by Daisy White
At about three o’clock, Pearl appears. Her red hair is caught up in a ponytail, and her eyes are shadowed from night shifts.
“Any news? I thought I’d walk down. God, it’s hot today. I feel really crummy, and I’m sure it’s going to storm.” I take her into the back room while we make tea. When we’re alone, she lowers her voice, “You’re doing good, Ruby. All these old ladies know more than that stupid Inspector Hammond and the whole Brighton force.”
“They won’t listen to Leon’s idea though! It really is the only thing tying them all together — the dates on his map. And yesterday they arrested Johnnie—”
“I know — but, look, Rubes, this can’t go any further—”
“What?”
“You remember I mentioned that Johnnie was a poofter.”
I study her pale, set face. ”Of course I do. I mean it is a bit weird, but I’ve sort of got used to the idea. Mary was so shocked though. She still can’t get past the idea that it’s illegal — oh! Do you mean he’s been arrested because he’s queer? No way!”
“Okay, calm down. Not officially but yes, it does have something to do with him being queer. He generally has a boyfriend down in Brighton and for obvious reasons keeps it very quiet. A couple of months ago he started seeing someone new, but I could tell he was in a bit deep. He told me this bloke was falling for him, and it wasn’t an easy relationship.”
“Right. What do you mean? The boyfriend is a suspect? Johnnie has been seeing the murderer?” I’m confused. “You think he knows who did it?”
“Nooo . . . Ruby. You can’t breathe a word of this because there is a lot at stake. Promise?
I nod, bewildered.
“Johnnie has been seeing Inspector Hammond.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Bloody hell, Pearl! Do you think the inspector’s wife suspects anything? He said she comes in here to have her hair done.”
“I know. Me and Victoria found out. It doesn’t matter how, but I needed you to understand why he was arrested. There have been rumours at the police station. I know a couple of people . . . so far it’s only whispers at tea-break kind of stuff. But even gossip is dangerous when it involves something like this. Think about it — a senior policeman is going out with another man. If it got out, it would end Hammond’s career, his marriage, everything. It would be front-page news and he would never be able to work again. Not only that, but he’d be charged with a criminal offence. You can imagine what they’d do to him in prison!”
She takes a drag of her cigarette. “I suppose, what with the pressure of the murder cases and his private life coming under scrutiny, Hammond cracked, especially with all the interest from other divisions. I guess when he found out that Johnnie has a connection to this case, it was a good way to prove to his colleagues that he had nothing to hide, no bias.”
“But Johnnie’s been released.”
“Hammond’s flexed his muscles now. Proved to everyone that he’s as normal as they come. Thinking about it, he probably also wanted to be covered if anyone ever linked him to Johnnie again, if Johnnie was down as a suspect in a murder case. That doesn’t look good to anyone does it?”
I make the tea, frowning, trying to take this in. Inspector Hammond? But it does take care of a loose end. I knew Johnnie wasn’t the murderer. Even so, what a risk to take, for both of them. I wonder if they were actually in love? After the initial shock, I even feel a stab of sadness for both of them. Just because you happen to fancy someone of the same sex, it makes you a criminal?
I rub a hand across my tired face, pushing back my hair. So what are we left with? Carla’s dad has been cleared as well, and he works in a shop, not a building site anyway.
“Rubes, talk to me. What’s going on in your head, sweetheart? Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have told you about Johnnie, but I want you to understand. It’s cool. He’s one of the good guys, no matter what they throw at him.” Pearl pushes back a loose red curl, stubs out her cigarette in a saucer, and takes the tea tray from me, “I’ll carry it for you.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you did tell me. It explains a lot. Pearl, I must find her. I can’t bear to think that she might be . . .” I can’t finish, so I swallow hard and make a massive effort to focus.
My cousin looks right at me. Her blue eyes are full of sympathy. I can tell she wants to prepare me for the worst, but she knows better than to try.
I find my voice. “She’s alive. I know it,” I tell her firmly.
