The Facts of Life and Death

by Belinda Bauer

  ‘Any good, Rubes?’ Daddy would say.

  ‘No good,’ she’d say.

  Some were too short to be the killer. Some were too tall. Some were too fat or had dogs, or umbrellas, or were laughing, or holding hands with a girl.

  ‘Everyone looks just . . . normal,’ she said.

  ‘Well, everyone is,’ said Daddy. ‘But even normal people do bad things.’

  Ruby didn’t like that idea. If that was true, then anyone might be the killer – and that made her feel a bit weird inside.

  As they drove back along Bideford Quay, with the shops and pubs on one side of the road, and the masts and rigging and wheel-houses of little ships on the other, Ruby started to sing ‘Red River Valley’, and Daddy joined in.

  Then he sang ‘Mama, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys’, and by the time they were halfway to Westward Ho! they were both singing ‘Stand By Your Man’ at the top of their voices. Daddy did the ‘boom boom BOOM’ in a funny deep voice that made Ruby laugh so hard she could barely catch her breath.

  Then Daddy stopped singing.

  ‘Dad-deee!’ giggled Ruby. ‘You missed your booms!’

  But he was looking at a young woman, who was walking back towards Northam with her thumb stuck out.

  ‘Look at this,’ he murmured, and shook his head.

  He checked his mirrors, then swung the car around in the road.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Take care of her,’ he said. ‘Before anybody else does.’

  ‘Where am I going to sit?’

  ‘In the back.’

  Ruby made a face. ‘But I don’t want to. I can’t see the killer so well from the back!’

  ‘Taking care of people is part of the job, Ruby,’ said Daddy sharply. ‘Don’t spoil the whole night now.’

  Ruby pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She didn’t want to spoil the whole night, but she also didn’t want to sit in the back. It wasn’t right. The back was where she sat when she was a little girl going to school with her Mummy and Daddy, not when she was a deputy on a cowboy posse.

  The woman looked around with a frown as the car stopped beside her, then bent as the window squealed down slowly. It was electric but it didn’t work that well.

  ‘Hi,’ she said warily. She was younger than she’d looked from behind – maybe eighteen, and with hair pulled so tightly into a knot on top of her head that her eyebrows were miles above her eyes.

  Daddy leaned across Ruby. ‘You shouldn’t be hitchhiking. We’ll take you anywhere you need to go.’

  The girl looked at him, then up and then down the road, then at Ruby.

  ‘This your little girl?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daddy. ‘She’ll get in the back if you want a ride home.’

  The girl looked at Ruby, then smiled and said, ‘Yeah, OK. Thanks.’

  Ruby huffed and puffed and squeezed between the seats so that the girl could sit in the front, and they set off.

  The girl’s name was Becks. She was coming from her grandmother’s in Appledore, and walking the three miles home to Bideford.

  ‘Why don’t you catch the bus?’ said Daddy.

  ‘I do if it’s raining.’

  Daddy leaned forward and made a show of peering up at the black sky through the windscreen wipers.

  ‘And it’s three quid each way,’ the girl amended.

  ‘Still,’ he said. ‘That Frannie girl got herself murdered around here, you know.’

  ‘Yeah,’ shrugged the girl, as if she doubted the relevance of that. ‘But everyone knows that were her druggie boyfriend, and six quid’s six quid, innit?’

  ‘It is,’ said Daddy. ‘Are you going to call your grandmother to let her know you’re safe?’

  ‘I don’t have a phone.’

  ‘You want to use mine?’

  ‘Nah, it’s fine. She’ll be in bed by now. Thanks.’

  They slowed for a roundabout and Ruby hung between the front seats. She couldn’t resist telling the girl, ‘We’re going to catch the murderer.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Becks, looking at John Trick with new eyes. ‘Are you a policeman?’

  ‘We’re just helping out,’ said Daddy. ‘The police haven’t got the manpower these days.’

  ‘I’m a deputy,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m getting a badge soon.’

