All the Colors of Darkness

She assured the interviewer that police were satisfied with the result, stressing that forensic evidence had borne out their investigative conclusions, and had no need for a further investigation, which, she added, would simply cause more grief to the victims’ families. That was a load of bollocks, Banks thought. Edwina Silbert could probably take anything the world could throw at her, and Hardcastle had no family except for the distant aunt. Well, whoever had assembled that story had certainly done a good job of assuring anyone who might be concerned that the business was well and truly over . We’ll see about that, Banks thought.

After the news, Banks had a sudden urge to play some more music A L L T H E C O L O R S O F D A R K N E S S

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and go outside to sit on the wall beside Gratly Beck. This was one of his favorite spots, and though he didn’t use it as often as he did before, he still enjoyed it when the weather was warm enough. His cottage was isolated, and a little quiet music in the background wouldn’t disturb anyone, even late at night, and it was only half past ten. Before he could pick out a CD from his collection, though, the phone rang again. Thinking it might be Sophia phoning back, Banks hurried and picked it up.

“DCI Banks?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Ravi here. Ravi Kapesh. Technical Support.”

“Oh, Ravi. Sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice. It’s a bit late for you to be working, isn’t it?”

“Par for the course these days if you want to get ahead,” said Ravi resignedly. “Anyway, I think I might have something for you. You did say to ring as soon as I got anything.”

Banks felt a tremor of excitement. “Absolutely. You do? Great.

Look, I know this might sound a bit weird, but can you call me back on my mobile?”

“Sure. When?”

“Right now. I’m hanging up.” Banks didn’t know if his mobile was any more likely to be secure than his landline, but he thought it might be. He would certainly feel a lot less paranoid when he bought the pay-as-you-go. The thing to remember about mobiles was to keep them switched off when you’re not using them, or you might as well stand on the top of the nearest large building and shout, “I’m here!”

“Okay, let’s have it,” he said, when the mobile rang.

“I managed to enhance the street sign enough to get a name,” said Ravi. “It’s a little street called Charles Lane, off the High Street in Saint John’s Wood. Ring any bells?”

“None,” said Banks, “but I can’t say I expected it to. Thanks a lot, Ravi. Got a house number, by the way?”

“Sorry. You can tell which one it is from the photo, though.”

“Of course. Ravi, you’re a genius.”

“Think nothing of it. Talk to you later.”

“What about the phone number? Fenner.”

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P E T E R R O B I N S O N

“Drew a blank. According to all my efforts it’s a number that has never actually been assigned in the U.K. Maybe it’s for somewhere overseas?

“Maybe,” said Banks, “but I doubt it. Just one more favor.”

“Yes?”

“Keep it under your hat, okay?”

“Okay,” said Ravi. “My lips are sealed.”

“Bye.” Banks hung up. Saint John’s Wood. Well, that was a posh enough area. So what was it all about? Banks wondered. A fancy man?

One of Kate Moss’s parties? Sharing government secrets with the other side? Whatever it was, Banks felt sure it had contributed to Silbert’s death.

Perhaps Annie was right in that the Iago method couldn’t absolutely guarantee results, but if it didn’t work, the would-be assassin could always try something a bit more direct. If it did work, however, he would have brought off the perfect murder. A murder that wasn’t even murder. And it fit right in with the sneaky, underhanded way he assumed the secret intelligence services of the world worked. After all, who else outside of the realm of fiction would think of using a poisoned umbrella or a radioactive isotope to murder someone?

Banks picked up his wine, put on Sigur Ros’s Hvarf/Heim, then took his drink outside, leaving the door open just a crack so that he could hear the strange, eerie music. It harmonized naturally with the sounds of the beck making its way down the terraced falls, and the occasional cry of a night bird fit right in, almost as if the band had planned for it and left a little space between their notes.

It was after sunset, but there was a still a glow deep in the cloudless western sky, dark orange and indigo. Banks could smell warm grass and manure mingled with something sweet, perhaps f lowers that only opened at night. A horse whinnied in a distant field. The stone he sat on was still warm and he could see the lights of Helmthorpe between the trees, down at the bottom of the dale, the outline of the square church tower with its odd round turret dark and heavy against the sky.

Low on the western horizon, he could see a planet he took to be Venus, and higher up, toward the north, a red dot he guessed was Mars. Above, the constellations were beginning to become visible.

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