All the Colors of Darkness

Sophia didn’t like Richard Hawley, called him a yob from Sheffield with pretensions to easy listening. Banks had once countered by dismissing Panda Bear, one of her new favorites, as watered-down Brian Wilson with cheap sound effects. “A man has to have some vices,” he said.

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“I can think of better ones than Richard Hawley.”

“I was listening to Keren Ann earlier.”

“That’s better.”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“I don’t think so. But I had a drink with Edwina Silbert this evening.”

“Edwina Silbert! From Viva?”

“One and the same.”

“My God, what’s she like?”

“Interesting. She’s definitely got charisma. And she’s still a very beautiful woman.”

“Should I be jealous of her, too?”

“She’s eighty if she’s a day.”

“And you prefer younger women. I know. How did you get to meet her?”

“She’s the mother of one of the victims. Laurence Silbert.”

“Oh dear,” said Sophia. “The poor woman. She must have been absolutely devastated.”

“She managed to put a brave face on it for a while,” Banks said,

“but yes, I think she was.”

“How’s the case going?”

“Slow, but we’re making some progress,” said Banks. “Chances are it might lead in the direction of London before too long.”

“When? I’ve got a really busy week coming up.”

“I’m not sure. It’s only a possibility, but I might have to check out a pied-a-terre in Bloomsbury. At the very least we should be able to manage lunch or something. More important, what about next weekend. Are you still coming?”

“Of course I am. But do promise me you’ll be around.”

“I’ll be around. Don’t forget, I’ve got tickets for Othello next Saturday night. The Eastvale Amateur Dramatic Society.” He didn’t want to tell her that the case was connected to the theater; he had got the tickets well before Mark Hardcastle’s suicide, well before he had ever heard of Hardcastle.

“An amateur production of Othello, ” said Sophia with mock enthu-6 6 P E T E R

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siasm. “Wow! I can hardly wait. You sure know how to treat a girl well, Detective Chief Inspector Banks.”

Banks laughed. “Drinks and dinner before at one of Eastvale’s finest establishments, of course.”

“Of course. The fish and chip shop or the pizza place?”

“Your choice.”

“And after . . . ?”

“Hmm. Remains to be seen.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something. Don’t forget your handcuffs.”

Banks laughed. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too,” Sophia said. “I wish you’d been here, that’s all. It’s just so not fair, you being up there, me down here.”

“I know. Next time. And I’ll do the cooking.”

It was Sophia’s turn to laugh. “Egg and chips all round?”

“What makes you think I can cook an egg? Or make chips?”

“Something more exotic?”

“You haven’t tasted my spag bol yet.”

“I’m going to hang up now,” Sophia said, “before I collapse in an unstoppable fit of giggles. Or is that a fit of unstoppable giggles?

Anyway, I’m tired. Miss you. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Banks. And the last thing he heard was her laughter as she put down the phone. Richard