  ‘What’s a deputy?’

  Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘It’s like a sheriff, but his assistant.’

  ‘That’s nice of you,’ said Becks. ‘More people should take care of each other like that.’

  Ruby tickled the back of Daddy’s neck. It was an apology, and she was rewarded with a smile.

  Then they drove down into Bideford in silence until Becks pointed and said, ‘Right here.’

  They turned right into the lane that ran behind Blackmore’s Coal, and let her out halfway down.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Daddy. ‘It’s raining. I’ve got an umbrella in the boot.’

  ‘No need,’ said the girl, but Daddy insisted on going round to the boot and getting a big golf umbrella Ruby had never seen before and walking the girl to her door. While he did, Ruby clambered into the front seat once more with a sense of relief.

  Daddy came back and opened the boot again, and Ruby could see a tiny strip of him shaking out the white and green umbrella before putting it in and slamming the boot shut. Then he got in and turned the car around and set out on another long, winding circuit.

  ‘She was a nice girl,’ said Ruby.

  ‘She was a very stupid girl,’ said Daddy. ‘Anyone could have picked her up and done anything they wanted to her. Women are just asking for it if they hitchhike, Rubes. I want you to promise me you’ll never ever do it.’

  ‘OK, I won’t.’ Ruby started to sing ‘Red River Valley’ again, but Daddy cut her off sharply.

  ‘Promise me!’

  ‘I promise,’ said Ruby in surprise. She was a little cowed. Daddy didn’t often shout at her.

  He glanced over her way and softened. ‘It’s only because I love you hundreds, Rubes. You’re my little cowboy and I want you to be safe, that’s all.’

  ‘I know.’ Ruby nodded and hugged his arm. ‘I love you hundreds too.’

  It was gone ten o’clock when Daddy pulled up outside the Blue Dolphin and bought them both chips. Just the smell was like heaven – the actual explosion of oil and salt and vinegar on Ruby’s tongue was almost too much. Mummy never made chips at home; she called them artery plugs.

  They drove down to the end of the quay and parked on the corner near the statue with the road cone for a hat. There was a small gang of learner motorcyclists there too, admiring each other’s bikes in the drizzle, and an old yellow sports car with black stripes down the front. Now and then the driver tooted the horn and it played the first few bars of ‘Dixie.’ Ruby laughed at first, but Daddy said ‘That arsehole’ and after that she agreed that it was very irritating.

  She finished her chips before Daddy was halfway through his, and so he gave his to her, and reached into the back to get a can of cider instead.

  He handed her a bottle of Ribena. Not real Ribena, but blackcurrant squash in a water bottle.

  ‘Brought that for you,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks!’ She drank half of it in one go, she was so salty.

  ‘Yum!’ she said, and wiped her mouth just the way Daddy always did. ‘This is the best posse ever.’

  Daddy laughed.

  Ruby ate, but she never took her eyes off the people passing by. Small groups of drunken girls or shouting boys; old men with small dogs, fumbling poo into black bags; two teenagers peeing against the Arts Centre wall; a man alone, staggering a little and singing loudly as he emerged from Rope Walk, taking advantage of the flattering echoes from the high warehouse walls.

  When Ruby had finished her chips, Daddy got out to throw away the chip paper. He walked back, wiping his hands on his jeans.

  ‘You’re doing a great job, Deputy. Ready for round three?’


  Ruby yawned loudly but nodded and said, ‘Mmm.’ She was tired, but she didn’t want him thinking she was too young to be on the posse.

  She didn’t want to be Em.

  But round three of the posse turned out to be more like being a free taxi service than a posse. The pubs were coming out, and they picked up two more women and took them home. One from a bus stop in Northam to East-the-Water, and another from Bideford to Abbotsham. Each time Daddy made sure they got home safe and dry under the umbrella; each time Ruby had to get in the back. For a while she did her best to look for the killer, but it was much harder from there, especially when her eyes kept closing.

