All the Colors of Darkness ib-18

by Peter Robinson

  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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  “All I’m saying is that Silbert worked for MI6. A whole different kettle of fish, they are. The two don’t exactly work hand in glove, you know. Half the time they’re not even talking to each other.”

  “So you think MI6 are more likely to be involved in this than MI5?”

  “I’m only saying that it’s possible.”

  “But I thought their brief was working outside the country?”

  “It is. Usually. But I’d imagine they’d want to investigate the murder of one of their own, wherever it happened. They certainly wouldn’t want MI5 to do it for them. Just a suggestion. Not that it really matters.

  They’re all pretty good at dirty tricks. The result is the same.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “If you want my opinion, and it’s only an opinion based on what little I know of them and the way they operate, I’d say they’d don’t reason; they react. They’re not really interested in your girlfriend. Or the private detective. Though I must admit that if she went around photographing an MI6 agent, retired or not, meeting people secretly in Regent’s Park, then they might have a justifiable concern for questioning her. But mostly it’s just a way of getting a message to you.

  Look at it this way. One of their own has been killed. There’s blood in the water. They’re circling. What do you expect?”

  “But why not come directly after me?”

  “Well, they did, didn’t they? This Mr. Browne you were asking about.”

  “Bloody lot of use he was. He came once, got pissed off when I wouldn’t cooperate, and left.”

  Burgess started to laugh. “Oh, Banksy, you’re priceless, you are.

  Did you expect more? Another polite visit, perhaps? ‘Please, Mr.

  Banks, do cease and desist.’ They don’t mess around, these buggers.

  Five or six. They don’t have time. Patience isn’t a virtue with them.

  Don’t you get it? This is the new breed. They’re a lot nastier than the old boys and they’ve got a lot of new toys. They’re not gentlemen.

  More like city traders. But they can erase your past and rewrite your life in the blink of an eye. They’ve got software that makes your HOLMES system look like a Rolodex. Don’t piss them off. I tell you in all seriousness, Banksy, do not fuck with them.”

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  P E T E R R O B I N S O N

  “A bit late for that, isn’t it?”

  “Then back off. They’ll lose interest in time. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty to occupy them elsewhere.” He paused and scratched the side of his nose. “I did talk to someone in the know after I got your message, just to see if I could find out what was going on. He was very cagey, but he told me a couple of things. For a start, they’re just not sure about Wyman, that’s all, and they don’t like to be not sure.”

  “Why haven’t they questioned him?”

  “Surely even you can work that out for yourself ? When this Mr.

  Browne paid you a visit, and when those people entered your girlfriend’s house and broke a few of her things, they were trying to warn you off. They wanted you to shut down the investigation. It’s instinct with them, secrecy, second nature. Then they get the photos from the private detective woman, and they start to wonder about this Wyman character. What he might have been up to. Who he might have been working for. What he might know. And more important still, what he might tell. Now they’re letting you do their job for them, up to a point, watching you from a distance. You could still just let it drop and walk away. Nothing will happen to you or your girlfriend. There’ll be no consequences. That’s another thing, Banksy. People rarely murder each other in this business. They’re professionals. If it happens, you can be damn sure there’s a good political or security reason, not a personal one. Drop it. There’s nothing to be gained by antagonizing them any further.”

  “But there are still a few things I need to know.”

  Burgess sighed. “It’s like talking to a fucking brick wall, isn’t it?” he said. “What will it take to get you off my back?”

  “I want to know about Silbert’s background, what he did, what they think he might have been up to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because maybe Wyman knows. Maybe Silbert let something slip, pillow talk, perhaps, and Hardcastle passed it on to Wyman in one of their intimate boozy get-togethers.”

  “But how does that give Wyman a motive to do whatever it is you think he did?”

  “I don’t know,” said Banks. “But that brings me to my next re-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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  quest. Wyman had a brother called Rick. SAS. He was killed in Afghanistan on the fifteenth of October, 2002. According to the press, it was a helicopter crash on maneuvers, but according to other sources I’ve spoken to, Rick Wyman was killed on active duty, on a secret mission.”

  “So what? It’s standard procedure to downplay your casualties in a war. That’s one way of doing it. That and friendly fire.”

  “I’m not interested in the propaganda angle,” said Banks. “What concerns me is that Silbert might have had something to do with the intelligence behind the mission. He was still employed by MI6 in 2002. He and Hardcastle had dinner with the Wymans a couple of times and he mentioned that he’d been to Afghanistan. I’d guess the SAS was after Bin Laden or some important terrorist encampment or cell leader—this wasn’t too long after 9/11—and somehow or other, they’d got information on its whereabouts that turned out to be inac-curate, they got lost, or it was better protected than the agent thought.

  Maybe Wyman blames Silbert. I need to know when Silbert was in Afghanistan and why. I want to know if Silbert could have been involved in any of this, and if there’s a terrorist connection.”

