by Daisy White
Catherine reports that one of her sons was out door-to-door last night. “So everyone in Whitehawk, and further over in White Oak, knows about Mary. They’ll get a gang together and search the east side of town after work. Oh, and Tony is over at Cheapside today so he’ll cover the roads round here.”
“Thank you,” I tell them, “I’ll get on the phone and ring the local businesses.” The door opens and four middle-aged women start shedding cardigans and bags. “Actually, Mrs Carpenter, would you mind doing that while I look after my two clients?
“Of course. We’ve also spread the word of Mary’s disappearance. My sister runs the local WI and she’s calling an emergency meeting for this afternoon.”
“I’ll go down the road to the call box and carry on with the party set. Only another fifty or so to go. I didn’t realise I knew so many random people.” Johnnie heads for the door, nearly colliding with James and Kenny.
James’s hair is still wet and his white shirt is slightly grubby. Kenny’s eyes are bloodshot. I flash back to James last night — the colours, the vividness, and his low urgent “I won’t let you go to sleep, Ruby, I’ll stay with you all night.” Well, he kept his promise, didn’t he?
“No news from our end, but we brought you the paper,” James says, studying the busy salon. “Ruby, you weren’t kidding! Oh, and Ted was out last night with a search party, but he’s taken another one up to Queen’s Square. He said he’d pop in when they’re done.”
Before he can say anything else, two police cars pull up outside, and I scramble to see if Mary is in one of them. Logically, I know she won’t just be delivered back to me like a longed-for parcel, but my heart does a silly flip at the sight of a blonde head, before I sigh with disappointment. Inspector Hammond trails through, minus Detective Inspector Cobbler, but with Eileen as rearguard. Surprisingly, Bill and Ben are with them. The inspector signals to his henchmen. He looks . . . embarrassed, I think. Kenny and James stand frozen on either side of me, like hounds scenting their quarry.
“Jonathon Barton-Gordon, I am arresting you for the murders of Linda Evans, Carla Wilkinson and—”
He doesn’t get any further. The crowd in the salon erupts in protest. Many of them press closer to Johnnie, and turn to face the police with their arms crossed.
Chapter Seventeen
Johnnie shakes his head. His face is white and drawn, but his voice is as light as ever.
“Oh dear, Inspector. Have you got yourself into a bit of a pickle? Perhaps you feel the need to prove something to your fellow officers?” He smiles at the mob around him, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Just keep looking for Mary while these idiots are distracted from the real problem in hand.”
“Wait! You can’t take Johnnie! He isn’t the murderer!” I shout.
“With respect, Miss Baker, I suggest you disband your vigilante group and let us do our job.” Inspector Hammond’s cheeks are flushed red and sweat gathers on his forehead. A muscle is pounding in his throat and the veins in his neck stand out like purple ropes. He seems unwilling to meet my eyes. Even his hands are sweaty — when he puts one on our reception desk to pull out a notebook he leaves a wet print. Why is he so nervous? Is it because of Johnnie or Mary, or is something else going on here?
Mrs Carpenter puts down the telephone, and draws herself up to her full height, hooded eyes flashing. Somehow it doesn’t matter that her bosom falls to her waist, or that her hair hangs in grey spikes. She could be ruling the country. She probably should be.
“You ridiculous man. What on earth are you thinking?” Without waiting for an answer she sweeps on, “How did you ever survive the war? Johnnie, my dear, if you leave me the number of your family solicitor, I’ll be happy to arrange for him to travel down and join you at the police station.”
“Thank you, Mrs Carpenter. You are truly wonderful, but don’t worry, Inspector Hammond and I will just have a little chat and sort out our misunderstandings.” He looks hard at the bigger man, who flushes again, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
I turn to Eileen, who is silent under her smart hat. “Have you heard something about Mary? You must have something new or you wouldn’t come and arrest Johnnie. If you have, you need to tell me!” I shout at him, “Is she dead?”
She hesitates long enough for my reporter friends to start scribbling again, but then shakes her head firmly.
