business, and maybe of finding out exactly what it was Silbert’s been up to these past few years, since his so- called retirement; meeting men on benches in Regent’s Park, and so on.”
“If there is a link,” Annie reminded him.
“Fair enough.” Banks studied her. “I know you still think Hardcastle was the intended victim and professional jealousy was the motive. Hold that thought; you could still be right. Wyman did give Hardcastle the photos, and he did react with shock and horror. But bear with me awhile longer, too.” Banks reached for a pen and note-pad from the bookcase beside him. “Have you got any more details about Rick Wyman?”
Annie told him all she knew, which wasn’t much.
“Should be able to track him down from that,” Banks said. “You’re sure about the date of the incident? Fifteenth October, 2002?”
“That’s what Carol Wyman told me.”
“Okay.”
“What if there
“We’ll deal with that if and when we get there.”
“So what’s next? If they’re on to Wyman, as you say they must be after ransacking this Tom Savage’s files, isn’t he in danger now?”
“It depends how much of a threat he is to them. But, yes, I agree, we need to act fairly quickly, bring him in and get to the bottom of it.”
Annie had lost the thread of the music now, but it alternated between frantic and loud orchestra and solo tenor. Sometimes it disappeared completely. “We need to talk to the super first,” she said.
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R O B I N S O N
“Can you do that?” Banks asked.
“Me? Jesus Christ, Alan!”
“Please?” Banks glanced at his watch. “I have to meet Burgess soon, and I don’t think we should waste any more time. I might have a few more answers in a while, but if we can at least get Superintendent Gervaise’s permission to bring Wyman in for questioning over having commissioned the photographs, we’re in business.”
“But . . . I . . .”
“Come on, Annie. She knows you’ve been on the case, doesn’t she?”
“The
“Present her with the evidence. Just stress the theater business and play down the intelligence service angle. That’s the only thing that really worries her. She’ll go for it, otherwise.”
“All right, all right,” Annie said, standing up to leave. “I’ll have a go. And what about you?”
“I’ll be in later. I’ll phone for a driver when I’m ready. Bring Wyman in after you’ve talked to Gervaise and let him stew for a while.”
“On what charge?”
“You don’t have to charge him, just ask him to come along voluntarily.”
“What if he won’t?”
“Then bloody arrest him.”
“For what?”
“Try for being a lying bastard, for a start.”
“If only . . .”
“Just bring him in, Annie. It might get us a few answers.”
The orchestra was playing an eerie, haunting melody when Annie left, but the day didn’t seem quite so beautiful anymore.
W H E N H E was alone again, Banks poured himself the last cup of coffee. “Babi Yar” finished, and he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to listen to. It was almost time to go out now, and tired as he was, this was an appointment he didn’t want to miss. Wondering why A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
2 7 5
he bothered with security, he locked up the cottage and struck out up Tetchley Fell to Hallam Tarn.
He hadn’t slept a wink the previous night; his mind had still been full of the scenes he had witnessed at Oxford Circus, and he could still smell burning f lesh and plastic. Certain images, he knew, would be lodged in his mind forever, and the things he had only thought he had seen f leetingly—a headless figure in his peripheral vision, glistening entrails glimpsed through a film of dust and smoke—would grow and metamorphose in his imagination, haunt his dreams for years.
But in some ways it was the feelings more than the images that affected him. He supposed he must have drifted off to sleep, at least for a few moments now and then, because he remembered those dreamlike sensations of not being able to run fast enough to escape something nightmarish; of being late for an important meeting and not remembering how to get there; being lost naked on dark, threatening streets, becoming more and more frantic as the hour drew near; of stairs turning sticky like treacle under his feet as he tried to climb them, dragging him down into the abyss, melting beneath him. And when he woke, his chest felt hollow, his heart forlorn, beating pointlessly, without an echo.
After he had left Joe Geldard’s pub, he had bought new clothes in a Marks and Spencer’s and made his way on
