Стивен Бут - Drowned Lives

‘Why them?’

‘Leo Parker, that’s why. There’s the connection.’

‘There are nearly two hundred years between them.’

‘So? There’s the same amount of time between William Buckley and me. And why else should Leo Parker turn up now? Of course there’s a connection. That man did his best to get the manuscript and the letters off me when he came here. And with that break-in, I think he’s succeeded.’

‘But why? I don’t understand. It’s all ancient history, isn’t it?’

‘There’s at least one person who doesn’t think it is.’

First of all, I tried Leo Parker’s number from the card he’d left me, but I got his voice on an answering machine and had to leave a stumbling message.

I knew Laura was back in London, but she’d left me the phone number at a house she shared in Shepherd’s Bush. I’d imagined a couple of girls, and I was taken aback when a man’s voice answered and offered to fetch Laura for me.

‘Who was that?’ I asked, rather abruptly.

‘Just one of the people I share with. His name’s Ian.’

‘Oh.’

She laughed at the tone of my voice. ‘Are you jealous, Chris? Don’t worry, Ian’s gay.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ I couldn’t say any more, for fear of presuming too much on our new relationship.

‘But you weren’t phoning to check on my sex life, I suppose,’ she said.

‘I’d thought you’d want to know about the developments here.’

‘Ah. Do tell.’

She listened intently as I told her about the remains found at the wharf and about Frank, and summarised the information Rachel had come up with, which led me to think that the body might be William Buckley’s. I almost told her about the hypothetical feud, but hesitated, and kept it to myself.

‘She’s been busy, this Rachel, hasn’t she?’ said Laura.

‘I think she’s got interested in the project. She hasn’t much else to do, you see. Not since her divorce.’

‘And this woman is living right next door to you? It sounds as though you might need protection.’

I realised I’d told her nothing of the break-in. But I reflected that it might sound as though I was too concerned about Rachel’s welfare, and I kept quiet.

‘Is there an inquest then?’ she asked. ‘Even though the body is so old?’

‘Er, I don’t know. DS Graham didn’t say.’

‘I suppose there might have to be, by law.’

‘They can only give evidence of cause of death anyway. There’ll be no formal identification.’

‘Unless you have this DNA test.’

‘Even that wouldn’t prove conclusively it was William Buckley,’ I said. ‘Only that it was someone related to me. It could be — I don’t know — Thomas Buckley, say.’

‘Who?’

‘My great-great-uncle. Rachel says he died in the Great War.’

‘Was there a famous First World War battle fought at Lichfield then? Will they unearth thousands of dead Germans at Fosseway?’

‘I’m only suggesting him as an example.’

‘I know.’

She sounded vague, as if she was doing something else while I was speaking. ‘Laura, are you listening?’

‘I’m just checking my diary,’ she said. ‘I could run up to Lichfield this weekend, if you think I can be of any help.’

‘Yes, I think you could,’ I said, trying unsuccessfully to hide my delight at the prospect of seeing her again. ‘Will you book into the George again?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Laura — have you managed to call at the Family Records Centre?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a few things to share with you when I see you.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

The Lichfield Echo that Thursday also contained my article and a spread of photos on the visit by Lindley Simpson to Fosseway. I cringed slightly at what they must have said at the Echo office about my report making no mention of the sensational developments at the end of the visit, when the excavator had unearthed human remains. What sort of a reporter missed that?

My professional reputation must be pretty low with the Echo now, just at a time when I might need to call in old favours. But at least they’d used the feature, which meant a bit of valuable income. It was a good spread, too, which the restoration trust would be pleased with.

As if to emphasise this, a call came from Andrew Hadfield, who’d seen the Echo .

‘Your piece was brilliant, Chris,’ he said. ‘Exactly the sort of publicity we need. The committee are delighted with it. They’re all ordering prints of the pictures showing them with Lindley Simpson.’

‘It didn’t get the same prominence as the other story, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, the old skeleton. Never mind. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’

‘Have the police mentioned anything to you about who they think it is?’

‘No,’ said Andrew. ‘Presumably it’s just some Irish navvy. They died in droves on the old canal projects.’

‘Yes, that’s probably it.’

‘Anyway,’ he said briskly, ‘thanks again for the article. I thought I came out of it particularly well. Remind me some time that I owe you a favour.’

Dan Hyde had left two more messages on the answerphone asking me to contact him urgently, and finally I had to face up to it. He wanted to tell me that he’d made an appointment to see the bank manager in a few days’ time to discuss our loan for the start-up — specifically, our inability to pay it back.

‘If he’s in a bad mood, it could be curtains, you know, Chris.’

‘Yes, thanks a lot.’

‘Had the house valued yet?’

‘It won’t come to that,’ I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. ‘Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. About this anonymous backer.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Did this person ever exist?’

‘That’s hurtful. Of course he existed. It’s just that he made it a specific condition of the agreement that he should never be identified. Don’t ask me why. In fact, I don’t even know it was a “he”. I only ever dealt with a lawyer anyway — and you know what lawyers are like. They’re almost as bad as bank managers.’

‘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.