“Can we have an official comment, Inspector Hammond? Just so we can let our readers know that you have a good reason to arrest a well-loved local businessman like Johnnie?”
James is good — slick and sharp. He might think Johnnie did it, for all I know, but he can see the mood in the salon is totally against the police.
Eileen breaks her silence and snaps “No comment!” She starts shoving her boss and the other boys in blue out of the door like a farmyard collie herding its charges.
Johnnie’s supporters follow them out shouting, all the way to their cars. That group clashes with Ted’s search party, which is coming back up the hill. The scuffle quickly turns violent, and I see Ted shouting, and swinging a punch at one of the officers. The crowd in the salon pours out as the police radio crackles.
The roar of motorbikes announces that some Rockers have arrived. When they hear the shouts the police have arrested an innocent man, several tattooed riders wade into the mêlée. Someone throws a bottle over the crowd. It mercifully misses everyone, but lands next to the drain with a crash, splintering glass across the pavement.
“Oh, Kenny, there’s Leon! Help him!” Victoria’s boyfriend is trying to come in, looking horrified. A couple of rowdy teenagers shove him hard in the race to join the fight. Kenny and I run outside and pick him up, dust him down and bring him in.
“What’s going on?” Leon rubs his shoulder. He’s hunched in his patched tweed jacket despite the heat of the day. His trousers are covered in dust, and his brown eyes are wide behind his black-rimmed glasses. “Is that a riot? Is that Johnnie?” He sounds quite shrill with the shock of it. He rubs a hand across his forehead. “Ruby? I came to see you because I hope I have some information, and we all need to pull together to find Mary. Victoria is devastated so I promised I would help if I could. We really couldn’t believe it when Johnnie rang—”
“They’ve arrested Johnnie, as you can see. The fools.” Mrs Acton is sweeping the floor. She glares at Leon, who shrivels under her beady black eyes.
“Quite — err, oh good Kenny and James are here. Now I have discovered something that I hope will be useful—”
More crashes and screams from outside, but in the salon we’re all crowded round Leon, even two clients who should be sitting under dryers.
“Ruby, come away from the windows, my dear. I’m worried one of those young idiots will throw another bottle.” Leon is still shaking a bit, but he takes his glasses off, wipes them with a very white handkerchief and then pulls a sheaf of papers from his satchel.
“They think Johnnie killed Carla and Linda. They wouldn’t say anything else at all,” I tell him, and my voice comes out in a squeak of frustration. I cough to clear the tears clogging my throat. “The police never said why they arrested Johnnie but I’m sure they would have told us if Mary was dead. Wouldn’t they?”
“Of course,” says Kenny. “What’s that, Leon?” He eyes the crumpled pieces of paper in Leon’s hands.
“I wanted to tell you that I found something. There is a link, a strange one, between the dates that the girls died and the completion of new housing projects. Look!” He spreads the sheets onto the reception desk, and we stare at a map of Brighton and the surrounding area. “As you probably know, I was asked by the police to comment on the possible witchcraft cult that two of the victims seem to have been involved in. The new detective — I can’t remember his name — seemed to think there might be a historical significance. There isn’t, but I had to oblige.”
“Was this after Carla’s murder? All the Lady Isabella tales aren’t even true. Some posh bloke murdered his wife, in what was pro
bably more of a domestic than anything. Silly girls pretending they can talk to the dead are just stirring up trouble for themselves.” Kenny leans against the desk and offers cigarettes around.
Sirens outside indicate that police backup has arrived, but the crowd follows the cars down the hill in a hail of bottles and threats. The roar drowns the other sounds of the street in screams and cat-calls. Revving engines and the blare of hooters add to the mix, as a convoy of motorbikes inches down the hill behind the stragglers. I refuse to think about Johnnie. He’s a survivor, and nothing rocks him. Of course he isn’t the murderer. I turn my attention back to Leon.
“No — I mean yes, I totally agree with you on the witchcraft front, but look at the completion dates on all these estates. The completion date is when the houses are officially signed off for sale to buyers.”
“Bloody hell!” Kenny interrupts as James saunters back in with a black eye. “Every time there’s a fight you have to wade right in there. Serves you right, mate!”
