BEFORE I LEFT a gripping psychological thriller full of killer twists

by Daisy White

  “I remember. We did look into it. We questioned the manager of Ridgeway’s and several site foremen. As I said, we are trying to solve this case, but it takes time to follow up every lead.” She sounds a little impatient.

  “Do you still have the map?”

  “It’ll probably be with the case files. Why?”

  I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I speak. I need to keep calm and present the facts, even though my heart’s pounding so hard I feel sick. “Did it show the projected completion dates for all the sites around Brighton, or just the ones that have already been signed off?”

  “I really can’t remember. Why?” She sounds interested at last and I want to scream with relief.

  “Because I think that the murderer took Mary because she is due to give birth, and he wants the baby. That stuff I told Inspector Hammond about earlier, you need to get Leon in because I’m sure he is connected somehow.”

  “What — a baby? God, that’s . . . okay, Ruby, I’ll look into it.”

  She rings off and I stand with the receiver in one hand, staring at my audience. At least she had dropped the rather too formal ‘Miss Baker.’

  “You think he’s keeping Mary for the next significant date, don’t you?” Johnnie asks. He sounds very different from the way he usually does — none of the usual amused drawl.

  “Yes, or her baby. Oh, and have you been helping Leon with his book? He said you were really knowledgeable about local history.”

  “I did give him a bit of background on Glebe House, yes. In fact, I put him in touch with an amateur historian friend, because he was interested in the family who used to own the place. The family even has a distant connection to ours through unfortunate Isabella — some sort of third cousin by marriage. Why do you ask?”

  I shake my head, “It’s not important now, but did you mention ‘the Ancients’ to Leon at all?”

  “In what context? Ancient peoples? Historical buildings? My parents? Probably but I don’t know if I would have used that exact phrase.”

  “Yes, sort of all those. Oh look, it doesn’t matter. God, the police are far too slow. I’ve got a better idea. Where’s the paper?”

  I grab the inky sheets, tearing through the headlines until I come to the pages of adverts. A photo of a new house, and lots of copy about how wonderful it is to live in Brighton, near the sea and the Downs. I skim impatiently to the bottom. There it is, in bold, slightly smudged black letters:

  Hurry! Downsview is a small deluxe development of just twenty new houses. Add your name to our buyers list and find out if you have secured your dream home on May 24.

  Don’t delay! Secure your future today!

  I dial the number on the advert with shaky fingers. “Hello? I just wondered if you are still releasing the new Downsview homes tomorrow?”

  “Yes, we are! You wouldn’t believe how many calls we’ve had, but then it is a beautiful place to live—”

  I cut her off, and turn to the others. “Tomorrow. The next development is unveiled tomorrow. We’ve got twelve hours to find Mary and her baby.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mrs Carpenter is back in again, so we enlist her services.

  “We need everyone out looking for Mary. Tell them that we’ve found out if she isn’t rescued before tomorrow, he’ll kill her, and the baby.”

  “Of course. But that’s horrific. How do you know?”

  “Um . . . just a source. I know it’s hard to believe. Tell everyone you can. Oh, wait — Johnnie’s back. He’s got loads of copies of the photo we’ve got up in the window. We’ll give them out to all our clients, and then we’re going door-to-door after we close.”

  “Here, I’ll take some down to Brenda’s, and a couple for the ice-cream shop and Dick’s.” Catherine grabs her coat.

  The salon buzzes with activity and chat, and in between shampoos, cuts, and styles, we take it in turns to ring round our friends, updating everyone and telling them how urgent it is.

  James says he’ll head out along the coast road to check out beach huts, nets sheds, and any other likely places Mary could be kept prisoner.

  I’m sure Ted’s gang have already searched the coast road, but another look can’t hurt. “We need the police to arrest Leon, but they work so slowly. Can you find anything out from your mysterious source? Where’s Kenny? Is he not with you at work?”

  “No, he’s working on something at his flat. I think he might have a lead.”

  “On our story?”

