“I know what you mean,” said Carol, pouring her pale green tea from the rose-colored pot. It smelled of mint and chamomile. “Mine’s just the same. And some of the doctors are real sticklers.”
“I don’t suppose you can read their writing, though, can you?” said Annie.
Carol laughed. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “it is a problem.”
“How long has your husband been directing plays for the theater?”
“Ages now,” said Carol. “I mean, not so much for the theater, but the Amateur Dramatic Society. They used to put on performances at the community center, even the church hall sometimes.”
“He seems very passionate about his work.”
“Oh, he is,” Carol said. “Sometimes I think he’s more passionate about his work than he is about me. No, that’s not fair. He’s a good husband. And a good father. It’s just that I think he sometimes takes too much on his plate. The teaching certainly wears him down and—”
“I thought he liked it.”
“Well, he does. I mean, something like that, it gives you a chance to make a difference, doesn’t it? To inspire future generations.” She glanced around the room and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “But a lot of them just don’t care. A lot of them don’t even bother turning up for school. It’s hard when you really care about something, to be constantly surrounded by people who mock it.”
“That’s what Derek feels?”
“Sometimes.”
“It must have made him a bit cynical about it all.”
“Well, he gets depressed sometimes, I can tell you that.” She took a sip of the steaming tea. “Mmm, that’s nice,” she said. “Just the ticket.”
“Why doesn’t he consider another line of work?”
“You try that at forty-two, when you’ve been a teacher for more than twenty years.”
“I see.”
“If he didn’t have his theater, I don’t know what he’d do. I think it’s the only thing that keeps him sane. He loves the new arrangement. You know, it makes him feel just that bit more important to be working in a real theater rather than a village hall or something.”
“I know what you mean,” said Annie. “He must feel like a real professional.”
“Yes. And he works so hard. Anyway, what is it you want to know?”
“Has your husband ever mentioned going to the Red Rooster pub?”
“The Red Rooster? In Medburn? But that’s a chain pub. Derek is strictly a real ale man. Used to be a member of CAMRA and all. He wouldn’t be seen dead in a place like that. Why?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Annie, even more curious now. “As I said, I’m just tidying up loose ends. You get swamped with information in a case like this, and you have to sort out the wheat from the chaff.”
“I suppose so,” said Carol slowly.
Annie could see that she was starting to lose her. Any more questions that implied Carol’s husband was up to something, or behaving out of character, and that would be the end of their pleasant little chat. The door opened and an elderly couple stuck their heads around the door and decided the place would do. They said hello and settled down two tables away. “It must have been terrible for Derek when his brother died,” Annie said, making an abrupt turn, remembering the photograph in the Wymans’ living room.
“Oh, God, yes,” said Carol. “Derek simply adored Rick. Heroworshipped him. He was just devastated, gutted. We all were.” “When exactly did it happen?”
“Fifteenth October, 2002. I won’t forget that date in a hurry.”
“I’ll bet you won’t. Did you know him well?”
“Rick? Of course. He was a lovely fella. You know, you think these SAS chaps are all macho like someone out of an Andy McNabb book, and probably a lot of them are, but Rick was great with the kids, as gentle as could be. And he was considerate. Always remembered your birthday and anniversary.”
“Your husband’s brother was in the SAS?”
“Yes. I thought he said.”
“No.” Even Annie knew that the SAS carried out covert operations, and if Laurence Silbert had worked for MI6, he would probably have had some contact with them, might even have ordered missions or at least overseen the supply of intelligence to guide them. This was back in Banks territory again, but at least she was keeping an open mind. She did believe that someone, most likely Derek Wyman, had goaded Hardcastle into killing Silbert and then himself—more likely by accident than design—but she didn’t know why. It could have just been annoyance over the theater, but, on the other hand, it could have had more sinister roots, given Silbert’s past.
“Was Rick married?” she asked.
“Not technically, no. Common-law. He lived with Charlotte. Been together for years. He once told me he didn’t want to say the vows, you know, ‘Till death us do part,’ and all that, because of his job. He thought it might bring him bad luck or something. A bit superstitious, was Rick. But they loved each other so much. You only had to see them together.”
“Kids?”
“No.” Carol frowned. “Rick once told me that Charlotte wanted children but that he just couldn’t do it, given his job, like, the risks, and the kind of world they’d be born into. I think in the end Charlotte just accepted the situation. Well, you have to, don’t you, if you really love somebody?”
Annie didn’t know; she had never loved anybody that much. “Do you know the address?” she asked.
“No. It was called ‘Wyedene,’ though. I remember that from when we visited them.”
“What was Charlotte’s last name?”
“Foster.”
“So Rick was away a lot, was he?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot. They had a lovely house in the country. Ross-on-Wye. Charlotte still lives there. He did a lot of training, but he did go on missions, yes. That was what did for him, of course.”
“What?” said Annie. “I thought it was a helicopter accident.”
Carol lowered her voice again. “Well, that’s what they have to say, isn’t it? The official line. They don’t want people to know what it’s really like out there. What’s really going on. Like in the war, they didn’t want to give people the really bad news, did they? They made all those propaganda films.”
“True,” said Annie. “What happened?”
“I don’t know the full story.”
Annie could feel Carol pulling away again, but she didn’t want to let go of this line of questioning. Not just yet. “We never do, do we?” she said. “Even in my job, the bosses hold their cards close to their chests. Half the time we don’t know why we’re asking the questions we are, following the lines of inquiry we’re told to. It’s not like it is on television, I can tell you that.”
“Well, in this case I really don’t know. All I do know is that it was a secret mission, not an accident. Something went wrong.”
“How do you know that?”
“Derek told me. He’d talked to a couple of Rick’s mates after the funeral, when they’d all had a few, like. The funeral was back here, in Pontefract, where they grew up. Anyway, they didn’t give much away, either, they’re trained not to, but Derek said he got the impression that Rick’s mates wanted him to know that his brother hadn’t died in some stupid accident, but that he’d died in action, a hero.”
Annie didn’t know if this had any relevance at all, but it was something that Derek Wyman had skirted when they first talked to him. Perhaps Rick’s partner, Charlotte, knew? Annie would never get the SAS to talk to her, especially as she had no official backing on this case, or even a case, come to think of it. They were far more likely to come smashing through her window one night and cart her off to Guantanamo Bay or whatever their equivalent was. But Charlotte Foster of Wyedene might not be averse to a sympathetic ear, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to track her down.