“Look at this,” I say to James, jabbing my finger at the grubby map. “Leon says that every date on here corresponds with the date a girl was murdered, including Katie last year. Three dates, three deaths. Coincidence?”
James rubs his face. He has a long livid scratch on his arm and his shirt is torn, but his eyes are glowing with excitement. I was right, he’s like a hound picking up a scent. “You mean that the murderer has a connection to the building sites?”
“I mean that although it may not be witchcraft, a girl dies every time another few acres of ancient downland is covered in houses. It’s like a sacrifice.”
We stare at him. “Really?” says Kenny, sounding unimpressed. Leon just shrugs. “It is only a suggestion, and I am aware it is rather an odd connection. However if you consider all the cases, the law doesn’t seem to have made any progress into finding the perpetrator, or indeed, the perpetrators. The police arrested Carla’s dad after her murder because they obviously thought it was some kind of sordid affair gone wrong. Taking inspiration from this other murder last year, I suppose. Now they’ve taken Johnnie, but we don’t know why. Don’t get me wrong, I think Johnnie is a great guy, and Vic thinks a lot of him, but there has to be a reason for murder.”
Leon’s soft, slightly accented voice is the kind that makes you stop and listen, and I know he’s trying to help, but still . . . “Johnnie is not the murderer.” I glare at Leon now. “Even if you have something in these dates, the police have the wrong man. He doesn’t care about the houses on the Downs, and certainly wouldn’t sacrifice party girls because of it. These girls are part of us, they could be any of us. Don’t you see?”
“It’s okay. Rubes, we’ll sort it,” James says briskly. “Right, Leon, you need to call in at the police station on your way home and show them what you’ve found. Do it now and tell them anything else you think is relevant.”
“Well, if you think they’ll listen to me . . .” He shuffles his papers together, and puts them into his leather satchel before giving us a mock salute, “I’ll report back in the morning after Victoria has gone to sleep. She’s working so hard at the moment.”
The telephone rings again and my heart constricts painfully. Please let it be Mary, and please let her be okay. But it’s just another client booking in, and I droop with the usual sag of disappointment. I can’t give up, and now Johnnie has been taken from us as well. The police are such idiots. How can they possibly think Johnnie had anything to do with the murders?
I can’t give up. “Okay, everyone, if I could just have your attention for a moment—” The salon is filled with chattering women, but as one they stop, and turn to stare at me. “As you are aware the police have arrested Johnnie. I just want to say that we’re going to carry on as normal until he is released. We’ll carry on with the salon, and with our own investigation into Mary’s disappearance and the murders.”
They give me a spirited round of applause, and then the noise level gradually returns to normal. Thank God for our extra volunteers. I make them take an hour’s lunch break, and serve them tea in the sunshine outside the salon. Eve runs over to Dick’s for biscuits, and we continue handing out bits of paper and pencils to everyone who comes through the door.
At four, Ted turns up, looking exhausted but resolute. His little face is still lined with pain, but he is a man on a mission. “Hi, Rubes, I saw Johnnie get carted away. What a load of rubbish. I keep expecting them to pick me up again.”
“Why?” I pass him a cigarette and my lighter.
“Oh, Linda, of course — and I didn’t tell you before, but I dated Katie a long time ago. It doesn’t seem to matter now who knows what. We’ve searched pretty much the whole town, and knocked on as many doors as we can. The people that live in Green Ridges and the other new estate on the east side were really kind. They’ve offered to go further, out into the villages, and spread the word. One of them said she knows someone who works in TV so if we could get Mary’s picture on the news—”
I grab the ringing phone and indicate that Ted should put his feet up for a minute.
“Hello, Ruby. Leon here. I just wanted to let you know that I stopped in at the police station — with the map, you know?”
“Yes. What did they say?”
He sighs, sounding a bit embarrassed. “Well, they said they appreciated my expert view, but it was unlikely to be connected. I never got further than the desk sergeant, and he clearly thought I was a bit mad. I do have a bit of news about Johnnie, though. He hasn’t been charged with anything.”