  “You told him to check out Leon, didn’t you? Well, he met up with him last night for a coffee. Anyway, Ken asked for this morning off work to follow up on ‘something big.’ Don’t get too excited, he does this on a regular basis, and often it comes to nothing. He’s such a hero sometimes! You okay, Rubes? Call me if you need anything.”

  I agree that I will and as soon as Johnnie is free, I drag him into the back room. “Look, it all keeps coming back to two people. Leon and, oh God, Ted.” I tap the red circle with their names in. “They both had the opportunity to get to know the girls we hang out with, and they both have access to vehicles for transporting the bodies.”

  “They also have an alibi for two of the murders,” Johnnie points out drily. “Having been dragged through the wringer myself in that interview room, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone who wasn’t guilty.” He shudders. “I struggle to believe Leon has anything to do with the murders. He’s totally obsessed with his damn book, and he’s like a walking history lesson. Ted can be a bit moody, but I’ve never seen him threaten a girl.”

  I sigh, and fiddle with a loose thread on my pinny. “I really like Ted, but he dated two of the victims, and according to an anonymous note, did some casual work for Ridgeway’s last summer. He has also been directing search parties, which means he knows exactly where we are looking. Or where we haven’t.”

  “I don’t remember Ted working on any building sites,” Johnnie says, lighting another cigarette.

  “Hmmm . . . back to Leon. Clearly, he has a thing about the Downs, and talking about ‘the Ancients’ makes a connection with her,” I jab Maddie’s name viciously. “That means he might know her, and therefore have a way into another group of girls who would never suspect him until it’s too late. Think about it! We’ve said all along these girls wouldn’t go off with someone they didn’t know. He isn’t lying in wait in the alleys snatching them off the streets. He’s probably offering them lifts home, or cheating on Victoria and pretending he’s in love with them or something.”

  Johnnie picks up a pencil and taps his teeth thoughtfully, in a way that reminds me of my cousin. “Any more suspects? If either of Leon or Ted is the murderer, they are pretty damn clever. It makes sense though. If one of them has got Mary, and he’s hiding her — and bloody well, considering all the search parties that have gone out — we need to follow him, get her out, and then deal with him.”

  “On our own?”

  “If we have to. Ideally the police will pull him in for questioning and keep him for at least twenty-four hours. Even if they don’t charge him, he’ll be locked up so he can’t hurt anyone. And if the date is significant, it’ll have passed by then. Did you get Leon on the phone just now when you were ringing round?”

  “Yes, he was perfectly normal and he said it’s Victoria’s day off, so they were going out for a picnic and then coming down here to join the search parties.”

  “Right, that sounds okay. We can talk to him later. What about Ted?”

  “His mum doesn’t have a phone and there’s no answer from his work number.”

  “Exactly what I was afraid of. Did you say anything when you last saw him that might have spooked him?” Johnnie runs a frustrated hand across his blonde head, making the hair stand up in spikes.

  I think about it, remembering Ted updating me on the search, his eyes shadowed and exhausted. “No, I don’t think so. He was very organised and told me exactly where he had been—”

  “Phone for you, Ruby! It’s that rep
orter boy, Kenny.”

  “Thanks. Kenny! What are you doing? James said—”

  “Ruby, I’ve got some stuff for you. I took a load of archived papers home to go through, and borrowed some of the nationals from the library.”

  “And?” I clench my fist around the phone.

  “I know you said to have a look at Leon, but nothing popped up so I started messing around with a few more names from our group. I hate to say it, but I found something big on Ted. Of course there are a lot of people with the same name, and trawling through court records and files is not my favourite thing—”

  “Get on with it!”

  “Sorry. Ted was questioned in connection with the murders of two girls on a building site in Manchester. He was employed as a casual labourer on the site, and it was only reported down here because the father of one of the victims lived in Brighton. I did some digging into the court records around about that time — he would have been seventeen — and he also has a conviction for assault. A street fight. But it looks like you were right about one thing, Rubes, he has an obsession with the building projects.”

