Peter Robinson - All the Colors of Darkness

“What about his mother?”

“Oh, Mark adored her. That’s one thing he would go on about. But she broke his heart.”

“How?”

“She was so beautiful and so artistic, so sensitive and tender, or so he said. She acted with the am drams, read poetry, took him with her to classical concerts. But his father used to mock everything they liked to do, called Mark a mummy’s boy. It sounds as if he was a drunken brute. In the end, she couldn’t take it anymore, so she left them. Mark was only ten. He was devastated. I don’t think he ever got over it. Even when he told me about the day she left he was crying.”

Annie could hardly believe it. “She left her son with a brutal, drunken father?”

“I know. It sounds terrible. But there was another man in her life, apparently, and he didn’t want any children hanging around. They ran off to London. I didn’t get the full story, but I know it tore Mark apart. He loved her so much. He couldn’t stop loving her. But he hated her for leaving him. And I think after that he found it really hard to trust anyone, to believe that anyone he started to care about wouldn’t just up and leave him at a moment’s notice. That’s why it was so lovely to see him making a life with Laurence. They moved slowly, mind you, but it seemed to be working.”

“Go on,” said Annie. “What happened after his mother left?”

“Well, Mark was left with his father, who apparently just sank even deeper into the booze and became more and more angry and vicious as time went on. Mark lasted till he was sixteen, then he hit him with an ashtray and ran away from home.”

“He hit his father with an ashtray?”

“It was in self-defense. His father beat him regularly, usually with a thick leather belt, Mark said. The kids at school used to tease him and bully him, too, spit on him and call him a sissy. His life was hell. That one time, he told me, it just all came surging up in him and he couldn’t control himself anymore. He lashed out.”

“What happened to his father?”

“Mark didn’t hang around to find out.”

“And he never went back?”

“Never.”

Annie took a moment to digest this. She could see why Maria had not wanted to talk about it in front of the others. If Mark Hardcastle had shown an inclination toward violence, poor anger control, then it certainly supported the theory that he had killed Laurence Silbert in some sort of jealous rage and was then overcome with remorse. The blood-typing that she and Banks had just found out about also agreed with this view.

On the other hand, there was the redemptive image of the relationship that Maria painted, and that Edwina had touched upon the previous evening: Mark loved Laurence Silbert, had practically moved in with him, was making a life with him. Annie knew well enough that the presence of love doesn’t necessarily rule out murder, but she also wanted to believe in the positive view of the two of them.

“He did very well for himself, then,” Annie said. “But it sounds as if he had a lot of inner demons to overcome.”

“And prejudice. Don’t forget that. We might think we’re living in an enlightened society, but as often as not you’ll find it’s only skin-deep, if that. People might know the politically correct responses and attitudes and trot them out as and when required, but it doesn’t mean they believe them, any more than people going to church means they’re really religious and believe in God.”

“I know what you’re saying,” said Annie. “Hypocrisy’s everywhere. But it doesn’t sound as if Mark suffered a great deal from antigay prejudice here, at the Eastvale Theatre. I mean, you say that Vernon was uncomfortable, but he didn’t actively harass Mark, did he?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean to imply that. You’re right. It was a great place for him to work. And he had such great ideas. He was going to make so many changes.”

“What do you mean?”

“The theater. Well, you know what it’s like. It’s quite new, and they do the best they can. We get some good acts, but on the theatrical side, well... between you and me, the Amateur Dramatic Society and the Amateur Operatic Society aren’t exactly the cream of the crop, are they?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re amateur. I’m not saying they’re not enthusiastic, even talented, some of them, but it’s just a sideline for them, isn’t it. With people like Mark and me, it’s everything.”

“So what was he going to do?”

“He had a vision of starting the Eastvale Players.”

“A rep company?”

“Not strictly speaking, no, but with some similar elements. It would be made up of some of the best local actors, along with jobbing actors. The idea was that Eastvale would be their home base, but they’d tour and we’d have reciprocal visits from other groups of players. Mark would be the artistic director and he said he’d put in a good word for me with the board, so I could have the job he’s got now. Had. Like he was grooming me. I mean, I’ve got the qualifications, but it’s not just what’s on paper that counts, is it?”

“This would be a professional company, then?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely. They’d be paid and everything.”

“And Vernon?”

“He’d do the same as he’s doing now.”

“But wouldn’t he be upset if you became head of set and costumes? You’d be his boss then.”

“I don’t see why it should bother him. Vernon’s not ambitious. He’d still be paid, wouldn’t he? Nothing would change for him.”

How little you know about people, Annie thought. Maria was being rather naive, given that she had mentioned earlier on how Vernon seemed to have problems working with competent women, let alone for one. “What about the amateur groups?” Annie asked.

“They’d do what they were doing before, I suppose, put on plays in the community center and church halls.”

“And Derek Wyman?”

“He’d still be their director.”

“I know, but it’d be a bit of step down for him, wouldn’t it, after working at the real theater?”

“But it’s not as if it’s his life, is it? Or even his real job. He’s a schoolteacher. The theater’s just a hobby for him.”

Try and tell that to Derek Wyman, Annie thought, remembering her talk with him that morning. “And who was going to finance this little venture?” she asked.

“Laurence Silbert, Mark’s partner, was going to help us get started, then the idea was that it would mostly pay for itself, maybe with a little help from the Arts Council lottery money every once in a while. We were sure the board would go for it. Laurence was on the board, anyway, and he thought he could convince them.”

Vernon Ross had never mentioned this, Annie thought. But he wouldn’t, would he, if it was something that angered him or made him look bad? “Interesting,” she said. “Just how far had all this got?”“Oh, it was still only in the planning stages,” Maria said. “That’s another reason this is all so tragic. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Now nothing will change. If I want any sort of future in the theater, I’m going to have to look for another job. I don’t even think I have the heart to stay here without Mark being around.”

“You’re young,” said Annie. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not really,” said Maria. “That was about all I had to say. I can offer you another cup of instant coffee, though, if you want?”

Annie looked at the cracked, stained mug with the gray-brown sludge in the bottom. “No, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I really have to be going. More reports to write. Thanks for your help, anyway.”