“But you’re saying that may not be the case?”
“I don’t know,” Annie said. “But if Wyman was the one stirred up the hornet’s nest, the motivation might be a whole other thing, mightn’t it? Professional jealousy. Revenge.”
“Maybe they were having a . . . you . . . know . . . a thing?”
Annie smiled. Winsome always got f lustered when she was dealing with matters of sex, whether gay or straight. “You mean an affair? A f ling?”
“Yeah,” said Winsome.
“Who?”
“Wyman and Hardcastle. They were in London together. They were the ones Nicky Haskell said he saw having a tete-a-tete.”
“He said he thought he saw Wyman say something to upset Hardcastle, then calm him down. It certainly fits.”
“They could have met on some other occasion, later, and Wyman could have given him the memory stick.”
“But when and how did Wyman get the photos? He couldn’t be running off down to London every time Silbert did. How did he know where to look, for a start?”
“I don’t know,” said Winsome. “It’s just a theory. Wyman was pally with Hardcastle and he knew about the f lat in London. Maybe he followed Silbert from there on one of his trips and got lucky?”
“And if Wyman and Hardcastle were having an affair, why would Wyman want Hardcastle to kill Silbert and then himself ?”
“He wouldn’t,” said Winsome. “I mean, maybe that wasn’t what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted to turn Hardcastle against Silbert so he could have him for himself.”
“It’s possible,” Annie said. “And it backfired. Hardcastle overreacted. Finished?”
Winsome drained her glass. “Uh-huh.”
“Let’s have a quick word with young Liam on the way out. He doesn’t seem too busy.”
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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Liam turned when Annie called his name and immediately assumed a serious air when she showed him her warrant card. At the same time he could hardly stop looking at Winsome. He was a gawky lad with slightly bulging eyes, rubbery lips and a gentle face, so easily f lustered and excited, so easy to read, he wouldn’t have made a good poker player.
“How long have you been here?” Annie asked.
“Since ten this morning.”
“No. I mean how long have you been working here?”
“That. Oh, sorry. Stupid of me. Six months. Give or take.”
“So it’s not your first day.”
“Come again?”
“Never mind.” Annie fanned out photographs of Hardcastle and Silbert on the bar. She didn’t have one of Wyman and regretted that now. Maybe she could get one later. “Recognize either of these men?”
Liam pointed immediately to the photograph of Mark Hardcastle.
“I recognize him. He’s the bloke who hanged himself in Hindswell Woods. Nasty business. I used to like to go for walks there. Peaceful sort of place.” He gave Winsome a soulful look. “You know, somewhere you can
“Sorry about that,” Annie said. “Bloody inconsiderate, most suicides.” Liam opened his mouth to say something else, but Annie bull-dozed on. “Anyway, have you ever seen him in here?”
“He’s been here once or twice, yes.”
“Recently?”
“Past month or so.”
“How often, would you say?”
“Dunno. Two or three times.”
“Alone or with someone else?”
Liam blushed. “With another bloke.” Liam gave a quick description that resembled Derek Wyman. “I know what it said about them, on the telly, like, but this isn’t that sort of a pub. We don’t have any of that sort of shenanigans here.” He gave Winsome a manly glance, as if to establish his hetero-cred. “Nothing went on.”
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R O B I N S O N
“That’s good to know,” said Annie. “So they just sat there and stared into space?”
“No. I don’t mean that. No. They had a drink or two, never more than two, and mostly they just talked.”
“Ever see them arguing?”
“No. But the bloke that hanged himself, Hardcastle, got a bit agitated once or twice, and the other bloke had to
