I looked at the cards for a while before I put them away. Then I decided to go through my photos again. The shots of the visit to the Fosseway site by Lindley Simpson and Leo Parker were now added to the earlier ones. Leo could be seen talking to the MP, to the chairman of the restoration trust, to Andrew Hadfield and some of the other members. He was recognisable mostly by the set of his shoulders, as he seemed to have managed to keep his back to the camera throughout. But Frank must have seen him clearly from the banking above the wharf to recognise him as the man who’d been asking questions at the bowls club.
I had got a blow-up done of one of the earlier pictures of Fosseway. It was the one that showed Samuel looking towards me across the restored lock, but in the enlargement only Samuel’s face and the shoulders of his black coat were visible. I stared at my great-uncle’s photograph in bafflement, the questions colliding with each other as they rushed into my mind. Captured by the lens, Samuel’s weary face was gaunt with sorrow and guilt, and etched with a bitterness that had lasted, undimmed, for over fifty years. As I looked at him, I tried to picture him as a handsome young man, who’d been so tempted by desire for his own brother’s wife that he’d committed a desperate act.
I stuck the picture on the corkboard over my desk, along with the square black and white print of George and Samuel as boys.
There was also another good photograph of Samuel at Fosseway, but more in the distance. He was pictured across the lock, on the far side of a black gulf. There was a pleading expression in his eyes, as if he were still appealing to me from the grave.
Then I noticed an even earlier shot from that same day. The yellow dumper truck was in the foreground, backing up to the spoil tip near the tailgates. I’d taken the picture because of the contrast between the yellow of the dumper and the black of the damp earth, as well as the sense of movement and the serious expressions on the faces of the workers. But in the background of the photograph was Samuel.
I hadn’t noticed him when I was taking the picture, because I’d been focusing on the activity around the lock. But there he was, and he’d evidently just arrived at the site, because he was standing with his back to the open door of a car, leaning slightly forward as if caught in the very act of getting out. The car was a light green saloon, but I couldn’t tell the make. Surely Samuel hadn’t arrived in a car — he didn’t even have one. But then I realised it was the passenger door he was getting out of. Someone had brought him to Fosseway that morning.
I went into the sitting room and rummaged through the drawers of the sideboard. Somewhere among the old postcards and spare fuses and bits of string I knew there was a magnifying glass. I couldn’t remember it ever having been used for anything, but it was one of those bits of clutter that my parents had refused to throw away. After a few minutes of tossing things aside, I finally found it and took it to the front room.
The magnifying glass was enough to increase the clarity of the bit of the car that I could see past Samuel. I could make out the grille, and a distinctive badge. Then I knew the car was a Mercedes. A lime-green Mercedes. I’d ridden in that car myself, after Samuel’s funeral. It was Laura Jenner’s car.
I dropped the photo, engulfed by a cold, sick feeling of apprehension. So Laura had been the one who brought Samuel to the Fosseway site that morning, when he’d first sought me out. Samuel had never mentioned it. More to the point, Laura had never mentioned it either. She’d deceived me all along about knowing Samuel. What else had she lied to me about?
My heart felt like a stone as I contemplated the awful truth. Laura had known about the entire thing. She’d led me on to feed her with information, to keep her up to date with everything I found out. And she’d been clever enough to let me think it was all my own idea.
Another thought struck me. Caroline hadn’t been the only one who knew where to find Godfrey Wheeldon. I’d actually taken Laura with me when I went to see him. Had my desire to spend a day with Laura been a mistake that proved fatal for that lonely old man?
So who was Laura Jenner? That was the big question. But I already knew the answer with devastating clarity. She could only be a Parker.
49
The realisation that Laura Jenner was involved drove me straight back to my car. I made it to Hints in record time, cutting up a cement lorry in the spray on the A5. I’d brought the photograph of Laura with Godfrey Wheeldon at Chester Zoo — the one that showed her with a frank, happy smile and the sun casting a faint shadow where the scar crossed her forehead.
As I approached Leasow Court through the rain-filled potholes, I saw Leo Parker’s BMW leaving the gates and heading off southward towards the A38. I knew if he made it to the dual carriageway I’d soon lose him in his more powerful car, so I put my foot down and brought the Escort close up behind his rear bumper, flashing my lights and sounding my horn.
I didn’t care about the physical risk I was taking in the treacherous conditions. An unnatural recklessness had come over me. I knew that it was too late for staying on the sidelines and the only way to achieve anything was by confrontation. Even what Leo had told me earlier in the day hadn’t changed that — if anything, it had made me less cautious. There seemed to be so little left to lose.
Leo must have seen the Escort, but he seemed intent on ignoring me until he had to slow for a sharp bend near the woods at Canwell Hall. My bumper actually touched his tailplate with a sudden jolt and a screech of metal. He swung over onto a pull-in of flattened earth and his brake lights came on as he skidded to a halt. I just had time to draw in alongside, ending up at a slight angle to avoid his rear wing.
Leo had started to climb out of his door, but my adrenaline was rushing and I was much quicker than he was, leaping out almost before the Escort had stopped, so that the engine stalled. We ended up face to face at the side of his BMW, with the rain driving on our heads.
‘Are you crazy? What the hell is this?’ he shouted.
I reckoned, in my bravado, that I had the measure of him. He was a man who didn’t fear for his own personal safety, but was terrified that I might damage his precious car. So I leaned deliberately on the roof of the BMW with the flat of my hand.
‘I think there’s something you forgot to tell me, Leo.’
‘Is that all? Is there one more question you want to ask? Have you ever heard of the bloody telephone?’
The dual carriageway was only yards away from us, the width of one field, and we had no alternative but to shout at each other above the roar of the traffic and the blustering slap of the rain.
‘This one happens to be bloody important. It looks like an unbelievable oversight that you forgot to mention it.’
‘I told you everything I know about your family. I’m sorry if it didn’t make you happy, but that’s just tough.’
‘And what about your family? Did you tell me everything about them?’
‘There’s no damn reason why I should.’
‘Just tell me this — how is Laura Jenner connected to you?’
‘Who the hell is Laura Jenner? I’ve never heard the name.’
‘Well, that’s what she’s been calling herself while she led me on and got information from me. While she planned her betrayal. But I dare say that’s not her real name. I presume she’s yet another Parker.’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’
I pulled out the photograph I’d taken at Chester Zoo and slammed it on the wet roof of the car. ‘I’m talking about this woman.’
Parker stared at the photo. He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I’ve never seen this person before in my life.’