Peter Robinson - All the Colors of Darkness

Annie glanced at Banks, who turned to PC Walters. “Phil,” he said, pointing to the media phalanx. “Make sure none of those bastards follows us.”

Walters swallowed and turned as pale as if he’d been asked to hold back the massed hordes of invading Huns. “I’ll do my best, sir,” he said.

The Black Swan, literally just down the street and on the corner, was not one of the pubs that attracted the rowdies on a Saturday night. In fact, it attracted hardly anyone except people from the immediate neighborhood, as it was so well hidden and the prices were too high for the yobs. Banks had never been there before, but he wasn’t surprised it was so upmarket, with lots of horse brasses, framed Stubbs prints and polished brass rails around the bar. And they called the outside area the patio, not the beer garden. There was also no loud music or slot machines. The government might have banned smoking in pubs, Banks thought as he went inside, but here everyone seemed to have at least one dog. He felt his nose begin to itch. Why couldn’t they ban dogs, too?

“Shall we sit outside?” Edwina Silbert suggested. “I could do with a cigarette.”

“Fine,” said Banks, happy for the chance to get away from the dogs. Smoke he could handle.

They found an empty bench and table on the patio. It offered a magnificent view over the town and the distant hills, dark green as the light weakened, and it was still warm enough to sit outside in a light jacket. Banks suggested they all sit down while he went back inside to pick up some drinks. Edwina wanted a gin and tonic and Annie a Diet Coke. Banks studied the pumps and chose a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord. The small round cost him an arm and a leg. He thought about getting a receipt for expenses, then thought better of it as he imagined Superintendent Gervaise’s reaction.

He managed to secure a tray and carried the drinks back to the table. Edwina Silbert was already smoking, and she accepted the gin and tonic eagerly.

“You shouldn’t have come all this way,” Banks said. “We were going to drive down and see you soon, anyway.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of driving a few miles. I set off shortly after the local bobby came round with the news this afternoon. What else was I supposed to do? Sit at home and twiddle my thumbs?”

If Silbert was sixty-two, Banks thought, then Edwina was probably in her eighties, and Longborough was two hundred miles away. She looked much younger, but then so had her son, by all accounts. Annie had told Banks that Maria Wolsey at the theater guessed Silbert to be in his early-fifties. Youthfulness must run in the family.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

She seemed surprised at the question. “At Laurence’s house, of course.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said Banks. “It’s a crime scene.”

Edwina Silbert gave her head a slight shake. Banks could see tears glistening in her eyes. “Forgive me,” she said. “I’m just not used to this. What’s that nice hotel in town? I stayed there once when the house was being decorated.”

“The Burgundy?”

“That’s the one. Do you think I’ll be able to get a room?”

“I’ll check for you,” said Annie, taking out her mobile. She walked over to the edge of the patio to make the call.

“She’s a nice girl,” said Edwina. “I’d hang on to her if I were you.”

“She’s not... I mean, we’re not. . .” Banks began, then he just nodded. He didn’t want to try to explain his relationship with Annie to a stranger. “Were you and Laurence close?” he asked.

“I’d say so,” Edwina answered. “I mean, I would like to think we were friends as well as mother and son. His father died when he was only nine, you see, killed in a car crash, and Laurence is an only child. I never remarried. Of course, when he left university he traveled a lot, and there were lengthy periods when I didn’t see him at all.”

“How long had you known Laurence was gay?”

“Ever since he was a boy, really. All the signs were there. Oh, I don’t mean that he was effeminate in any way. Quite the opposite, really. Very manly. Good at sports. Fine physique. Like a young Greek god. It’s just the little things, the telling details. Of course, he was always most discreet. Apart from the odd peccadillo at public school or Cambridge, I very much doubt that he was sexually active until his twenties, and by then it was perfectly legal, of course.”

“It didn’t bother you?”

She gave Banks a curious look. “What an odd thing to say.”

“Some parents get upset by it.” Banks thought of Mark Hardcastle’s father.

“Perhaps,” said Edwina. “But it always seemed to me that there’s no point in trying to change a person’s nature. A leopard’s spots, and all that. No. It was what he was. Part of what he was. His cross to bear and his path to love. I hope he found it.”

“If it means anything, I think he did. I think he was very happy these past few months.”

“With Mark, yes. I like to think so, too. Poor Mark. He’ll be devastated. Where is he? Do you know?”

“You knew Mark?”

“Knew? Oh my God, is there something you haven’t told me, something I don’t know?”

“I’m sorry,” said Banks. “I thought you would have heard. Please forgive me.” Why he had assumed that the Gloucestershire police would have told her about Mark Hardcastle, he didn’t know. Unless Doug Wilson had asked them to, and he clearly hadn’t.

“What happened?”

“I’m afraid Mark’s dead, too. It seems he committed suicide.”

Edwina seemed to shrink in her chair as if she had taken a body blow. She uttered a deep sigh. “But why?” she said. “Because of what happened to Laurence?”

“We think there’s a connection, yes,” said Banks.

Annie came back and gave Banks a nod. “We’ve got a nice room for you at the Burgundy, Mrs. Silbert,” she said.

“Thank you, dear,” said Edwina, reaching for a handkerchief in her handbag. She dabbed her eyes. “Excuse me, this is really very silly of me. It’s just rather a lot to take in all at once. Mark, too?”

“I’m sorry,” Banks said. “You liked him?”

She put her handkerchief away, took a sip of gin and tonic and reached for another cigarette. “Very much,” she said. “And he was good for Laurence. I know their backgrounds were very different, but they had so much in common, nonetheless.”

“The theater?”

“I like to think Laurence got some of his love for the theater from me. If it hadn’t been for the rag trade, you know, I might have become an actress. God knows, he spent hours hanging about backstage with me at various theaters.”

“So Laurence was interested in the theater?”

“Very much so. That’s where they met. He and Mark. Didn’t you know?”

“I know very little,” said Banks. “Please tell me.”

“I visited Laurence just before Christmas, and he took me to the theater here. It’s very quaint.”

“I know it,” said Banks.

“They were doing a panto. Cinderella, I believe. During the intermission we got talking in the bar, as you do, and I could see that Laurence and Mark hit it off immediately. I made my excuses and disappeared to powder my nose, or some such thing, for a few minutes, you know, just to give them a little time to exchange telephone numbers, make a date or whatever they wanted to do, and that, as they say, was that.”

“Did you see much of them after that?”

“Every time I visited. And they came to see me in Longborough, of course. It’s so lovely in the Cotswolds. I do wish they could have enjoyed summer there.” She took out her handkerchief again. “Silly me. Getting all sentimental.” She sniffed, gave a little shudder and sat up as upright as she could. “I wouldn’t mind another drink.”