By closing time my box is full and overflowing with scribbled notes. We ran out of paper and Mrs Hayward came back after her cut and dry with a whole load of used envelopes. Her husband runs the post office. I help the others clean up, and then pick up my box and trudge wearily upstairs. Mary has been gone for over two days now, and time is running out.
I put the little pan on our stove and heat a can of tomato soup, grill some toast, and make a mug of tea. Then I change into my pink nightdress, put the food on a tray, and sit cross-legged on Mary’s bed to go through the paper mountain. Many of the scribbled notes are just messages of support, the same as yesterday’s haul. One makes me laugh out loud: ‘Ben Draper done it. He walks round his flat with no clothes on. He is a weirdo and a perv.’
But in among the mad messages and the sweet ones are a few that make me frown with concentration.
‘It’s someone we all know, and these crazy people are good at hiding. I know you walk out with Ted Mathews sometimes. He used to work for Ridgeway’s last summer. Not pointing a finger, but just saying. Be careful, Ruby.’
Ted again? He seemed truly devastated by Linda’s death, but then he never mentioned he worked for Ridgeway’s. Yet he was so honest about having dated Katie and Linda. On the other hand, he has use of a van, and that is important. Somehow the murderer transported those girls up to Glebe House because they sure as hell wouldn’t have headed up there for a romantic date. Especially Carla. She’d have known all about Katie and Linda. I’m completely confused, my mind is spinning, and the beginnings of a headache are niggling above my eyes.
Leaving the victims for a moment, I run through the rest of our little group. What about Leon? He is a bit odd, but he was the one who pointed out the connection with the building sites. And he’s been dating Victoria, so if he was going to kill anyone surely she would be easiest because she knows him.
“Because she knows him.” Was it Johnnie, or the police who said that before? All the girls, Mary included, were streetwise party girls. They weren’t stupid, or totally naïve. Of course I only know Linda and Mary, but no girl would go off to meet a stranger or someone they didn’t trust in the middle of the night, would they?
Which puts Ted firmly back in the frame.
I pick up another note:
‘You was asking about witches and that. I don’t know about the builders but Carla and some of her friends were into talking to the dead, and they had Tarot cards to predict stuff. It’s rubbish of course, but Carla’s friend Maddie said she got some information off a bloke she met and she started being a bit queer. Talk to Maddie. She lives up Dyke Hill Road with her dad in Blake Cottages. He runs the farm for the Manson Estate. The police came and talked to her, but her dad hates them and set the dogs on them so she might tell you more.’
Hell! This could be the real deal — a chance to actually get somewhere in my search for Mary. I look at my watch. Half past eight. Plenty of time to get up to Dyke Hill Road if I catch the bus from the seafront. In my mind’s eye I’m seeing Linda laughing as Victoria shuffles her Tarot cards, seeing Victoria’s pretty, serious face as she explains the Death doesn’t mean you’re actually going to die. What was it Linda said? No, it wasn’t Linda at all, it was one of her brothers. Larry? He came up behind her and made her jump, and said, “Not the bloody cards again, you’re as bad as Carla!”
Carla! I yank off my nightie, grab a cotton dress and slip on my flat shoes. I snatch up my purse on the way out. All the time we’ve been looking in the wrong places, and dismissing this
witchcraft thing.
I hesitate at the door to the salon, and then quickly unlock it and go to the phone. I dial the number from memory. “Hello, I need to speak to James. It’s Ruby. Is he working tonight?”
“No, sorry, love. Him and Ken have just left. I’d give it an hour and then try Ken’s place. You got the number?”
“Yes. Thanks, I will.”
I end the call but stand, frowning, cradling the black receiver. The big pink clock on the salon wall shows me I’ve got ten minutes until the bus goes. Plenty of time, but I need to speak to someone, to let someone know where I’m going. I try another number, and breathe a sigh of relief as Leon answers. “Can I speak to Victoria? Is she there?”
“Of course Ruby. Are you alright?” He sounds as calm as ever, and I imagine him and Victoria drinking a glass of wine as they catch up on the day’s events. “Is there any news of Mary?”
