While he waited, he walked to the open window and gazed out on the market square. At that time of evening it was still fairly quiet. The shadows were lengthening, but Banks knew it would stay light until after ten o’clock. The market had packed up and moved on hours ago, leaving a slight whiff of rotting vegetables about the cobbled square. Most of the shops were closed, except Somerfield’s and W. H. Smith’s, and the only people around were the ones who wanted an early meal or a drink.
When Annie came, Banks sat opposite her and moved his computer monitor out of the way so he could see her properly. She was casually dressed in a russet T-shirt and short blue denim skirt, no tights. Her tousled chestnut hair hung over her shoulders, her complexion was smooth and free of all but the lightest of makeup, her almond eyes were clear, and her demeanor seemed calm and controlled. Banks hadn’t had a really good talk with her since he’d taken up with Sophia. He knew she had had one or two problems to deal with from their last case together, and he hadn’t exactly been a rock, but she looked as if she had managed it well. A couple of weeks down in Cornwall at her father’s place had obviously done her a lot of good.
Banks turned the business card to face her. “Did you try this number?” he asked.
“No time,” Annie said. “I’d no sooner got back from the Heights than Superintendent Gervaise called the meeting. Then you took it.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a criticism, Annie. I was just wondering.”
Annie raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Banks shifted in his chair. “It’s been disconnected,” he said. “Sorry?”
“The number. Julian Fenner, Import-Export. There’s no such number. And no address. I’ve checked. Discontinued. No longer in service.”
“Since when?”
“No idea. We can put technical support on it, if you like.”
“Probably a good idea. Maybe it’s just really old?” Annie suggested.
“Then why would Silbert continue to carry the card? It was the only one he had.”
“Don’t tell me you empty your wallet out every day? Every week? Every month?”
“About as often as you empty your handbag, probably.”
“Then that’s hardly ever. God knows what I’d find in the bottom of that if I had time to rummage through it.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Banks said. “It’s just another little oddity, that’s all, like the two of them being away at the same time but in different places. Hardcastle was in London with Wyman and Silbert was—”
“In Amsterdam,” said Annie. “Doug looked into it. Silbert stayed at the Hotel Ambassade on Herengracht for three nights—Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. He checked out early Friday morning and came back on the flight from Schiphol that got in at ten past nine. And it was on time that day. He left on Tuesday at nine fifty-five a.m.”
“Herengracht? Is that near the Red Light district?”
“No idea,” said Annie. “Want me to check?”
“Later. Why would they go to different places? Why not go away together?”
“They had different business to conduct, I should imagine. They obviously didn’t live in each other’s pockets. Hardcastle even kept his own flat.”
“I suppose so,” said Banks, rubbing his temples. “Sorry, I just don’t seem to be quite on the ball as far as this case goes yet.”
“Mind elsewhere?”
Banks glanced sharply at her.
Annie paused. “Look, Alan, I’m sorry you got dragged back from London,” she said. “But we used to work well together, remember? We were a team.”
“We still are.”
“Are we?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Lately things have been a bit weird, that’s all. I could have used you... you know... a shoulder... a friend... after the Karen Drew case and all. But you weren’t there.” “Is that what you’re holding against Sophia?”
“I’m not holding anything against Sophia. We’re not talking about her.”
“Don’t deny that you don’t like her.”
Annie leaned forward. “Alan, honestly, I’ve nothing against her. I don’t care one way or the other. It’s you I’m concerned about. My friend. Maybe you’re... I don’t know... a bit oversensitive, a bit overdefensive? She doesn’t need it, believe me. She’s a survivor.”
“What does that mean? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. There you go again.”
“You said Sophia’s a survivor. It’s just an odd thing to say. I wondered what you meant by it.”
“All I’m saying is don’t get too caught up in it all. Keep some perspective.”
“Are you saying I’ve lost my perspective? Because—”
The phone rang.
Banks and Annie glared at each another, then Banks answered it. He listened for a moment, said, “Keep her there,” then hung up and turned to Annie. “PC Walters at Castleview Heights. Apparently a woman has just turned up there claiming to be Laurence Silbert’s mother. Want to come along?”
“Of course,” said Annie. She stood up. “I’ll follow you in my car. To be continued?”
“What?”
“Our discussion.”
“If you think it’s worth it.” Banks picked his car keys up from his desk and they left.
Laurence Silbert’s mother was sitting in the driver’s seat of a racing-green MG sports car outside number 15 Castleview Heights smoking a cigarette and chatting with PC Walters when Banks and Annie arrived not more than three or four minutes later. The soft evening light, after a brief shower, had turned the limestone gray-gold and softened the slate and flagstone rooftops. A few dirty gray clouds lingered in the blue sky, one of them occasionally blocking out the sun for a minute or two. There were still plenty of media people around the area, held back by a police cordon, but Banks and Annie ignored the call for comments and turned toward the MG.
The woman who got out had once been at least as tall as Banks, but age had given her a slight stoop. Even so, she was a commanding presence, and the gray hair drawn back tightly from her forehead, her high cheekbones over tanned, sunken cheeks, wrinkled mouth and twinkling blue-gray eyes spoke of a beauty not too long faded. In fact, she was still beautiful, and there was something vaguely familiar about her.
“Good evening,” she said, offering her hand in turn. “I’m Edwina Silbert, Laurence’s mother.”
Banks stepped back. “The Edwina Silbert?”
“Well, I suppose I did attract a certain amount of notoriety at one time,” she said, dropping her cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. She was wearing black high heels, Banks noticed. “But that was a very long time ago.”
Annie looked puzzled.
“Mrs. Silbert started the Viva boutique chain in the sixties,” Banks explained. “And it went on to become enormously successful.”
“Still is,” said Annie. “I shop there myself when I can afford it. Pleased to meet you.”
“It used to be more affordable,” said Edwina. “That was one of the novelties about it at the time. Everyone could dress like the beautiful people. We used to dream of equality for all.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Banks said.
Edwina Silbert inclined her head. “Poor Laurence. I’ve been thinking about him all the way up here. It’s still very difficult to take in. Can I see him?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Banks.
“That bad?”
Banks said nothing.
“I’m not squeamish, you know. I saw plenty of things, many things during the war that would turn your stomach. I was a Queen Alexandra nurse.”
“Even so...”
“Surely I must have some rights? He was my son.”