  “Are there any details of the girls who were killed in Manchester?” My heart is thumping and my throat is dry.

  “They were found in a shallow grave in the middle of a new housing estate. The estate was built on the remains of a Roman villa, but was thoroughly excavated by archaeological teams before the developers started work . . . blah, blah, some kind of ritual killing was suspected because the bodies were not interfered with and the girls were lying on their backs, blah, blah . . . oh, here it is: ‘The two victims were found with their throats cut, and their hands neatly folded on their chests.’”

  Bile rises in my throat, and I blink back tears. “Ted. I can’t believe it. We need to find him.”

  “I don’t like it either, but it adds up. He was with Linda the night she was murdered, and he admitted to dating Katie as well. Do you want me to tell the police?”

  “Yes! We need anything that will help get him off the streets until we find Mary.” I explain Johnnie’s theory, and he agrees.

  “I’ll ring the police now, and then drag James out. We’ll see if we can find out where Ted is now.”

  “Well, he’s not at work, because I just tried there.”

  “Hell. Speak to you later anyway.”

  “I know. Be careful,” I say, putting the receiver down and dragging my thoughts together. We’re getting close — I can feel it. Hold on, Mary.

  * * *

  I climb onto a chair and clap my hands for silence. The busy salon falls instantly quiet, “All of you know that Mary Evans has been abducted. Through the information you have given us—” I see Johnnie at the back of the room nodding approvingly, “— we are getting closer to finding Mary. But we now know that the man who took her intends to . . . intends to hurt her. We have a deadline and that is midnight tonight. Please, anything more you can do to help, or even just spread the word, would be greatly appreciated — it may save a girl’s life.”

  They burst out clapping as I jump down, and Catherine gives me a hug. There are lots of questions, which I answer carefully. With this new evidence from Kenny, the police will have enough to question Ted, and at the very least look into his supposed alibis again. If he’s locked away he can’t hurt Mary, and he may even tell the police where she is. But while he’s free he could do anything. I wonder again about Leon and Victoria. Maybe Leon could help find out more about the Manchester murders if they were on a historic site. I also ring Pearl at the hospital, leaving an urgent message for my cousin to call me back on her break.

  When Eve returns from a quick lunch, I take some photos of Mary down to O’Hagen’s and pick up a hotdog for lunch. I’m not hungry, but I force myself to eat, covering the sausage in thick gooey yellow mustard that burns my throat.

  The sun comes out briefly to warm my shoulders and throw prisms of light onto the white wooden panels of the fish and chip shop next door. Over the sea, dark clouds are collecting, and further inland the top of the Downs has vanished behind a stormy heat haze. I lick my fingers, wondering how Kenny got on with the police and how the others are getting on with the search. Part of me wants to be with them, checking every deserted alley, every sheep shack on the Downs.

  A fire engine roars past, disturbing the seagulls and sending a rush of dust into my face. I tear the rest of my bun into pieces and chuck it down for the birds before jogging back to work. I jerk to a stop at the turn towards Kenny’s bedsit. Flames billow from his building and thick black smoke is spiralling towards the storm clouds overhead. I start running without stopping to think.

  “Stop here, please! You can’t go down there.” A policeman bars my path.

  I’m gasping for breath. Sweat pours down my back and under my arms. “You don’t understand. My friend lives in that building. Is he okay?”

  “The ambulance has taken three of the occupants to hospital. Try not to worry. Hey, aren’t you the girl from the hairdresser’s?”

  “He . . . oh, James!”

  James appears from another side street. He shakes as he puts his arms around me. “Oh God, is he in there? He called me half an hour ago to say I should come over, but I got delayed.”

  “The police say that three men were taken to hospital by ambulance. But they haven’t said any names.”

  A group of bystanders is swelling by the minute, and more police have joined the firemen, who are busy running around with hoses and barriers. Another police car pulls up, and parks diagonally across the road past Kenny’s building, blocking the way.