Victoria comes on the line and I quickly explain. “I needed to tell one of you what was going on.”
I can hear her breathing softly, “Ruby, please be careful. You got all this from one note? How do you know it isn’t a set-up?”
Leon says something in the background, and I hear them talking briefly for a moment. “Leon says he’ll drive down and run you up to Dyke Hill Road. I’d come too but I’ve got to be at work by ten. Ruby?”
“Okay. Thanks, that would be great. Tell him I’ll be outside the salon.”
I put the phone down again, my mind going over and over everything I know, and the whole load of information that I don’t. Ted? It just doesn’t fit.
I’m heading for the door when the phone rings.
“Hello, Ruby,” the watcher says, and this time his voice is softer. Almost caressing. Disturbing. “Have you missed me?”
I let out a long gentle breath, and say nothing.
“I felt that,” he tells me. “You need to be careful, Ruby. I like your style but you’re going to wind up getting yourself killed if you get too close to this.”
“How do you know? Did you kill those girls?” I demand, riled at last.
He laughs, “Do you think I’m a murderer? Takes one to know one. Goodbye, Ruby.”
“Wait!” But he’s gone and the line clicks into emptiness. I’m left with the familiar churning guilt and frustration. Damn him for being able to play me whenever he likes. And stupid me for getting sucked into his little game. I thought this time I was in charge.
Leon looks slightly harassed when he finally turns up.
“Sorry, I wanted Victoria to have a proper dinner before she went to work, so I thought I’d try a roast chicken.” He blushes. “It didn’t go very well, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a cook!”
I laugh, sliding in beside him. “What did Victoria say?”
“She said she’d make some toast on her break.” He smiles fondly. “You know, she’s going to be one hell of a nurse, the amount of time she spends studying, and all this hard work. I’m very proud of her.”
“Me too. Sorry to drag you out, but I think this could be really important. If we go up to Blake Cottages on the Dyke Hill Road, I’m trying to find a girl called Maddie. I’m sure Vic told you the rest.”
“I know the cottages, but there are about a half a dozen. Do you have an exact number?”
“No. I was just going to try going door-to-door. If you don’t mind staying in the car, I think she might be more willing to talk to me on my own. The note said she lives with her dad, so it might be better if they assume I’m another girlfriend of Carla’s.”
Leon’s glasses flash in the low evening light as he nods. “I agree. You can always call me if you need help.”
* * *
The steep Dyke Hill Road winds its way across the Downs, heading north-west. Blake Cottages are just on the outskirts of the town, at the end of a bumpy farm track overlooking green slopes dotted with sheep. I’m a city girl at heart, but the countryside in this area always takes my breath away. I say as much to Leon while he’s parking neatly next to a rambling hedge.
“I couldn’t agree more. To think of our ancestors making their homes here, herding their animals, burying their dead in those barrows . . . it’s something that should be respected and preserved. In fact if you look across the road to that next rise, there is a barrow right on top. It’s a perfect place for a picnic. Victoria and I went the other day — so peaceful. We should certainly pay homage to the Ancients!”
I’ve never heard him speak with such passion before, but it is rather sweet that he is so fiercely protective of the countryside, even if I’m not entirely convinced that there is anything romantic about having a picnic on an ancient burial mound. “How’s your book going?”
“Oh, about halfway there. Still stuck in the medieval times at the moment, but I’ll get there. Right, I’ll wait here and if you need me just shout as loud as you can.” He picks up a paper from the back seat, grimaces at the front-page headlines and flicks to the middle.
I stumble over the dusty flint driveway to the first of six terraced cottages. They’re all a bit run down and this must be a miserable spot in the winter, but just now the heavy heat of the evening air carries the scent of the pink rambler roses that crawl unchecked across the little flint and brick houses.
I think hard about my best friend, screw up my courage, and bang on the first door. After a good few minutes, just as I’m despairing, a young woman answers. Her brown hair is all scraped into a messy knot, and her face has a pinched, exhausted look. I smell meat cooking and hear a baby’s screams. Two toddlers totter into the room behind her, one clutching a wooden train.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Maddie.”
