I’ll bet you won’t. Did you know him well?”

“Rick? Of course. He was a lovely fella. You know, you think these SAS chaps are all macho like someone out of an Andy McNabb book, and probably a lot of them are, but Rick was great with the kids, as gentle as could be. And he was considerate. Always remembered your birthday and anniversary.”

“Your husband’s brother was in the SAS?”

“Yes. I thought he said.”

“No.” Even Annie knew that the SAS carried out covert operations, and if Laurence Silbert had worked for MI6, he would probably have had some contact with them, might even have ordered missions or at least overseen the supply of intelligence to guide them. This was back in Banks territory again, but at least she was keeping an open mind. She did believe that someone, most likely Derek Wyman, had goaded Hardcastle into killing Silbert and then himself—more likely by accident than design—but she didn’t know why. It could have just been annoyance over the theater, but, on the other hand, it could have had more sinister roots, given Silbert’s past.

“Was Rick married?” she asked.

“Not technically, no. Common-law. He lived with Charlotte. Been together for years. He once told me he didn’t want to say the vows, you know, ‘Till death us do part,’ and all that, because of his job. He thought it might bring him bad luck or something. A bit superstitious, was Rick. But they loved each other so much. You only had to see them together.”

“Kids?”

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“No.” Carol frowned. “Rick once told me that Charlotte wanted children but that he just couldn’t do it, given his job, like, the risks, and the kind of world they’d be born into. I think in the end Charlotte just accepted the situation. Well, you have to, don’t you, if you really love somebody?”

Annie didn’t know; she had never loved anybody that much. “Do you know the address?” she asked.

“No. It was called ‘Wyedene,’ though. I remember that from when we visited them.”

“What was Charlotte’s last name?”

“Foster.”

“So Rick was away a lot, was he?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot. They had a lovely house in the country. Ross-on-Wye. Charlotte still lives there. He did a lot of training, but he did go on missions, yes. That was what did for him, of course.”

“What?” said Annie. “I thought it was a helicopter accident.”

Carol lowered her voice again. “Well, that’s what they have to say, isn’t it? The official line. They don’t want people to know what it’s really like out there. What’s really going on. Like in the war, they didn’t want to give people the really bad news, did they? They made all those propaganda films.”

“True,” said Annie. “What happened?”

“I don’t know the full story.”

Annie could feel Carol pulling away again, but she didn’t want to let go of this line of questioning. Not just yet. “We never do, do we?”

she said. “Even in my job, the bosses hold their cards close to their chests. Half the time we don’t know why we’re asking the questions we are, following the lines of inquiry we’re told to. It’s not like it is on television, I can tell you that.”

“Well, in this case I really don’t know. All I do know is that it was a secret mission, not an accident. Something went wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

“Derek told me. He’d talked to a couple of Rick’s mates after the funeral, when they’d all had a few, like. The funeral was back here, in Pontefract, where they grew up. Anyway, they didn’t give much away, either, they’re trained not to, but Derek said he got the impression that 2 4 8 P E T E R

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Rick’s mates wanted him to know that his brother hadn’t died in some stupid accident, but that he’d died in action, a hero.”

Annie didn’t know if this had any relevance at all, but it was something that Derek Wyman had skirted when they first talked to him.

Perhaps Rick’s partner, Charlotte, knew? Annie would never get the SAS to talk to her, especially as she had no official backing on this case, or even a case, come to think of it. They were far more likely to come smashing through her window one night and cart her off to Guantanamo Bay or whatever their equivalent was. But Charlotte Foster of Wyedene might not be averse to a sympathetic ear, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to track her down.

“I realize this is a bit of a cheeky question, “ Annie said, “and please don’t take it the wrong way, but didn’t it ever worry you, your husband being close to a gay man?”

“Why should it?”

“Well, some people . . . you know . . .”

“Perhaps if I didn’t feel secure with Derek it might have done,” she admitted.