  The last time someone got out of the car, Ruby didn’t even say goodbye. She was curled up in the back, fast asleep.

  Posses were exhausting.

  23

  THE SECOND MURDER was textbook.

  Murder for Dummies.

  A twenty-five-year-old woman named Jody Reeves put out her thumb and thought, a little tipsily, ‘Mum would kill me if she saw me doing this.’

  She wouldn’t have done it at all, except that she’d had a row with her boyfriend at the pub, made a bit of a scene and stomped off.

  Her mother had always told her, never ever hitchhike. And she never ever would have . . . if only it hadn’t kept raining and if only the buses hadn’t stopped running, and if only two miles wasn’t such a long way in those stupid heels that lengthened her legs while they shortened her stride.

  Jody was blonde but she wasn’t dumb; she knew all about the dangers. But she also knew what a weirdo-slash-mad-axeman looked like – and how to say Thanks, but no thanks and to wait for a woman, or a family, or someone she knew.

  She heard a car approaching from behind and turned to look over her shoulder.

  Jody Reeves wasn’t about to take any chances, but with a bit of luck she’d be home in five minutes, her boyfriend would still be worrying about her, and her mother would never know a thing.

  Ann Reeves was watching You’ve Been Framed when her daughter called her for the very last time. Children hitting each other at weddings seemed to be the theme of the show, because all the little girl combatants were in party dresses, and all the little boys wore cummerbunds. Ann had had two glasses of red wine during the course of the evening, which made toddlers pushing each other down church steps even more hilarious.

  So she was still laughing when she answered the phone to Jody.

  ‘Hi, darling! It’s You’ve Been Framed and these little kids are knocking seven bells out of – oh!’ she chortled. ‘Right in the eye! What, darling? I can’t hear you.’

  Ann reached for the mute button. The room was suddenly very quiet.

  ‘Say again, sweetie?’ She smiled.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, turning to look at the photo of her daughter that sat on top of the piano. Not a grand piano – just an old upright her mother had left her. She’d learned by ear and Jody had the same talent, right from when she was little. Sometimes they still sat there together and played ‘Heart And Soul’ or ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’.

  ‘What do you mean, Jo? I don’t understand …’ Ann frowned at the photo as if it could translate for her, from the muffled, sobbing, cracked voice that the caller ID claimed to be her daughter’s.

  ‘Mummy. He’s going to kill me.’

  Ann Reeves stood with the phone to her ear and felt real life drop away from her like a silk cape sliding from her shoulders.

  She walked on without it.

  Crumpled in her wake, she left behind her the night Jody was born; the smell of her head, the childhood illnesses, the pink eyes, the clammy hair, the spots – each with a dab of camomile lotion crusted around it – the mumps, the colds, the tonsillitis ice cream; the first day at school in an Alice band and long white socks; the sports-day beanbags; the homework tears; tadpoles in a jar and bringing home the hamster for the holidays. The first disco, first date, first period, first teenage row.

  I hate you!

  I hate you too!

  It was all behind her now.

  Ann flinched at a new voice on the phone, then slowly put it back to her ear and whispered, ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

  She listened to the answers without the life left inside her even to beg. She was defenceless, but she had nothing left to defend anyway.

  The sounds of a struggle flowed into her head, grunting and harsh.

  ‘Mummy! Help me!’

  Ann dropped the phone. Horror ran amok in her with no outlet. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t move. She was a closed circuit – a super-collider where the only conscious thought particle whirring endlessly in her head was, There’s nothing I can do.

  When Jody needed her most. The only time it really counted. She couldn’t do a thing to help her.

  Bile boiled in her throat and she turned her head as it sprayed from her mouth and nose – across the sideboard, the fruit bowl, the scented candle.

  It was a vent. A breach.

  A release.

  For a long, clouded moment she stood and watched pink-tinged bile drip off an apple. Golden Delicious – Jody’s favourite.

  Ann had fallen in love with Jody the very first moment she’d seen her. Heart and soul. The thought of Jody being frightened and hurt and alone was unbearable. Unbearable.

