‘He had a bag with him?’
‘Like a black leather holdall.’
‘Where did you pick him up from? Hotel? B&B?’
Stuart grinned. ‘No. From the Victoria Pier. He was staying on that boat that turns into a theatre, The Motley Crew. You know the one?’
‘It’s quite a drive out to Biddista. What did you chat about?’
‘He was an interesting man, an actor. He was talking about some of the parts he’d played. Theatre, film. I mean maybe some of it was bullshit, all the people he said he’d met, but you sort of didn’t mind, because he was still entertaining.’
‘Did he say what he was doing in Shetland?’
‘I asked him that. I’d have gone to see him if he was in a play here. But he said he was looking up some old friends.’
‘And all the time he seemed quite rational? He didn’t claim he was feeling unwell?’
‘Nothing like that. He was brilliant company. It was a really easy way to make a few quid.’
‘He definitely took the bag with him? You’re sure he didn’t leave it in your boot?’
‘Absolutely. I thought it was kind of odd.’
‘What was?’ Perez was glad that he’d decided to interview Stuart himself. By now, Taylor would be beside himself with impatience.
‘Well when we got to Biddista I went right up to the jetty to turn round. And I saw the man stick the bag just below the sea wall on the beach. It would have been quite safe there. It was well above the tideline and folks wouldn’t have been able to see it from the road. But it just seemed strange. I mean, if he was going to stay with friends, wouldn’t he have taken the bag with him?’
‘He was going to the exhibition opening at the Herring House,’ Perez said.
‘Still, you’d have thought he’d keep it with him. I’m sure there’d have been somewhere to leave it.’ This detail seemed to fascinate Stuart more than the reason for the man’s death.
‘Did he say where he planned to sleep that night?’
‘I imagined he’d be staying with his friends. He didn’t seem worried at all about getting a lift back to town.’
‘Did he tell you who his friends were?’
‘No, and I asked him. Aggie who runs the post office is a sort of relative. A cousin of my grandmother, something like that. But he just launched into another story, so I never found out.’
‘He must have told you his name,’ Perez said.
‘Just his first name. And that wasn’t anything I’d heard before. I thought maybe it was something popular in the south. Or a nickname.’
‘So what was that?’ Perez thought that soon even his patience would run out.
‘Jem. Not Jim. Jem.’
Before he left the ferry terminal for Victoria Pier, Perez phoned Sandy and asked about the bag. There’d been a search around the jetty at Biddista, but he wasn’t sure how far it had extended along the beach. He couldn’t believe they’d have missed it, but he needed to check.
He drove too fast into the town. He had a sudden panic that he would arrive at the pier and find the theatre ship had gone, but it was still there, moored near the end of the jetty. A big new banner strapped to the wooden hull read LAST PERFORMANCE SATURDAY.
A young woman was sitting on the deck, sunning herself like a cat. She wore cropped jeans and a long red jumper and there was something feline about the flat face and the green eyes narrowed and lengthened by black eyeliner. She was leaning against the cabin and had a script on her knee but seemed not to be reading it.
‘Excuse me.’
She looked up and smiled. ‘Do you want tickets for tonight? I think there are a couple left. It’s well worth seeing.’
‘Are you one of the actors?’
‘Actor, set designer, front-of-house manager, general dogsbody. Hang on a minute and I’ll fetch the tickets.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the show’s great, but that’s not why I’m here.’ He stepped aboard, thinking this was a lovely old vessel, the timbers weathered, honey-coloured. ‘My name’s Jimmy Perez and I work for Shetland Police.’
‘Lucy Wells.’ She remained where she was sitting.
‘Did you hear about the guy who was killed in Biddista earlier in the week?’
‘No. Shit.’
‘It’s been all over the news. He was found hanging in the boathouse there. He’d been strangled.’
‘It’s crazy,’ she said. ‘Life on the boat. Like living in a bubble. You’re rehearsing for the next show during the day and performing at night. The country could have gone to war and I’d not have known about it.’
‘Are you missing one of your actors?’
‘No.’
He had been so certain that the dead man had been part of the theatre group that the answer threw him.
‘A middle-aged man. Shaved head.’
‘Sounds like Jem,’ she said, ‘but he wasn’t part of the group. Not really. He was more of a hanger-on. A friend of the management. And he didn’t go missing. We knew he was leaving.’
‘We think he might be the dead man,’ Perez said. ‘Would you be able to identify him from a photo?’
She nodded. He saw she had started to cry.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Sorry, it’s just a shock. I didn’t even like him particularly. He was a bit of a nuisance. Not his fault, he was pleasant enough, but the accommodation here is cramped as it is and he was foisted on to us. It’s horrible to think he’s dead. I couldn’t wait to see the back of him, so it’s almost as if it’s my fault. Wish fulfilment.’
‘What was Jem’s full name?’
‘Booth. Jeremy Booth.’
‘How did he land up with you?’
‘Like I said, he’s a friend of the management. He was one of the original team. The Motley Crew’s been touring the Scottish coast for donkey’s years. Jem needed somewhere to crash and we were told to put him up.’
‘What was he doing in Shetland?’
‘Who knows? None of us took a lot of notice of him. He was full of himself and his own importance. He made out that he was here on some mysterious mission. The deal of a lifetime. We thought it was all crap and we were just pleased he was leaving.’
‘If you could remember exactly what Mr Booth said about the deal, it would be very useful. Even a small detail might help.’ Perez paused.
There was a moment of silence. She set the script carefully face-down on the deck. Then she closed her eyes.
‘He talked about a weird coincidence. “A blast from the past. A rave from the grave.” That was the way he spoke. You know, kind of knowing, self-mocking, but still thinking he was hip. He was a joker, one of those people who are full of gags that never quite make you laugh. He said there was a nice little deal which would set him up for a few years if he could play it right.’
‘Did he mention any names?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sure he didn’t. Like I said, he enjoyed being mysterious.’
‘When did he arrive with you?’
‘The twenty-second. Two days after The Motley arrived in Lerwick.’ And two days before Booth was seen handing out the notices which cancelled the Herring House exhibition to the cruise passengers.
‘Did he come on the plane or the ferry?’
‘The ferry. It was a tiny bit bumpy when he came across and he was ill. You wouldn’t believe the fuss he made. The next day he went off somewhere. He was back that night, then we didn’t see him again.’
If he’d arrived on the ferry, Stuart Leask would have access to all the man’s contact details, Perez thought. In an hour they’d have a full name and address, a phone number and access to a credit-card account. Their victim was no longer anonymous. The investigation was suddenly more manageable. More ordinary.
‘Did he tell you where he came from?’ Perez was interested in what the victim had said about himself, to find out how close it was to the truth.