Drowned Lives

51

The last thing I wanted in my current state of mind was Rachel asking awkward questions and interrogating me about Laura. She’d demonstrated several times that she could see straight through me. The only thing to do was get out of the house before she arrived home, and there was only one place where I could do my thinking.

It was only a few minutes’ walk to the Stowe Arms, and soon I was cradling a pint of Marston’s in my favourite corner, feeling the warmth and reassurance of the alcohol creeping through me. A few of the familiar regulars were in, and it seemed likely that somebody would soon buy a round, a game of darts would be started and the evening would take its predictable course.

Before long, though, my thoughts began to drift back to that afternoon I sat in the corner of another pub, the Earl of Lichfield, and did absolutely nothing until it was too late, as my Great-Uncle Samuel walked away to his death. The thought was uncomfortable, and it turned the taste of the beer sour in my mouth. I’d seen where being a coward and failing to act had led me. The time for doing nothing was past. I had to redeem myself in Samuel’s eyes, to reclaim my family name.

It was strange that a name could have such power. How could a single word be so important that individuals would sacrifice their lives to it, as Samuel had sacrificed his? And as I had been in danger of sacrificing mine. It was a mysterious power that had lain dormant in me until these past few weeks. But I was no longer in any doubt about its crushing potency.

I ignored the cajoling of my drinking companions to join their circle and headed to a payphone in the passage behind the bar. Laura’s number was on a slip of paper in my wallet. But all I got was the male friend, who told me that Laura wasn’t at home. When pushed, he said she might already be in Lichfield again. So I dialled the George Hotel, and was put straight through to her.

‘Laura, it’s Chris.’

‘Hi.’

I had to steel myself at the sound of her voice. This was no moment to weaken. I was going to stay cool and decisive. ‘I need to talk to you. Tonight.’

‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

‘No, it can’t. A lot has happened, Laura. I’ve found out things that have changed my mind on the whole business.’

She hesitated. ‘I see. You sound as though you’re confused, and maybe a bit angry too.’

‘Oh yes, a bit,’ I said sarcastically.

‘All right, I can tell. And you probably blame me for some of it.’

‘No, not some of it — all of it. You’ve deceived me all along.’

‘No, Chris. It’s true that I haven’t been honest with you. But if you think I’m the one you need to blame for everything, you’re very wrong.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

Laura sighed. ‘I can explain.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m going to insist on you doing. For a start, you can explain why you and the people you’re involved with killed Samuel Longden, and why you tried to kill me.’

‘It’s not like you think,’ she protested. ‘None of it is.’

‘Oh yes? Someone tried to break my skull and turn me into roast meat. I take it that was a member of your family? A Parker? If not, I’m sure you could take a very good guess at who it was. That would have been a really neat ending, wouldn’t it? The last of the Buckleys finished off.’

I heard her sigh. ‘I’m not a Parker.’

‘I don’t know why I should believe you.’

‘What’s been done to you was dreadful, Chris, and I’m as guilty as anybody for deceiving you. But I want to put a stop to it now. Things are very close to an end.’

‘Fine. Finish it, then. Call your family off and get out of my life.’

‘It isn’t as simple as that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because of the book, of course.’

‘So there’s no way out. A stalemate. You’ll just have to wait for the book to come out then, won’t you?’

‘You don’t understand. It’s very dangerous.’

‘Oh, I know,’ I said, feeling the bump on my head. ‘It was particularly dangerous for Great-Uncle Samuel, wasn’t it? Do you know who killed him?’

‘Yes,’ she said. But she said it so quietly I hardly heard her.

‘Then it’s time you told me. I want to meet you. Tonight. And be sure you come alone.’

‘All right, I will. But for one reason.’

‘What?’

‘Because you’re the one who’s most in danger.’

We arranged to meet at Fosseway Wharf at nine o’clock that night. The choice had been mine. It felt like my home ground now, and it would be more than secluded enough for the purpose. Besides, it was somehow symbolic, since it was the place where it had all started.

But I didn’t want to go to Fosseway alone. I needed a witness to what Laura had to say. And, yes, I was a little afraid. I thought of William Buckley and what he had written to Reuben Wheeldon: ‘At every turn he seeks to thwart me.’ And then that courageous, foolhardy line: ‘Let him then send his bravos.’

