“She didn’t glance at the photograph. I didn’t look at the sandwich. This was what had been niggling at me—the as yet uncoded knowledge that Lamberte was the subject of the photograph. I poured out the last of the coffee. It was cool but I sipped it anyway as questions flooded my brain. Who was the photographer? Where and when was the picture taken? I’d been half assuming, without any evidence, that Paula Wilberforce herself was both painter and photographer. If so, what connection was there bet...ween her and Lamberte? And if not … Suddenly the photograph assumed greater importance. Now it was not only a possible clue to Paula Wilberforce’s whereabouts but evidence of a deep hostility towards Lamberte. And therefore a lead to his murderer. ‘Are you all right, sir?’ The waitress was back, looking concerned. I’d been sitting with the coffee cup in my hand, not drinking, and staring into space. I looked now at the big, bursting open sandwich—fresh lettuce, Swiss cheese, ham … The sight of it made me feel ill but I forced myself to smile, take a bite and nod appreciatively.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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