“Probably a good idea. Maybe it’s just really old?” Annie suggested.
“Then why would Silbert continue to carry the card? It was the only one he had.”
“Don’t tell me you empty your wallet out every day? Every week?
Every month?”
“About as often as you empty your handbag, probably.”
“Then that’s hardly ever. God knows what I’d find in the bottom of
“Maybe you’re right,” Banks said. “It’s just another little oddity, that’s all, like the two of them being away at the same time but in different places. Hardcastle was in London with Wyman and Silbert was—”
“In Amsterdam,” said Annie. “Doug looked into it. Silbert stayed at the Hotel Ambassade on Herengracht for three nights—Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. He checked out early Friday morning and came back on the f light from Schiphol that got in at ten past nine. And it was on time that day. He left on Tuesday at nine fifty-five a.m.”
“Herengracht? Is that near the Red Light district?”
“No idea,” said Annie. “Want me to check?”
“Later. Why would they go to different places? Why not go away together?”
“They had different business to conduct, I should imagine. They obviously didn’t live in each other’s pockets. Hardcastle even kept his own f lat.”
“I suppose so,” said Banks, rubbing his temples. “Sorry, I just don’t seem to be quite on the ball as far as this case goes yet.”
5 2 P E T E R
R O B I N S O N
“Mind elsewhere?”
Banks glanced sharply at her.
Annie paused. “Look, Alan, I’m sorry you got dragged back from London,” she said. “But we used to work well together, remember?
We were a team.”
“We still are.”
“Are we?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Lately things have been a bit weird, that’s all. I could have used you . . . you know . . . a shoulder . . . a friend . . . after the Karen Drew case and all. But you weren’t there.”
“Is that what you’re holding against Sophia?”
“I’m not holding anything against Sophia. We’re not talking about her.”
“Don’t deny that you don’t like her.”
Annie leaned forward. “Alan, honestly, I’ve nothing against her. I don’t care one way or the other. It’s you I’m concerned about. My friend. Maybe you’re . . . I don’t know . . . a bit oversensitive, a bit overdefensive? She doesn’t need it, believe me. She’s a survivor.”
“What does that mean? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. There you go again.”
“You said Sophia’s a survivor. It’s just an odd thing to say. I wondered what you meant by it.”
“All I’m saying is don’t get too caught up in it all. Keep some perspective.”
“Are you saying I’ve lost my perspective? Because—”
The phone rang.
Banks and Annie glared at each another, then Banks answered it.
He listened for a moment, said, “Keep her there,” then hung up and turned to Annie. “PC Walters at Castleview Heights. Apparently a woman has just turned up there claiming to be Laurence Silbert’s mother. Want to come along?”
“Of course,” said Annie. She stood up. “I’ll follow you in my car.
To be continued?”
“What?”
“Our discussion.”
A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S
5 3
“If you think it’s worth it.” Banks picked his car keys up from his desk and they left.
L A U R E N C E S I L B E R T ’ S mother was sitting in the driver’s seat of a racing-green MG sports car outside number 15 Castleview Heights smoking a cigarette and chatting with PC Walters when Banks and Annie arrived not more than three or four minutes later. The soft evening light, after a brief shower, had turned the limestone gray-gold and softened the slate and f lagstone rooftops. A few dirty gray clouds lingered in the blue sky, one of them occasionally blocking out the sun for a minute or two. There were still plenty of media people around the area, held back by a police cordon, but Banks and Annie ignored the call for comments and turned toward the
