Part 15 (1/2)

Chapter Twenty-five.

Perez had thought he might go back to Biddista when he left the care centre, call in to the Manse and see if he could find Roddy on his own. He felt he understood the young man a bit better now, still believed Roddy might have information that could help with the inquiry. But the news that Sandy had tracked down the victim's lift made that impossible. How could he justify any delay to Taylor?

He found Stuart Leask at work behind the check-in desk in the ferry terminal at Holmsgarth. He was young and gap-toothed with untamed red hair. The terminal was quiet and echoing. It would be three hours before people would be allowed on to the boat.

'Do you mind chatting here?' Stuart said. 'Only I'm on my own till Chrissie gets back from lunch.'

Perez leaned against the desk. 'Sandy Wilson said you gave a chap a lift to Biddista the night of the Herring House party. Can you tell me what happened there?'

'I was just coming off duty and this guy came into the terminal. I mean the Hrossey had long gone and I was about to leave, but I asked if I could help. He wanted to know about car hire. I said he'd left it a bit late, there'd be no one in the office until eight the next morning.'

'What did he look like?'

'Skinny. Pleasant enough. English. He was wearing black trousers and a black jacket. A bit crumpled, but as if it was supposed to look like that. And bald, but as if that was intentional too.'

'And did he seem OK in himself? I mean, not distressed or confused.'

'Not at all. As if it was all a bit of a joke, having missed his lift to Biddista.'

'He said he'd arranged for someone else to take him?'

'Aye, he'd booked a taxi but the guy hadn't turned up.'

'I still don't see how you ended up taking him.'

Stuart looked embarra.s.sed. 'I offered. I know, it was just stupid. Marie, my la.s.s, says I'm just a sucker and people are always taking advantage. But he was a nice guy and I wasn't doing anything else that night and he paid me what the taxi would have charged.'

'Did you go straight from here?'

'Aye, but we had to go and pick up his bag first.'

'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 bulls.h.i.+t, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 SAt.u.r.dAY.

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?'