‘It sounds as if you have already done a good job, Inspector,’ Orb said eventually. ‘What help do you need from me?’
‘I was wondering whether there could be any credibility in Henry Mills’s claims about his wife having had enemies in Chile.’
‘We all have enemies.’
‘Enemies who might want her dead,’ Carlyle clarified.
Orb knitted his eyebrows, making him look older. ‘But I thought that the matter had been closed. You have charged the husband?’
‘Yes,’ he said, omitting to mention that the suspect was no longer on this earth.
Orb looked at him carefully. ‘Don’t you believe that he did it?’
Carlyle wasn’t going to share his personal concerns about the investigation with a man he had only just met. ‘I am just tying up some loose ends,’ he said, as casually as possible. ‘This is a very serious matter and I would not want a cynical defence lawyer to suggest that we had been less than thorough.’
‘Of course. Of course.’ Hand on chin, Orb struck a thoughtful pose. ‘I don’t know the particular individuals, obviously, but it is true that the particular chapter in our history to which you refer has not yet been fully closed. Plenty of people disappeared at that time, not just priests. Many of them have still not been found.’ He looked at Carlyle. ‘Can you imagine the anguish that must cause their families?’
Carlyle said nothing. That kind of pain, he didn’t want to imagine.
‘If, as you say,’ Orb continued, ‘there is a case like this coming to court back home, old wounds may well have been reopened. How could it be otherwise? We Chileans are only human, after all. It was a very difficult time.’
‘I understand.’
‘Look at the passions the Civil War in Spain still arouses, for example. That occurred a lot earlier than our . . . situation. But so long as there are generations still alive who were touched directly, it will always remain a very emotive subject.’
‘Emotive enough for people to kill?’ Carlyle asked.
‘That is a very difficult question to answer.’ The Ambassador ran a hand through his hair. ‘Theoretically, yes. But, in my experience, theory and practice can often be far removed from each other. It is indeed possible, but that is a long way from saying people would take the law into their own hands in such a way – especially so far from home. Times are different now, but back then . . .’ Orb’s voice trailed off as he scanned the river, maybe looking for a distraction. Finding none, he turned back to Carlyle. ‘Well, back then I would not have been so happy about helping a policeman with his enquiries.’
‘People could kill and get away with it?’ Carlyle asked.
‘Yes, they could. People like you.’
Carlyle smiled to show that he hadn’t taken offence. ‘I’m sure that you are right, but what about people like you?’
‘People like me?’ Orb frowned. ‘Oh, people like me never have to get our hands dirty.’
‘So you got through it all unscathed?’
‘Of course. It was a terrible time, but life goes on. You go to work, you have dinner parties at home, you take your children to the zoo; the world doesn’t stop turning because some people are being murdered in a football stadium a few blocks down the road. Even if you know about it, even if you can hear the shots, what can you do? Nothing. So you get on with your life. Hard to imagine now, but that was the case.’
‘It’s not that hard to imagine,’ Carlyle remarked.
‘What?’ Orb raised an eyebrow. ‘Here in England? One of the most civilised countries in the world? And you, a man who has never known war or serious civil unrest?’
‘I know,’ Carlyle said. ‘I am very lucky. But at least I know how lucky I am. I also know how quickly it can all fall apart. The veneer of civilised society is thin. Under the right circumstances – the wrong circumstances – what happened in Chile, what happened to William Pettigrew, can happen to anyone.’
‘Indeed,’ the Ambassador nodded.
The light was going. It was time for Carlyle to ask for what he really wanted. ‘Do you have a list of the people who were invited here tonight?’
‘Of course. My office was responsible for the invitations.’
‘Can I have a copy?’
‘Absolutely,’ the Ambassador said. ‘I will have it sent to you in the morning.’
‘Thank you.’ A thought suddenly struck Carlyle as he handed over a business card with his email address and fax number on it. ‘What were you doing back then?’
‘Me?’ A look of surprise spread across Orb’s face. ‘In seventy-three?’
‘Yes.’
The old man raised his gaze to the darkening sky. ‘Back in 1973, I was what you might call a rising star in the Christian Democratic Party. I taught Economics at the Universidad Católica de Chile in Santiago. My specialism was agrarian reform.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a long time ago now.’
The man did not seem embarrassed about discussing his past, so Carlyle kept going. ‘Did you support Pinochet?’ he asked.
Orb shrugged. ‘It was not a question of being for or against him, Inspector. It happened. I made sure my family came through relatively unscathed.’
‘You’re a survivor.’
‘I’ve had a long career,’ Orb said to that. ‘Now I work for a Socialist president, who is also a woman. You never know how things will turn out, so it is better not to nail your colours too firmly to the mast.’ He touched Carlyle gently on the arm. ‘I’m sure you already know that well.’
‘Yes,’ said Carlyle, who had spent his whole life pointlessly nailing colours to masts, usually on ships that were already sinking. ‘I suppose that’s right.’
‘Now, if you’d excuse me,’ Orb held out his hand, ‘I must be going. I’m hosting a dinner with your multi-tasking Mayor.’ He grinned. ‘I will give him your best wishes, since I get the impression that you are a big supporter of his.’
NINETEEN
‘Take a look – this is really funny,’ said Dominic Silver.
Carlyle grunted non-committingly as he sucked down on a latte that was way too cold for his liking. He always asked for it ‘extra hot’ and the Brazilian/Indian/Ukrainian/whatever boy/girl behind the counter would nod happily and then serve him up something that was barely lukewarm. It drove him mad. Often he would take it back and complain; get them to make it again. One time he caused such a fuss that the manager followed him out into the street and threatened him with a good kicking. It was a great example of traditional British customer service at its finest. Carlyle would have happily arrested him on the spot if he hadn’t been late for a court appearance,
This morning, however, he refused to get angst-ridden about his coffee. Rather, he just wanted to get as much caffeine as possible into his system as quickly as possible, cold or not, to try and compensate for the fact that he wasn’t still tucked up in bed. Twenty yards away, Alice was squealing in delight as a couple of young boys chased her round a tree. When they caught her, she squealed even more. Carlyle felt a smile spreading across his face as he watched her. Whatever grumpiness he felt about standing here in the middle of Regent’s Park at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning was offset more than a hundredfold by his pleasure in witnessing his daughter’s uncomplicated delight in a simple game of tag on a fresh summer morning, when the world seemed full of promise. Not for the first time, he wondered how much she was missing out on, being an only child. Not that there was much they could do about that now.
The two boys, Tom and Oliver Silver, were a year older and younger respectively than Alice. They were the youngest of five children belonging to Dominic Silver and Eva Hollander. The fact that Dominic and Eva had managed to produce five kids only added to Carlyle’s worry about Alice not having any siblings. Helen, practical as always, suggested that they should just be grateful for those ready-made playmates.
His wife had arranged this particular play-date with Eva earlier in the week, but Carlyle had only been told about it the night before – so that he couldn’t come up with an excuse for not going along. He wondered if the same had happened to Dominic. People in Dominic’s line of work weren’t known for their early morning starts, but Dominic was a big family man, so Carlyle expected that he was similarly philosophical about being here. The women were both probably still enjoying a lie-in, but each man recognised that you just had to accept being outmanoeuvred by your other half more often than not.