White Nights - Ann Cleeves [73]
‘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.
‘He ran a drama-in-education company in West Yorkshire. “I’ve always believed in community-based theatre, darling. Really, it’s the most worthwhile work you can do.” Which probably means regular theatre wouldn’t employ him and he’d conned funding out of the Arts Council to set up on his own.’
‘You’re very cynical,’ Perez said.
‘It’s the business. We all start off imagining work with the RSC and end up spouting crap lines to three deaf old ladies for the Equity minimum.’
‘You could give up. You’re young.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘But I still have the dream. I can still see my name in lights in the West End.’
He couldn’t quite tell whether or not she was joking. He pushed himself away from the rail, so he was standing upright.
‘Just a minute.’ She sprang to her feet and disappeared below deck. When she returned she was holding some tickets. ‘Comps for Saturday. See if you can make it. I’m really rather good.’
There was something desperate in the way she spoke. He thought if he rejected the tickets she would see it as a rejection of her. He took them awkwardly, then mumbled that he was very busy, but he’d make it if he could.
When he got into his car she was still watching him.
He phoned the station and spoke first to Sandy.
‘Any news on the victim’s bag?’
‘Well it’s definitely not on the beach.’
Perez asked to be put through to Taylor. ‘I’ve got an identity for our victim.’
‘So have I,’ Taylor said. Perez could hear the smirk, the self-satisfaction. ‘Jeremy Booth. Lives in Denby Dale, West Yorkshire. Runs some sort of theatre group. We’ve just had a phone call from a young woman who works with him. She saw the photo in one of the nationals.’
Perez had nothing to say. Let Taylor have his moment of glory. It was good to have the identity of the victim confirmed.
‘I was thinking someone should go down there,’ Taylor went on, ‘to check out his house and talk to his colleagues. Do you want to do it?’
Perez was tempted. England was still a foreign country. There would be the thrill of exploration. But, he thought, this was a Shetland murder.