Her sharp black eyes check me over. “You one of Carla’s lot?”
“I’m one of her friends, yes.”
“Don’t get into any of that stuff she was doing, okay? I know Maddie regrets it. She’s at number four, and I’ve just seen her getting the washing in.”
One of the toddlers falls over and starts wailing. The woman rolls her eyes and says a curt goodbye before slamming the door.
I’m getting closer to the truth, closer to Mary. I can feel it. Number four has a door of peeling green paint, and so many muddy farm boots piled outside I can hardly get close enough to knock.
A girl of about twenty answers, and I introduce myself again.
“You work at Johnnie’s,” she says, staring suspiciously at me. Her long brown hair reaches her waist.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“My aunt goes there to have her hair done, and sometimes I pick her up afterwards. Are you really one of Carla’s friends?”
She’s clearly not a stupid girl, so I go for honesty. “My friend is missing, and I need to find her. Please help me.”
“You better come in. Dad’s still out with the sheep.”
Inside, the cottage is cramped, but clean. The small scrubbed table is laid for two, and the smell of baking bread warms the stone interior, which is surprisingly cool despite the heat outside.
Maddie lights a cigarette. “I only let you in because I know you’re not a reporter. What with them and the police, Dad’s been going crazy. So do want me to do your cards or the ball? Either would be cool, but we need to get a move on, or Dad’ll be back.”
I must be looking as stupid as I feel, because she gives a sly smile. “They didn’t tell you, did they? I’ve got the gift. My gran had it too. I can talk to the dead, see things that other people miss, that kind of thing. That’s why Carla came, and then she told all her friends.”
“You can see . . . things?” I’m determined not to show weakness, because a bit of me is sure she’s enjoying seeing me so thrown — enjoying her little moment of power. I play along. “Can you tell me where Mary is by looking at the cards?”
“Maybe. I’ll try, but we need to go outside. It’s easier on the hill, where the Ancients used to live.”
It’s so quick and so natural, I almost miss it. “The Ancients?”
; “You know, people who used to live on the Downs, the ancient tribes. Carla and Katie were a bit obsessed with Lady Isabella at Glebe House, and it’s true that is an important site, but Isabella isn’t really that important. She was unfortunate, and she did have the gift, but — well, she just married the wrong man, didn’t she? She could have taken control at any time with her power. I’ve spoken to her.”
Katie. Obviously. “I see. Maddie, do you know a man called Leon? He’s got glasses, tall with brown hair. Or maybe a dark-haired man with a northern accent?”
She frowns and then shakes her head. “No, why?” Then she gives that naughty, knowing smile again. “Although I do know a few men with dark hair.”
“Doesn’t matter. It was just a thought.” Is it really too much of a coincidence that Leon could have used that exact same phrase earlier?
“So did you know Linda, as well? Did — um, did Linda have any gifts?” I scramble frantically for the right thing to say to this self-possessed, self-proclaimed witch. Clearly witches do not have gangs or groups, and I refuse to say ‘coven.’
Maddie pulls out a box from under another table. “No, she didn’t. Come on. She was just a friend who wanted guidance. They mostly ask for that. ‘Who should I see?’ ‘Does he love me?’ Silly. Men are just for procreation, everyone knows that. Linda wanted to know about a man called Ted, I do remember that. I think she was in love with him, but she felt she was too young to settle down.”
Right. I follow the witch out through the kitchen door into the sun-drenched garden, past a basket of dry clothes and a mop and bucket. Sanity returns, and the witch turns into a normal, lonely, slightly sad-looking girl.
“We’ll sit over there.” Maddie walks through a row of beans and pushes through lavender and daises, before settling herself and her box onto a wooden bench, “Wait — no, we need to be closer to them. Sit on the grass instead.” She takes out a familiar box of shiny cards, and a small glass ball on a wooden stand.
