charges that might be brought. If Banks wanted to come back home, tell all to Superintendent Gervaise, then perhaps they could give Wyman a slap on the wrist, send him home to his wife and get on with their jobs.
That reminded Annie, and she took out her notebook. She had looked up Charlotte Foster, Rick Wyman’s bereaved girlfriend, and found her phone number easily enough from BT. It wasn’t unlisted.
What she hoped to gain by talking to Charlotte, she was uncertain, but it was worth a try. At least if Wyman knew they’d talked to her before they interviewed him, he might be worried enough to show it if he had something to hide.
Annie waited until she had finished as much of the lasagna as she wanted, then she dialed the number. A voice answered after several rings.
“Yes? Hello?”
“Charlotte Foster?”
A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
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“Who is this speaking?”
Annie introduced herself and explained as clearly as she could why she was calling.
“I still don’t quite understand,” said Charlotte when Annie had finished. “How exactly can I help you?”
“Well, I don’t know that you can,” said Annie. “Or will. I know these things are shrouded in secrecy. It’s just that I’ve been getting a few conf licting reports about the death of your . . . of Rick Wyman and I was wondering if you could help me clear up any misunder-standing.”
“How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
This was a question Annie had been dreading. All she could do was bluff her way out of it. “I can give you the police station number, the Western Area Headquarters in Eastvale, and you can call me back there, if you like.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Charlotte snapped. “Why do you want to know?”
It was the other question Annie had been dreading, and the most natural one for Charlotte to ask. She hadn’t been able to come up with one good reason why the woman should talk to her, let alone tell her what were probably military secrets, even if she knew them. When in doubt, Annie thought, tell the truth as vaguely as possible. “It’s to do with a case we were working on,” she said. “It just came up in connection with one of the victims.”
“And who would that be?”
“A man called Laurence Silbert.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, I don’t suppose you would have,” said Annie.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I was having lunch in the garden with some good friends when you rang, and I—”
“That’s all right,” said Annie. “I do apologize. I won’t keep you long.”
“Oh, very well. But I told you, I don’t know this Silver person.”
“Silbert,” said Annie. That answered one question, anyway. But then why would she know Silbert? “It’s actually about your . . . about Derek Wyman.”
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P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“Derek? He’s not in any trouble, is he?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Annie. “It’s a little bit complicated but mostly a matter of who said what to whom.”
“And what does Derek have to do with this?”
“Well, Derek told us that his brother’s death was due to an accident, a helicopter crash.”
“That’s what was in the papers at the time, yes,” Charlotte said.
“But is it true? We’ve also heard other versions.”
“Such as?”
“That he was on a mission and died in action.”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to comment on that,” said Charlotte.
“Surely you ought to have known.”
“I guessed as much,” said Annie. “But it’s hardly breaking the Official Secrets Act, is it? I mean, it’s not as if I’m asking you what the mission objective was or the details of its failure.”
“As if I’d know.”
“Of course. I know you want to get back to your lunch, so do you think you could simply answer me by saying nothing, so to speak? If he really was killed in action rather than by accident, just hang up.”
Annie waited, clutching her mobile tightly to her ear. She was aware of the buzz of conversation around her and thought she could hear distant women’s voices down the line. Just when she was certain Charlotte was going to speak again, the line went dead. She’d hung up.
14
BANKS’S WALLET WAS ABOUT ?130 LIGHTER WHEN HE