  Then she knew that there was something she could do.

  Ann Reeves breathed.

  She bent.

  Her numb fingers found the phone and finally managed to pick it up and put it to her ear. The struggle was still going on. Her little girl was still fighting for her life.

  Ann croaked and stopped. Then she cleared her throat and said loudly and clearly, ‘I’m here, Jody.’

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’

  Ann swayed. She put out a hand and held on to the sideboard for support. ‘I’m right here, Jody. Don’t worry about anything. I won’t leave you. I won’t ever leave you.’

  There was a small shriek, an angry grunt, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

  ‘Mummy! I love you!’

  ‘I love you too, my beautiful baby girl.’

  Ann Reeves let go of the sideboard.

  Then she stood up straight on her own two feet – pinned there by love alone – and stayed with her daughter while she died.

  At the end of the day, only one car had slowed down beside Jody Reeves.

  That was the one she’d climbed into.

  That was the one that had driven her to her death – and from there to a place where no human being would ever find her.

  Textbook.

  24

  PEOPLE WERE STRANGE and obsessive beings. This much Calvin Bridge had learned since joining the police force.

  Some of them spent their life savings on toys they never touched; others had secret wives who only ever met at their husband’s funeral. Some paid other people good money to smack them on the bottom with a ping-pong paddle. Calvin’s own twin brother shaved until he bled, and his body was as hairless as a squid’s. They’d been camping in the Peak District last summer and Louis had plucked his own shins by the light of the campfire, with a pair of machine-edged pink tweezers.

  Basically, Calvin had learned that people who were without kinks and quirks were the exception, rather than the rule.

  But forcing a woman to call her mother while she was being murdered was a kink that his heart couldn’t fathom.

  They hadn’t found the body yet, but nobody expected to find Jody Reeves alive – not the Gazette or the police, or even her mother.

  Especially not her mother.

  ‘He’ll kill again,’ Calvin told Shirley as they watched Jeremy Kyle.

  ‘Shush!’ she said. ‘It’s the results of the lie-detector test.’

  Calvin shushed, but he knew he was right.

  The death of Jody Reeves was nothing like the death of Frannie Hatton. With Frannie there had been an undercurrent of excitement at the station at the thought of a serious cr
ime – the kind of crime most of them had joined the force to solve. And Frannie herself – well, it was a shame, of course, but junkies weren’t expected to die of old age.

  But Jody Reeves was no junkie – she was a bright, hard-working young woman, and suddenly the undercurrent at the station was one of fear. While Calvin and his colleagues did their jobs and went about their business and followed procedure, there was a disturbing sense that they weren’t the ones in control. And the worst of it was that the where and the when, and the who and the how were already out of their hands. The only real question left was ‘How many?’

  Shirley turned to him so suddenly that he flinched. ‘Did you order the hotel brochures?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Calvin. He’d started saying yes before he’d properly processed any question. It was safer that way. There was a list of hotels that Shirley and her mother wanted to hire for the reception. It was his job to order the brochures and price lists. He hadn’t done it yet, but there was plenty of time.

  ‘Thanks, Pookie!’

  Pookie was her affectionate name for him. He didn’t know why.

  Jeremy Kyle’s audience booed. ‘I knew it!’ said Shirley. ‘I can always tell when they’re lying.’

  She leaned against his arm, which was often a sign that she was open to offers, and they were on the leather couch too …

  But Calvin wasn’t in the mood.

  There was a killer on the loose. Not the one-off, fumbling, accidental killer they’d all hoped for, but a killer who had started small and was escalating, and whose trajectory could be charted and predicted along psychological x and y axes.

  Ever rising.

  The school was abuzz with murder.

  Miss Sharpe was a little appalled to discover that a class of ten-year-olds were quicker to lurid speculation than a tabloid journalist. Wide-eyed children told each other the story of Jody Reeves, even though they all knew it already and almost none of it was true. Then they told it again a different way – to even greater effect.