I pick up one of my pencils and chew the end, considering this information. “Well, that’s good isn’t it? They are idiots. You know, Leon, I think we need to pursue this one. You really could be onto something. I’m going to ask everyone to check on family and friends who work on the building sites. Is that good about Johnnie though? Oh, and is Victoria home yet?”
“Yes, she’s having a quick nap then she’ll probably call you. If you need us, we’re at my place. I have a telephone, so shall I give you the number or do you have it already?”
I take down the number, and thank him.
“Ruby? We will find her,” Leon tells me quietly.
I ring off, stare into the slightly dusty ceiling for a moment, and then make another note on my paper. Anticipation fizzes in my stomach. Building sites. If this is something to do with the new developments, as Leon suggests, it might be reasonable to assume that the developers hire passing tradesmen. Therefore, if it was someone working on the sites last year who went away and came back for the extra work this year . . . but the police aren’t interested, and they would be the only people with access to Ridgeway’s records.
“Any proper news? What did Leon want?” Ted asks from his perch by the window.
I explain the new theory, but he looks unimpressed, stubbing his cigarette out and swinging his legs down from the chair. “I’ve got use of the van from work, so I might be able to get out to Hove later and have a look around.”
“Shall I ring you if we get anything else?”
“Yeah. I’ve got to go and do some more work now, but I’m staying with my mum. I’ll write the address down for you, shall I? And this is the telephone number at work. Oh, and if I can borrow the van from work, I’ll take another search party from Hove and then along Shoreham Road.” He scribbles and then exits with a wave before stomping down the road.
I watch him thoughtfully for a second. He seems genuinely desolate, but what are the chances of being that close to two of the victims? Not that he’s hiding the fact . . . I shrug it off and walk over to the basins.
It seems wrong that we are just carrying on as usual, with both Mary and Johnnie missing, but I love the feeling that everyone is rooting for us. As Mrs Acton points out, “There aren’t many more places that haven’t been searched. I’m sure we’ll have her by the morning.”
The bedsit seems alien without Mary’s chatter, but Mrs Carpenter bought me a basket of chicken and chips with a bottle of coke tu
cked in the side, and Catherine insisted on walking with me to the door by the alley. Everyone has been so kind. I blink back my tears, put the basket of food carefully on our little table, and avoid looking at the baby crib as I flop onto my bed. The sun has broken through a thin layer of cloud, and lights the room with jewel-like colours. I screw up my tired eyes and concentrate on my stack of notes.
I know the best thing I can do for Mary is get a good night’s sleep. The scribbled notes are mostly offers of help, but there are a few things that make me sit up with a jolt: ‘Ted Mathews is one to watch. He was walking out with those girls’ and ‘Talk to Kerry Anderson in London Road. He works for Ridgeway’s and finds all the labourers for the sites. You need to check it out.’
There is no proper address though, and London Road is at least a couple of miles long. The luscious smell of chips and chicken seduces me into giving up. I eat my supper sitting by the window, watching the sky slowly darkening and the people hurrying past. If I squint I can see that tiny patch of green downland beyond the gaudy new houses. Downstairs in the salon the telephone rings, but I put my head on the pillow and shut my eyes. If I think hard about Mary, maybe I won’t lose that thread. She must be alive because I can picture her face perfectly — her long nose, sharp cheekbones, and that droopy mouth that means when she smiles she looks happier than anyone else I know.
* * *
Almost before the sun taps on the window and the sea shimmers into gold, I’m up, washed, and dressed, repeating my routine of yesterday. Today I’m filled with determination. I lock both our doors behind me carefully, before setting the chairs and tables out and opening the salon.
Eve and Catherine arrive as a pair, of course, and bombard me with questions about Johnnie and Mary.
“No news on Mary, and nothing on Johnnie, but that must mean he still hasn’t been charged. Is that a good sign?”
“Not necessarily. I’ll ring them now, Ruby. They’ll take more notice if it’s me. No offence,” Catherine says, hanging up her coat and stomping over to the reception desk.
