hip. He indicated that he was going to get a glass of water and Swift nodded that he would have one. The dry air had made his throat rough. He read quickly through his notes, writing down a few more questions. Then he watched Sheila, who was rubbing the window pane with a finger as she insisted that someone check details on a database.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said, sitting again. ‘I head up two teams and it seems no one else can ever make a decision. I don’t know what they’d do if I broke my leg or decided to go away for a couple of months. They even rang me when I had flu!’
Swift smiled. There was a self-importance to her boasting. He imagined she liked to rule the roost.
‘Was there anything missing from Teddy’s room when he left home that day? Did he take anything with him?’
Sheila shook her head. ‘Nothing apart from his leather rucksack. That would have had his wallet in. The rucksack was found near him but the wallet had gone.’
‘Mobile phone?’
‘He didn’t have one, none of us did in those days. The only other thing the police said was that he had bits of whitethorn in the left pocket of his jacket and bits of blackthorn in his right pocket. That’s Druid stuff again.’
‘Do you have anything of Teddy’s I could look at — old school books, diaries, personal things?’
‘I’m afraid not. Mum burned all his stuff on what would have been his seventeenth birthday. I came home and found a bonfire at the bottom of the garden. She did the same with anything Dad left behind after he went to Australia. Mum used to say — this will sound terrible — she used to say it would have been better for Teddy if he’d died, instead of being left a vegetable.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I’m afraid to say that I’ve found myself thinking like that at times. I go to see Teddy and talk to him but there’s not much point. He gives no sign of knowing anyone, or any understanding. That probably sounds terrible, coming from a nurse.’
She dropped her voice and coughed as Bartlett came in carrying a jug of water and three glasses on a tray. Sheila leapt up to take it from him and busied herself pouring. Bartlett stood by the fire and took a couple of painkillers from a packet on the mantelpiece.
‘Did you never want your children to visit you in Australia?’ Swift asked him, taking a glass of water and drinking. It was tepid.
Bartlett looked down, then at Sheila. ‘I did ask once, about a year after I emigrated, offered to send the tickets . . .’
‘Mum wouldn’t let us go,’ Sheila said. ‘Dad sent me a letter asking and she got hysterical. She made us promise never to go there.’
‘So, you hadn’t seen Teddy since you left, when he was eleven. You didn’t ever visit London?’ Swift looked straight into Bartlett’s eyes, determined that this time he wouldn’t be allowed to let the lids drop.
‘No . . . Tessa said she would refuse to let me see the family, so it seemed best to stay away. I didn’t want to cause any more distress to them all. I hope you don’t think too badly of me, Mr Swift.’ The whining note had come back into his voice. He sat down and once again, Sheila reached for his hand.
‘I wasn’t asking from a moral standpoint,’ Swift said neutrally. He looked at the two of them, hands entwined. It was an interesting scenario and he wondered how chaotic the abandoned family had been. ‘I am happy to take a look at this. I’ll need you to sign a contract and give me a deposit. I need a few more details as well, the name of Teddy’s school and any friends he had, however casual, your Aunt Barbara’s details and Tim’s address. Does he know you’re asking me to investigate?’
‘Sheila has emailed him,’ Bartlett said. ‘And you’ll need to know that he calls himself Tim Christie these days. It was his mother’s name. He decided he didn’t want to keep mine.’
‘I tried to persuade him not to but . . . we don’t really have much contact