Annie paused for a moment as their food arrived, a beefburger and chips for Winsome and a mini pizza margherita for her. She had strayed a little from her vegetarianism lately, to the extent of a coq au vin and a potted meat sandwich, and she was also finding that she enjoyed fish more often. On the whole, though, she tried to stick with it, and she certainly avoided red meat. Their knives and forks were tightly wrapped in serviettes and bound with a strip of blue paper. Winsome’s knife was spotty from the dishwasher.
“What did you think of Nicky Haskell this time?” Annie asked as she picked up a slice of pizza with her fingers. “It’s the third time we’ve talked to him and his story hasn’t changed. The mention of Hardcastle was the only thing that was new, and he’d obviously just seen something about that on TV by accident. Not a newspaper reader, our Nicky, I shouldn’t think.”
“Dunno,” said Winsome around a mouthful of burger. “It was on the news the night before last. Silbert and Hardcastle.” She dabbed her lips with the serviette. “Did he seem more scared this time to you?”
“He did,” Annie said. “And he’s such a tough-enough nut himself that I really don’t think he’d be scared of Jackie Binns or his mates.”
“So what is it? Misguided loyalty? Instinctive aversion to talking to the police?”
“Could be either or both,” Annie said. “Could also be that there’s someone else involved he really is scared of.”
“Now that would be an interesting development.”
They ate their meals in silence for a while, each pausing occasionally for a sip of beer or wine. When she had finished about half her pizza, Annie asked casually, “Got a boyfriend at the moment, Winsome?”
“Nah. There was... there was someone from technical support, but... you know, his hours, my hours, it just didn’t work out.”
“Do you want a husband and kids?”
“No way. Least not yet for a while, not for a long while. Why? Do you?”
“Sometimes I think so,” Annie said, “and then sometimes I feel the same way you do. Trouble is, my biological clock’s running out and yours has got plenty of time left on it.”
“What about... you know... DCI Banks?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “He’s in lo-ove.” Then she burst into laughter.
Winsome laughed, too. “Seriously, what you were saying before, this theory of his about the Hardcastle-Silbert case.”
Annie pushed her plate aside with one piece left and sipped some Abbot’s. “Yes? What about it?”
“Does DCI Banks really think the Secret Intelligence Service goaded Hardcastle into bumping off Silbert for some sort of twisted government reason?”
“Well,” said Annie, “government reasoning is usually pretty twisted, as far as I can make out, so he might not be far wrong. Thing is, though, what Nicky Haskell just told us changes things.”
“It does? Derek Wyman?”
“Well, yes. Think about it. If it was Wyman did the Iago bit, then it might have had nothing to do with Silbert’s MI6 career. Wyman probably didn’t even know about that, or even if he did, it wouldn’t necessarily mean anything to him. He did, however, stand to lose his position at the theater if Hardcastle got his new group of players going, and Hardcastle needed Silbert’s backing for that.”
“So why did this Browne bloke pay DCI Banks a visit, then?”
“A fishing expedition? To see which way the wind was blowing? They’re bound to be interested if it was one of their blokes who copped it, aren’t they? Silbert probably knew all kinds of secrets, did all sorts of nefarious deeds that could bring down the government, or at least bring about a clean sweep of the intelligence services, if they became public. They’re running scared. Only natural they’d be worried about that, isn’t it?”
“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 flustered when she was dealing with matters of sex, whether gay or straight. “You mean an affair? A fling?”
“Yeah,” said Winsome.
“Who?”
“Wyman and Hardcastle. They were in London together. They were the ones Nicky Haskell said he saw having a tête-à-tête.”
“He said he thought he saw Wyman say something to upset Hard-castle, 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 flat 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.”
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 flustered 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 really just be alone and think. But now... well, it’s ruined, isn’t it? Spoiled.”
“Sorry about that,” Annie said. “Bloody inconsiderate, most suicides.” Liam opened his mouth to say something else, but Annie bulldozed 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.”
“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 calm him down.”