  “You don’t ask for much, do you? Even if Silbert was responsible for Rick Wyman’s death, how on earth could Derek Wyman know about it if it was a secret mission?”

  “I don’t know. Pillow talk again? Silbert lets something slip to Hardcastle in bed after one of those dinners, and Hardcastle passes it on.”

  “Crap, Banks. Silbert and his kind are better trained than that.”

  “But it could have happened somehow.”

  “You’re clutching at straws, mate.”

  “Will you find out for me? You’re counterterrorism, you should have an in.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” said Burgess. “And if I could, I’m not sure that I would.”

  “I’m not asking you to break the Official Secrets Act.”

  “You probably are, but that’s the least of my worries. What you are asking could possibly bring a whole lot more grief on the intelligence services, including me, who really don’t need that right now, thank you very much, as well as on you and all your friends and family. I’m not sure I want to be the one responsible for all that.”

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  “You won’t be. It’s my responsibility. Derek Wyman set in motion a chain of events that ended in the violent deaths of two men. It was a cruel trick he played, if that’s all it was, and I want to know why he did it. If it’s something to do with his brother’s death, if there’s a terrorist connection, I want to know.”

  “Why does it matter? Why don’t you just beat a confession out of him and leave it at that?”

  “Because I want to know what it takes to drive a man to a cold-blooded act like that, something that, while he couldn’t be expected to be certain it would end in death, he had to know would at least bring a lot of unnecessary grief and pain into two people’s lives. Can’t you understand that? You of all people. And don’t try to tell me you’ve never suffered from copper’s curiosity. It’s what separates the men from the boys in this job. You can have a perfectly good career in the force without giving a damn about why who did what to whom. But if you want to learn about the world, if you want to know about people and what make
s them what they are, you have to see beyond that, you have to dig deeper. You have to know.”

  Burgess stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “Well, seeing as you put it like that, Banksy, how can I refuse?”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “I was joking. Look, it’s easy enough to find out about Silbert’s background—in general terms, without going into any incriminating details, of course—but it might be a bit harder to find any connection with a specific mission. If he was in Afghanistan ages ago, nobody’s likely to care about that now, but if it was more recent, that’s another matter. They don’t talk about things like that, and I don’t have unlimited access to files. They’d skin me alive if they knew I was even contemplating something like this. I’m not going to put myself in a position of risk, not even for you.”

  “What can you find out?” Banks said. “What can you reasonably tell me?”

  “Reasonably? Nothing. If I was behaving reasonably, I’d walk away from here right now, without even waving bye-bye. But I’ve never been a reasonable man, and perhaps I am as cursed as you are with copper’s curiosity. Perhaps it’s what makes me good at my job. You say 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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  you already know Silbert visited Afghanistan. That doesn’t necessarily mean a lot, you know. These people travel a lot, for all kinds of reasons.”

  “I know. But it’s a starting place. Can you also tell me what Silbert was up to lately? Who he was meeting in London?”

  “You must be joking. I think the best I can do for you is find out if Silbert was working in an area and in a capacity that made it at all likely he could have had a connection with SAS missions in Afghanistan in 2002. That shouldn’t be too highly classified. Will that do you?”

  “It’ll have to, won’t it? But how can I trust you? You’re with them, even if you’re not technically with MI5 or MI6. How do I know you’ll be telling me the truth?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Banksy. You don’t.”

  “I mean, you could be feeding me whatever you want to, couldn’t you?”

  “And they could feed me whatever they want you to know. Welcome to the dizzy world of the secret intelligence services. Is your phone safe?”

  “It’s a pay-as-you-go.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “Week or so.”

  “Get rid of it as soon as you hear from me. I mean it.” Then, muttering “I must be a fucking lunatic” under his breath, he walked back to his car, leaving Banks to sit alone on the bench in the sun.

  16

  WHAT’S THIS ALL ABOUT?” DEREK WYMAN ASKED

  Banks after Annie had picked him up and kept him waiting in the interview room for an hour. “It’s Saturday. I have to be at the theater. I’ve got a play to direct.”

  “They’ll manage without you,” said Banks. “They have done before. Remember, when you were in London?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You agreed to come here, right? I mean, you came voluntarily?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, one doesn’t like to be uncooperative. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Then we’ll try not to keep you too long. I appreciate your attitude, Mr. Wyman,” said Banks. “Believe me, our lives would be a lot easier if everyone felt the same way you do. The problem is that most people do have something to hide.”

  “Are you charging me? Do I need a solicitor or anything?”

  “You’re not under arrest. You’re not being charged with anything.

  You can leave at any time. You’re here simply to answer a few questions. I should also tell you that you do not have to say anything, but it might harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  “My defense? In court?”

