road outside, but she doubted it. If Wyman had disappeared into the wilds, she would have to wait until tomorrow to get a search organized; the light was already bad, and soon it would be getting dark.
The barman handed her the drinks and she paid. “Yesterday, you say?” she said. “Any idea what time?”
A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
3 3 5
“Well,” said the barman, scratching his bald head. “At a guess, it’d probably be about the time the bloke who was driving it came in.”
The farm laborers snickered.
Ah, thought Annie, a true Yorkshire wit. This area had a surfeit of them, if Drury and Hackett were anything to go by. Must be something in the water. Or the beer.
“Did he look anything like this?” Annie asked, taking Wyman’s photograph from her briefcase.
The bartender scrutinized it. “Aye,” he said finally. “I’d say he looked a lot like that, yes.”
“So this was the man?”
The barman grunted.
“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?” Annie said. “What time was he here?”
“About seven o’clock Sunday evening.”
Annie remembered that Carol had told her the matinee finished at half past four. It certainly didn’t take two and a half hours to get from Eastvale to here, so he must have been somewhere else first, maybe just driving around aimlessly, unless the MI6 pair had been chasing him. “How long did he stay?” she asked.
“Two drinks.”
“How long’s that?”
“Depends on how long a man takes to drink them.”
Winsome leaned over the bar. “Would you prefer to shut the place up and come to Eastvale to answer these questions? Because that can be arranged, you know.”
That shocked him. The farm laborers laughed, and he blushed.
“Hour and a half, maybe.”
“What state of mind was he in?” Annie asked.
“How would I know?”
“Try to remember. Was he upset, jolly, aggressive? Did he appear f lustered? What?”
“Just kept himself to himself, like. Sat in the corner over there and drank quietly.”
“What else was he doing? Did he have a book? A newspaper? A mobile? Magazine?”
“Nowt. He just sat there. Like he was thinking or something.”
3 3 6 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
“So he was thinking?”
“Looked like that to me.”
“How would thee know, tha’s never done it,” said one of the farmhands. The other laughed. Winsome shot him a warning glance, and they shifted uneasily on their feet.
“Did he say anything?” Annie asked. “Did he talk to you or anyone else at all?”
“No.”
“He wasn’t with anyone?”
“I already said he was sat by himself.”
“Did anyone come in and talk to him?”
“No.”
“What about after he’d gone? Did anyone come looking for him, asking about him?”
“Only thee.”
“Did you see where he went when he left?”
“How could I? I was working behind the bar. You can’t see the road from here.”
“Okay,” said Annie. “Any idea where he might have gone?”
“How would I know?”
“Guess,” Annie said. “Is there anywhere near here a traveler might go and spend the night, for example?”
“Well, there’s a youth hostel up the lane.”
“There’s Brierley Farm, too, Charlie, don’t forget,” said one of the farmhands.
“Brierley Farm?”