So I considered my options. Frank was on hand, but he would only be a liability, even if I could persuade him to leave the house. Rachel was out of the question — I didn’t even intend to tell her where I was going. Who did that leave? My genuine friends were very few, when I actually tried to count them. There were far too many I’d drifted away from. Excepting the regulars at the Stowe Arms, there was only Dan Hyde, and he was the last person I’d ask for a favour.

And then I thought of Andrew Hadfield. Yes. He owed me one.

Andrew was surprised at the request, but agreed without too much coercion or the calling in of old debts when I explained what it was about. He was a kindred spirit, really — he shared my sense of curiosity, my urge to balance unfair odds. He couldn’t resist the chance to learn the outcome of a mystery that had begun when he’d first introduced me to Samuel Longden.

‘I remember Laura,’ he said. ‘Bit of a looker, isn’t she? She’s the one who latched on to you at Fradley.’

‘You might put it like that. She said she knew you.’

‘Mmm? I come across a lot of people. I dare say I’ve seen her about. Do you think she’ll tell you anything?’

‘She says she will. She knows who killed my Great-Uncle Samuel. I have to hear what she’s got to say, but I need someone else there as well. Someone independent.’

‘No problem, Chris.’

In fact, by the end of the call Andrew seemed positively keen to be involved, rather than have me wandering around the restoration site on my own in the dark.

‘You’d end up right up to your neck in mud in the basin if you weren’t careful,’ he said. ‘That wharf is pretty slippery after the rain, and the edges are crumbling away. You’ll be all right with me, though. I know my way around.’

‘So I’ve heard from the WRG girls,’ I said, starting to feel more confident already about the meeting.

‘Hey, all right. I’ve said I’ll come. As a favour to a friend, okay?’

We arranged to meet in the entrance to the car park at The Friary and go to Fosseway in my car. We had to be there before Laura arrived to find somewhere for Andrew to conceal himself, so she remained convinced I was on my own.

After the call, I had time for another drink at the Stowe Arms before I had to go back to the house to collect the car. The alcohol pushed me just to the stage where I felt charged with confidence and righteous strength, without making me giddy with recklessness.

What it didn’t do, though, was take away that nagging fear that had been at the back of my mind ever since the incident on Kestrel, since my first encounter with Simon Monks, in fact. I’d strayed into a world of violence that was unfamiliar to me, and the knowledge was a constant nauseous pain that I couldn’t forget, any more than I could rub away the swelling on my head where the windlass had connected.

In the front room at Stowe Pool Lane, I found Frank looking at the photographs of the visit by Lindley Simpson and Leo Parker to Fosseway.

‘Yes, that’s him there,’ he announced bitterly. ‘That’s the bloke I saw at the bowls club.’

‘I know who it is,’ I said. I was too busy planning the evening to pay proper attention to Frank. ‘But what I don’t know is how Laura Jenner is connected to him. He denies knowing her, and there’s no real evidence to link them. But how do I know who I can believe?’

He frowned. ‘But the funeral—’

‘Yeah?’

‘I thought you said—’

He shook his head, staring at the photos. ‘I suppose I’ve got it all mixed up.’

‘Don’t bug me about it now, Frank. I’m going to sort it out with her tonight. I’m meeting her in half an hour. Maybe I’ll have the answers when I get back. Okay?’

‘Where are you going to meet?’

‘The same place those photos were taken. The old wharf at Fosseway.’

‘Chris,’ he said. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’

I couldn’t help but be touched by his genuine concern, despite my low opinion of him. ‘Don’t worry. Just for your information, I’m not going alone. I’m taking some support she doesn’t know about.’

‘A friend? It’s good that you’ve got a friend you can trust.’

‘It’s Andrew Hadfield from the canal group,’ I said, putting on my coat and collecting my car keys. ‘He’s a decent bloke. He’ll be watching my back, and acting as an independent witness.’

Frank put down the photos and seemed about to say something else important. Then he wiped his hand across his eyes like a man overwhelmed with weariness. I remembered the stress he’d been through and reminded myself to make allowances. I understood that too much fear and uncertainty could scramble your power to think logically, and wreck your ability to say what you meant.

In the end, Frank kept whatever he was thinking to himself, but followed me as I went to the door.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Chris,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand any of it now. Not any of it.’