White Nights - Ann Cleeves [86]
Stella Jebson got up and stood next to the girl. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she said. ‘We’ve got some bad news.’
The girl perched on the arm of the nearest chair. ‘What’s happened?’
‘He’s dead,’ Jebson said. Perhaps she’d realized that Amanda would find it hard to say the words. ‘I’m really sorry, love.’
‘How did he die? Was he ill?’
‘He was murdered. We’re here because we’re trying to find out who killed him.’
The girl started to sob, taking in great gulps of air. It was hard to tell if it was grief or shock. Taylor thought it was a dramatic way to carry on when she hadn’t seen her father since she was born, but that was teenage girls for you. They were all drama queens. Her mother got to her feet, awkwardly put her arms around her daughter, held the girl to her, stroked her hair.
‘I’ve told them you wouldn’t be able to help them,’ Amanda said. ‘But I wanted them to be here if there was anything you wanted to know.’
Again, Taylor found himself disturbed by the show of emotion. ‘We’ll leave you,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you my number; call me if you think of anything.’
They were standing at the car when Ruth ran out of the door to join them. Amanda was at the front window watching them.
‘I want to talk to you,’ Ruth said. Her eyes were very red. ‘But not here. Not with my mother around.’
‘Where then?’
‘There’s a coffee shop in the main street in Heswall. It’s open until seven. I’ll see you there in an hour. I’ll tell her I’m meeting my boyfriend.’
The last thing Taylor wanted was to kick his heels in the Wirral for an hour, but there was something so fierce about the demand to meet that he couldn’t refuse.
The girl turned up ten minutes late, looking harassed and drawn. The coffee shop was one of a chain, all brown leather sofas, piped bland music and hissing machines. Taylor stood up to buy her a coffee and when he got back from the counter with her cappuccino she was already deep in conversation with Jebson.
‘Ruth’s been in contact with her father recently,’ Jebson said. ‘That was what she wanted to talk to us about.’
‘Why did he get in touch with you?’ Taylor asked.
‘He didn’t. I found him.’
‘How?’
‘Interact, his theatre company, came to do a gig at school. Drug awareness. You know the sort of thing. He wasn’t there but his name was all over the publicity and there was a phone number. I knew he’d gone into acting, thought it was probably a coincidence, but I gave him a ring anyway. Plucked up courage when I had an afternoon’s study leave and no one was about. I didn’t tell my mother. I knew she’d go ape. She’d just be worried about him pissing me about . . . And I didn’t want to hurt John, my stepdad. I love him to bits.’
‘What did you say when you phoned?’ Jebson seemed genuinely interested.
‘“I think you might be my father.” Something like that. I thought, Why not go for the direct approach?’
‘Was he pleased to hear from you?’
‘I think it was a shock, but yeah, he said he was pleased. We were on the phone for ages talking. It cost me a fortune – it was my mobile and he never thought to call me back. Classic Dad.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Oh, you know, it was just catching up. What he’d been doing. Where I was at in school. Plans for the future, that sort of thing.’
‘What were his plans for the future?’ Taylor asked.
‘He said he was going away. To Shetland. He asked if I’d ever been there and I said I hadn’t. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure where it was. I went on to the computer later and looked the islands up. He said they were beautiful. Very bleak but beautiful. He couldn’t wait to go back.’
‘Did he say why he was going?’
‘Basically business, he said. He was going to do some work there. Not really the sort of gig he usually took on, but it would give him a chance to catch up with old friends.’
‘Did he mention the names of the friends?’
‘I don’t think so. If he did I don’t remember.’ She’d been speaking very quickly, answering Taylor’s questions as soon as they were asked, but now she paused. ‘We’d arranged to meet. He was going to come here when he got back. He said he wanted