They obviously had to read through them all, and you’re a
“How did they find her?”
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“Through me, I’m afraid. You dropped her card down the back of the radiator at Mohammed’s, and he found it.”
“You went to Mohammed’s? You didn’t tell me this before, when you interviewed me.”
“There’s a lot I didn’t tell you. You didn’t need to know.”
“And now?”
“It might help you to understand what’s going on and why.”
Wyman paused to digest this. He sipped some more whiskey. His hand seemed to have stopped shaking. “They knew I’d been to Russia.”
“That wouldn’t be hard to find out. As soon as they knew I was interested in you, they’d check you out, but Tomasina came into the picture later. When were you in Russia?”
“Four years ago. Moscow and Saint Petersburg. I was a bloody tourist, for crying out loud. I saved up for years for that trip. Went by myself. Carol wasn’t interested. She’d rather lie on a beach in Majorca.
But I love Russian culture. I love Chekhov, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich—”
“All right,” said Banks. “You can spare me the cultural catalog. I get the picture.”
“They told me they knew about my visit,” Wyman went on. “They wanted a list of people I’d met and talked to while I was there.”
“What did you tell them?”
“The truth. That I couldn’t remember. I didn’t meet anyone. Well, I did, but no one . . . you know . . . I went to museums, galleries, the Bolshoi, the Kremlin, walked the streets.”
“And?”
“They didn’t believe me. They said they’d be back. Warned me about some of the things they could do to me if they thought I was lying. Lose me my job. Turn my family against me. It was awful.
When I saw them at the house on Sunday, I just panicked and took off.
But I ran out of petrol. I had a drink or two and tried to think what to do. I realized they’d be searching for my car, so I set out on foot. I’ve been living rough, up on the moors, ever since. Then I thought of you. You seemed a decent enough bloke when we talked. I thought if anyone could sort this mess out, you could. I haven’t done anything, Mr. Banks. I’m innocent.”
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P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“I’d hardly call you innocent,” said Banks. “How did you know where I live?”
“The fire a while back. It was in the local paper. I remembered the place from my walks, when the old lady lived here.”
“So what do you think I can do for you?”
“Get it sorted. Tell them the truth, with a solicitor and other people present, in the police station. I don’t trust them. I don’t want to be alone with them again.”
Nor did Banks. And he had told Gervaise that he wanted to set up a meeting. Perhaps it would be best to take Wyman in. It might give MI6 an extra reason to turn up at the table. With any hope, the matter could be settled once and for all. “Why don’t you tell me how it really happened first?” Banks said. “All that about Hardcastle asking you to spy on Silbert, it was crap, wasn’t it?”
Wyman hung his head. “Yes. Mark never asked me to check up on Laurence. He never suspected for a moment that he might be seeing someone else. It was me who suggested that. It was all me.”
“Why did you lie when we interviewed you?”
“It seemed the easiest way to explain it without making myself look too bad. There was no way you could prove I was lying. There was no one to contradict me.”
“But you’re telling me the truth now?”
“Yes. I’ve got nothing left to lose, have I?”
Banks poured Wyman another tumbler of whiskey and himself some more wine. The rain continued to slither down the windows of the conservatory, and a drainpipe gurgled by the door. “Why did you do it, then, if it wasn’t Hardcastle’s idea?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me, especially if it was nothing to do with the Russian Mafia or your brother’s death, either.”
“Rick? I told you before, I don’t know anything about that. I didn’t even know what Laurence did for a living. How could it have been anything to do with Rick?”
“Never mind,” said Banks. “Carry on.”
“I wasn’t interested in Laurence Silbert. I knew nothing about him, really, just that he was some rich bloke who’d taken a shine to Mark.
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He was just a means to an end. Mark loved him. That was who I wanted to hurt, the smug bastard.
