‘Right.’
It was all very unsatisfactory. I no longer felt I could trust my business partner, or anyone else for that matter. The world was shifting around me, and it felt very uncomfortable.
Later that day, Leo Parker returned my call.
‘I believe you’ve been trying to contact me,’ he said. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’
‘I need to talk to you. Not on the phone.’
‘Well, my diary is rather full. I could give you half an hour later in the week.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question. I’m very busy.’
‘It’s about your father.’
‘I see,’ he said, with an uncharacteristic pause.
I hurried to press home my advantage. ‘Do you know Stowe Pool in Lichfield?’
‘I think so.’
‘Meet me there, opposite St Chad’s Church. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
‘It will be difficult.’
‘Be there if you want to know what I’ve found out about your family.’
I put the phone down. It made me feel good to speak to Parker like that. I knew he would come. He’d already made it clear how anxious he was about the book touching on Samuel’s link with his mother.
I could sense the fear growing around me. And at that point I still thought it possible I could make use of it to my own advantage. It hadn’t dawned on me yet that the fear would be my own.
There was a cold wind blowing across Stowe Pool when I walked up the steps from the corner of St Chad’s Road. I was grimly pleased to see that Leo Parker was there before me. He’d arrived early — that must mean he was keen, and therefore co-operative.
Wrapped up in his waxed coat and a thick sweater, he looked brawny and powerful. The buttons strained across his barrel chest and his dark brow was threatening. I reassured myself by noticing the bald furrows running back from his forehead.
‘Before you say anything, I think I know the purpose of the book,’ said Parker.
‘Do you?’ I said, annoyed that he’d already seized the initiative from me.
‘Yes, Samuel was going to claim that my ancestors not only arranged the deaths of William Buckley and Josiah Buckley, but also that of Samuel’s own son.’
I was stunned for a moment.
‘His son? But Samuel had no son. At least,’ I corrected myself, recalling the depth of my ignorance, ‘no one has ever mentioned a son to me.’
‘No? Well, the old man was clearly mad anyway. You have to understand that, Chris. He was unhinged. He’d developed a delusion that his wife, Alison, was deliberately killed in that crash on the A38. Nonsense, of course.’
‘But I don’t see—’
‘Listen, and you’ll see. According to Samuel, his unborn son also died in that crash. He’d always desperately wanted a son, to carry on the family name. He said he’d revert to being a Buckley once he had a son. He could have done that, too, with his own brother dead. But there was to be no son for Samuel. It was that knowledge that turned his mind in the end. And all the rest followed on from that. It was all delusion, part of a fantasy world he’d slipped into. He was chasing shadows through history, looking for someone to blame.’
‘My feeling was that he blamed himself for that accident.’
‘Deep down, of course he did. But it’s a lot easier to look for someone else to blame than to face up to your own guilt, isn’t it?’
I turned away to look at the cold water of Stowe Pool, afraid that my face might give away how close to home his words had come, how deeply the truth pierced. My own guilt was like a knife twisted in my stomach, and Leo Parker had just given it another turn.
‘There’s no mention of that in his manuscript,’ I said. ‘He talks about the deaths of William and Josiah, yes. But not about Alison, not a word. And even in William and Josiah’s cases, he doesn’t name the Parkers. He only hints at some feud between the families.’
‘So? It simply means that there must be another part of the manuscript somewhere. Otherwise, where else was the story heading? William and Josiah Buckley are historical curiosities, no more than that. They’re not the purpose of the book. Samuel had a point he was working up to, a big climax. Come on, you’re an intelligent man. You must have figured it out for yourself. The missing section is glaringly obvious.’
‘Not to me. I think you’re wrong.’
‘So what has he called the book?’
‘The Three Keys.’
‘Ah, yes. Three mysteries and three keys, but one big secret. That’s the way the old man’s mind worked.’ Parker sighed and shook his head at me rather sadly. ‘I know it’s all about money as far as you’re concerned, Chris. There’s no need to pretend to me it’s anything else.’
‘There are such things as family loyalty, pride, conscience,’ I said, and hoped the breeze would take away the sound of my pomposity.
‘Yes, I know about those. But what do they mean to you? You owe no loyalty to your family, not even to Samuel Longden. As for pride and conscience, they’re luxuries you can’t afford.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I understand that you’re badly in need of money. A little matter of a failed business venture and several creditors demanding payment. Being declared bankrupt would hardly do much for the Buckley family name now, would it?’
‘Get to the point.’
‘Look, I’ll pay you to drop the project. Give me the third part of the manuscript and in return I’ll pay you an amount equivalent to the bequest you expect to get from Samuel’s will. Isn’t that much more suitable to all concerned? You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble, and you’ll get the money sooner too. Perfect, eh?’
‘Go to hell.’
Parker raised an eyebrow and looked displeased. ‘Holding out for more?’
His talk of a missing section of the manuscript had left me in no doubt that Parker had been behind the break-in at Maybank, and the thought of Rachel’s injuries made me want to lash out wildly.
I stood up, trembling slightly with the anger growing inside me. ‘I think it’s time I went.’
He came after me. ‘You’ve got my phone number,’ he said, ‘for when you change your mind.’
‘You still haven’t got the message, have you?’
‘Oh, I think I have.’
I left Stowe Pool deeply dissatisfied. My suspicions about Leo Parker had been confirmed. But the worst thing was that he’d voiced the niggling feeling that I’d felt so strongly myself after reaching the end of Samuel’s manuscript. There had to be more.
‘But if there’s a missing section, why is it missing? He must have intended you to have it,’ said Rachel that night when I told her. ‘Samuel was relying on you to see the book was completed and published, wasn’t he?’
‘So he said.’
‘So where is it, Chris?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Samuel must have given you a clue of some kind.’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Well, think. Remember how eccentric he was. A letter, a cryptic note? A key to a desk or a drawer where the manuscript might be hidden?’
I shook my head. ‘Believe me. I’ve been through everything he left me. There’s nothing of that kind. Except—’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, there was a note that his solicitor passed on to me.’
‘What did it say?’
‘It didn’t mean anything.’
‘Chris — what did it say?’
‘The exact words were: Here is the second key. The third is in the lock.’