‘I’m not sure I can help you with that either. I’m not sure Jeremy knew himself. It was all dreams and stories with him. He featured in his own dramas. In his head of course. None of it was real.’ She stared out into the immaculate garden. ‘He’d have quite enjoyed this. Being the object of so much attention.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘At work. We were both teachers. He taught English and I worked in the technology department, doing craft and cooking. That summed us up really. I was the practical one; he was into fiction, words. He swept me away with his words. In his spare time he ran the school’s youth theatre. That was his real passion. He’d done a lot of acting when he was a student, got into the Central School, but couldn’t get funding to do the course. He was very bitter about that.’
‘We haven’t been able to trace any other family. Is there anyone else we should inform about his death?’
She shook her head. ‘He was an only child. The classic only child: spoiled rotten and left to play too much on his own. His parents were quite elderly when we married. They’re probably dead now.’
Taylor felt he was losing control of the interview. He’d brought Jebson along to observe, not to take over.
‘You say you hadn’t seen Mr Booth since he left sixteen years ago,’ he said. ‘Have you communicated with him at all?’
‘He’s paid maintenance for Ruth since he left. Not a lot. He’s never had steady work. Since he set up the drama-in-education company things have been a bit better. I never wanted to make a fuss about the money and we had no direct contact over that. It was as if he preferred not to think about us.’
‘Did you try to find him when he left?’
‘Of course I did! I worshipped him. But he’d left his job at the school too. Just walked out. Gave no notice, asked for no reference. I thought he must be going through some sort of breakdown, tried psychiatric hospitals, the police, the Salvation Army. I imagined him sleeping on the streets, in some horrible hostel.’
‘Did you ever find out where he went after he left you?’
‘To his mummy and daddy.’ She sounded very bitter. ‘Hardly the great romantic gesture, was it? Running home like a scared child. Of course I contacted them but they told me they hadn’t heard from him. He got them to lie for him.’
‘And there was nothing, really, that precipitated his going?’
‘It was when Ruth was born,’ she said. ‘That was when things started changing.’
She paused, and Taylor wished she’d get to the point.
Perhaps Jebson sensed his impatience, because she cut in with a question. For such a big, ungainly lass, she had a gentle voice.
‘In what way did things change, Mrs Stapleton?’
‘I don’t know what he’d been expecting. He was so excited when I found out I was pregnant. Maybe some ideal of family life. A child who would adore him. Certainly not nappies and crying, coming home to an exhausted wife who suddenly made demands on him. And then Ruth wasn’t the perfect baby he’d visualized for himself.’
‘In what way wasn’t she perfect?’
‘She was born with a cleft palate. You wouldn’t know now. She’s a beautiful young woman. But there have been lots of spells in hospital. And when we first brought her home she was an ugly little thing. I think he was repulsed by her. And disgusted with himself for feeling that way. Perhaps that’s what brought matters to a head. He couldn’t face the reality, couldn’t lose himself in theatre any more. So he just ran away. He pretended she’d never been born.’
‘Can you think why anyone would have wanted to kill him?’
‘I’d probably have killed him,’ she said. ‘If I’d tracked him down to his parents’ house. If I’d caught him there, being waited on by them while I was struggling to keep things going at home.’
‘Did he have any family and friends in Shetland?’
‘No family. If he made friends there it was after my time.’
She offered them more tea, handed them biscuits, smiled to show she really didn’t care any more. There was the sound of the key in the door.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Shall we leave,’ Taylor said, ‘so you can talk to Ruth on her own?’
‘No. She’ll probably have questions. You’ll be able to answer them better than me.’
Ruth was, as her mother had said, a beautiful young woman. Dark-haired, full-breasted, with a wide smile. She stood in the door and looked at them. She was wearing jeans and a loose white top, easy with her body. She was curious about who they were, but too polite to ask.
‘These people are detectives,’ Amanda Stapleton said. ‘They have some news about your father.’
The girl looked at them, horrified. ‘What about him? What has he done?’
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?’