  “It’s okay. He’ll be fine,” James says flatly, almost automatically, as he turns from the shouting and the flames. He’s back in control, and his hand in mine is steady now, “You go back to the salon so you’re next to a phone, and I’ll go straight up to the hospital.”

  “Ring me as soon as you know anything?”

  “Of course. Go!”

  I stagger back to Johnnie’s, the flames burning brightly in my head. That fire is no accident. This is my fault, I asked him to investigate. The deadline is creeping closer, and we’re a man down.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I need to speak to Inspector Hammond, or WPC Stanton, or . . . um . . . Detective Inspector Cobbler,” I say, hedging my bets. I keep one eye on the salon door. The news of the fire has doubled our numbers, so it’s standing room only, and every one of the chairs and tables outside is filled. Mrs Carpenter and Mrs Aston are serving tea from a huge urn, and someone else is handing out biscuits. The noise of a hundred different conversations and opinions makes it hard to think, let alone speak on the telephone.

  Eventually the desk sergeant comes back on the line, “I’m afraid everyone is out at the moment. Can I get someone to call you back?”

  “This is very important. Do you know if Kenny . . .” Hell, I have no idea what Kenny’s last name is. “Look, a reporter from the Herald has some evidence that a man called Ted,” double hell, I’m not even sure what Ted’s surname is, “has been involved in two murders in Manchester, and is almost certainly the man responsible for the murders here in Brighton.” I sound like a loony, even to myself, and complete the effect by bursting into tears.

  “Sorry, I’ve only just come on shift and there’s a skeleton staff manning the station. There’s a fire down in Portland Road, and I know the rest of the team are pursuing various leads on the murder case.”

  “I know! It was Kenny’s flat that was on fire. Look, please get someone to call me as soon as possible.” The man on the other end slams the phone down, and I take deep breaths, banging a fist against the reception desk.

  “Hey, mind the furniture, angel. I take it Inspector Plod strikes again? Or doesn’t, to be more exact?” Johnnie puts an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into him with tears of frustration trickling down my face.

  “I don’t know if Kenny managed to tell the police about this new evidence. Now they’re all out and I only spoke to some stupid d
esk sergeant who has only just come on shift. We’re running out of time, and nobody has seen Ted. Victoria and Leon were supposed to come in after their picnic, and Pearl still hasn’t rung back!”

  “I know. Let’s close up early, send all these lovely people out searching and back home, so they can also ring everyone they know. You can go up and get changed into something warm, and man the phone down here. We won’t sleep, we’ll keep looking, and you can be the command post. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good.”

  I pick up today’s paper from the edge of the desk, studying the headlines. Another piece on Mary. The boys have done well.

  KILLING STONE MURDERER KEY SUSPECT IN ABDUCTION CASE

  Mary Evans, 23, has been missing for 48 hours, and police say they are increasingly concerned for her welfare. Miss Evans works at popular hairdressing salon Johnnie’s on Ship Street, and clients have banded together to help find their favourite stylist.

  Links have been made to the three murder cases, and police have sealed off the area around Glebe House as a precaution. All three previous victims were found next to the Killing Stone, but police add they have no reason to assume that any harm has come to Miss Evans.

  A close friend, Ruby Baker, says, “All we want is Mary home safely. Her baby is due and we need to look after both of them. I want to ask whoever has taken Mary to consider the implications of harming her or her child. I would like to thank the people of Brighton for helping in the search for my best friend.”

  If anyone has any information, please call Brighton Police Station.

  * * *

  Later, as the pink clock on the wall shows half past ten, I’m hunched in a blanket next to the phone, my tired brain whirring. Every so often a call comes through — a search party checking in; the police finally calling back and reassuring me that Kenny did get the message through and they are hunting for Ted; James telling me Kenny is fine, and that he broke an ankle jumping out of the window but is now driving the nurses mad asking for cigarettes; the police again telling me they went to interview Maddie and her father hasn’t seen her all day . . .