Peter Robinson - All the Colors of Darkness

“The government people?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Do you really think they have something to do with all this?”

“I don’t know anything at the moment,” Annie said, “but I shouldn’t think so. There’s probably a simple explanation. Let me get working on it.” She paused. “Carol, you seem... well, you’re in a dreadful state. Is there someone...?”

“I’ll be all right. Honest. You go. Do what you have to do to find my Derek. The kids are at school. I thought it best to send them off, just like normal. There’s Mrs. Glendon next door. She’ll stay with me for a while. Don’t worry.”

“Just as long as you’re okay. I won’t be far away, remember. And if you hear anything...”

“I’ll phone you right away. Oh, I do hope he’s all right. Please find him for me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Annie. “We’ll find him.”

There was more than a little tension in the boardroom, Banks sensed, as the Major Crimes squad congregated around the impressive varnished oval table under the disapproving stares of the Victorian wool barons, whose portraits in oils hung on the walls. Rain snaked down the broad sash windows and hammered against the slates on the roof, dripping from the blocked gutters and gurgling down the old drainpipes. So much for summer.

“Right,” said Gervaise, standing and leaning forward with her palms resting on the table. She was in true fighting form; it was time to chuck around some blame and see where it stuck. “I notice that DI Cabbot hasn’t seen fit to join us yet, but let’s get straight down to business. It’s wrap-up time. We’ll start with you, DS Jackman.”

Winsome almost jumped. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That was a very stupid thing you did on Saturday evening, wasn’t it?”

“But ma’am, in all fairness—”

“In all fairness, you should have taken more backup and you should have stayed out of the way until the suspect had been subdued and handcuffed. You knew he was big and probably armed with a knife. It’s no good blaming uniform branch for this one, though the two officers involved will be disciplined if it is deemed appropriate.”

“But ma’am, we had no reason to think he’d go crazy like that.”

“Where drugs are involved, DS Jackman, you should realize that it’s folly to try to predict what someone will or will not do. Toros Kemal was high as a kite on methamphetamine. Given the reason you wanted to talk to him, you should have known to expect something like that. There are no excuses.”

“No, ma’am.” Winsome looked down. Banks noticed her lower lip tremble.

Gervaise let a little time pass, then she turned to Winsome again and said, “I hear your fancy footwork was quite a sight to behold. Well done, DS Jackman.”

Winsome smiled. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“But don’t even think of trying a trick like that again. We don’t want to lose you. How is our wild man?”

“Well,” said Winsome, “I did call by the hospital yesterday, and he’s out of danger. As a matter of fact, he was awake, and when he saw me, he... well, ma’am, he said some rather rude words. Words I’d not care to repeat.”

Gervaise laughed. “I’m not surprised.”

Winsome shifted in her chair. “Anyway, he’s got a broken collarbone, broken arm, broken leg and a minor skull fracture, along with untold cuts and bruises.”

“Not least to his ego,” said Banks.

“Well, maybe that was why he swore at me,” Winsome said.

Gervaise turned to Banks. “Now, DCI Banks, make my day and tell me I have no reason to fear any more fallout from this Hardcastle-Silbert business you’ve been probing against my orders.”

“No,” said Banks. “It’s over. Derek Wyman admitted to watching Laurence Silbert and hiring a private investigator to take photographs of him with whoever he met. When we questioned him yesterday, he told us that Hardcastle asked him to do so. He’d become suspicious of Silbert’s frequent trips to London, thought he’d found a lover. It was jealousy, pure and simple. Wyman didn’t tell us earlier because he felt guilty about what happened and he didn’t want to get involved.”

“I see,” said Gervaise. “And do you believe him?”

“Not entirely,” said Banks. “Edwina Silbert assured me that Mark Hardcastle knew her son was still working on the occasions he visited London and Amsterdam, so why would he ask Wyman to follow him?”

“I suppose he could have become suspicious over something,” Gervaise said. “You know, found a monogrammed hankie, someone else’s underwear in the laundry basket, whatever. Then he might have begun to think that Silbert was using work as an excuse to cover up an affair. And maybe he was.”

Banks looked at her. “You’ve got quite an imagination, ma’am,” he said. “And it’s entirely possible. But it doesn’t matter what we believe. There’s nothing to charge him with.”

“So these half-baked theories of yours about Othello and Iago were exactly what they appeared to be? Half-baked?”

“So it would seem,” muttered Banks. “If his confession is to be believed.”

“And the involvement of the secret intelligence services was purely tangential?”

“Up to a point. Silbert was still engaged on intelligence work in some capacity—I’d hazard a guess that this man he was meeting in London was the mysterious Julian Fenner, Import-Export—but it now turns out that none of it has any relevance to the murder-suicide.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Well, you can never be entirely certain with these people,” Banks said, echoing Edwina. “But yes, ma’am. As sure as we’ll ever be.”

“So I can tell the chief constable and whoever’s been on his back that it’s all over?”

“Yes,” said Banks. “Though I would imagine the chief constable is well aware of that already.”

Gervaise looked at him suspiciously but didn’t follow up on the remark. “Right. Well, I hope you’ve learned a lesson from the whole sorry affair.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Banks.

At this moment, Annie Cabbot rushed in and sat down, distracting Gervaise’s attention from Banks. “Ah, DI Cabbot,” she said. “So good of you to join us.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Annie. “I was out on a call.”

“What kind of call?”

“Missing person,” she said, glancing toward Banks. “Derek Wyman’s disappeared.”

“Why would he do that?” Gervaise asked. “I thought you said he was off the hook. You let him go.”

“He is,” said Banks. “And we did.” He turned to Annie. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday afternoon. He left the theater after the matinee and didn’t turn up for the evening performance. And there’s another thing.”

“Yes?” said Gervaise.

“You’re not going to like this, ma’am.”

“I don’t like anything I’ve heard so far. Better tell me, anyway.”

“Two people went over to Wyman’s house yesterday afternoon. A man and a woman. They scared the sh—... the living daylights out of his wife, took a few photographs and papers and went away. Said they were from the government.”

“Shit!” said Gervaise. “This was just yesterday?”

“Yes. I told you you weren’t going to like it, ma’am.”

“Reminding me of what you told me doesn’t help your cause in the least, DI Cabbot,” snarled Gervaise.

“Could he have got back from the matinee in time to see these people enter his house, or come out of it?” Banks asked Annie. “Do you think they picked him up and spirited him away?”

“It’s possible,” Annie said. “The timing’s close enough.”

“But DCI Banks just assured me this mess was over and done with,” said Gervaise.