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  “It’s a formal caution, Mr. Wyman. Standard procedure. To protect all of us. As for the solicitor, that’s up to you. Do you think you need one? You’re certainly entitled, if you think it would help, in which case you can either drag your own solicitor off the golf course, if you have one, or one will be provided for you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything.”

  “Nobody’s saying you have.”

  Wyman looked over at the tape equipment and licked his lips. “But you’re recording this interview.”

  “Again, standard procedure,” said Annie. “A safeguard. It’s for everyone’s good.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “If you’re at all uncertain,” Annie went on, “DCI Banks has already told you that you’re free to go. We’ll find some other way of doing this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “DI Cabbot simply means that we have a few questions, and we’d like some answers,” Banks said. “This is the easy way. There are other ways. Stay or leave. It’s up to you.”

  Wyman chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, then he said,

  “Okay. I’ll answer your questions. As I said before, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Good,” said Banks. “Shall we start now?”

  Wyman folded his arms. “All right.” He looked stiff, tense.

  Banks gave Annie the signal to begin the questioning. “Can we get you anything first, Mr. Wyman?” she asked. “Cup of tea, perhaps? Or coffee?”

  “Nothing, thanks. Let’s just get on with it.”

  “Very well. How would you characterize your relationship with Mark Hardcastle?” Annie asked first.

  “I don’t know, really. I mean, I didn’t have one. Not in the way you mean.”

  “Oh? What way do I mean?”

  “Don’t think I’m not aware of the subtle insinuation behind what you say. I direct plays. I know all about subtle insinuations.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Annie said, “but actually I wasn’t being subtle at 2 9 4 P E T E R

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  all. And I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was being quite straightfor-ward. You say you didn’t really have a relationship, but you were friends, weren’t you?”

  “Colleagues, really, more than friends.”

  “But you went for a social drink every now and then, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, on occasion.”

  “And you had Mark Hardcastle and his partner, Laurence Silbert, over for dinner with your family. You also went with your wife, Carol, to their house on Castleview Heights once. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. You know it is. I’m not prejudiced about people being gay.”

  “So why do you constantly play the whole relationship down? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

  “No. Everything is just as I said it was.”

  “But it was more than just a working relationship, wasn’t it?” Annie went on. “Not only did you go to London with Mark Hardcastle, you went drinking with him on several occasions in the Red Rooster. We just want to know why you didn’t tell us about that earlier, when we first questioned you.”

  “I didn’t think it was important where we went for a drink, that’s all.”

  “And perhaps you didn’t want to get involved?” Annie suggested.

  “I mean, it’s not unusual for people to want to distance themselves from a murder investigation. It does get rather dirty, and that dirt can sometimes rub off.”

  “Murder? Who said anything about murder?” Wyman seemed f lustered.

  “Laurence Silbert was certainly murdered,” said Annie, “and we do believe that someone deliberately engineered the argument between Silbert and Hardcastle. Perhaps they only expected a falling-out and got more than they bargained for, but even that’s a bit nasty, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Remember, Mr. Wyman. If you don’t tell us something now that you later rely on, it could go badly for you. This is your chance for a clean slate.”

  “I’ve tol
d you all I know.”

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  “But you were a lot closer to Mark and Laurence than you made out at first, weren’t you?”

  “Perhaps. It’s hard to say. They were a very difficult couple to get to know.”

  “What were those drinks in the Red Rooster all about?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh, come off it, Derek,” said Banks. “You know what we’re talking about. It’s not the sort of place for sophisticated men of the world like you and Mark Hardcastle to hang out. Why go there?

  Was it the karaoke? Fancy yourself as the new Robbie Williams, do you?”

  “There was no karaoke when we were there. It was quiet enough.

  And they do a decent pint.”

  “The beer’s rubbish,” said Banks. “Don’t expect us to believe that’s why you went there.”

  Wyman glared at Banks, then looked imploringly at Annie, as if she were his lifeline, his anchor to sanity and safety. “What happened there, Derek?” she asked gently. “Go on. You can tell us. We heard that Mark was upset by something you said and you were calming him down. What was it all about?”

  Wyman folded his arms again. “Nothing. I don’t remember.”

  “This isn’t working,” said Banks. “I think we’d better move on to a more official legal footing.”

  “What do you mean?” Wyman asked, glancing from one to the other. “More official?”

  “DCI Banks is impatient, that’s all,” Annie said. “It’s nothing. Just that this is a sort of informal chat, and we hoped it would resolve our problems. We don’t really want to move on to matters of detention, body searches, home searches and intimate samples or anything like that. Not yet, anyway. Not when we can settle matters as easily as this.”

  “You can’t intimidate me,” Wyman said. “I know my rights.”

  “Was it about work?” Annie asked.

  “What?”

  “Your discussion with Mark in the Red Rooster.”

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