by Daisy White
He ignores me and addresses the other men, “Got the little bastard. The others are bringing him in.”
“Nice catch,” Appleton says. “Goodbye Miss, Baker.”
DS Little glances at me, focusing on my cleavage, clearly struggling to remember where he has seen my breasts before. “You’re the hairdressing girl, aren’t you? What are you doing here?”
“I just came to check something with Inspector Hammond, but as he isn’t here, I’ll catch up with him later,” I say, scowling at all three men.
“Right. Not still poking your nose in where it isn’t wanted, I hope?”
He really is the most delightful little man, and the other two men are enjoying his scorn. “Actually, nothing is going to stop me poking my nose in, if it helps save two innocent girls.”
DS Little looks surprised. “No need to get so excited, Miss Baker. Runaway teenage girls aren’t exactly unusual.”
“Goodbye, Miss Baker,” DS Appleton says, still with that smile. “Let me walk you out.”
I can hear his colleagues laughing as I march back out onto the steps, but Appleton follows, grabbing my arm and pulling me around to face him. Clearly mindful of people walking past he carries on smiling, but his breath is hot on my cheek as he whispers, “Last chance, Ruby. If I find you anywhere you shouldn’t be you’ll get hurt, and believe me I’ll enjoy it.”
He’s so close I could kiss him, and his hot breath on my cheek is sickening. ”Thank you for your concern, DS Appleton.”
His hand tightens painfully on my arm, but I don’t cry out.
“Ruby, darling, there you are! Sorry, I had to run a little errand. Would you like to introduce me to your, no doubt, charming friend?” Johnnie pulls up next to us, window down, resting a casual elbow on the door. His blonde hair flops across his tanned forehead, and his smile is wide and friendly. But Johnnie’s good looks have always been deceptive. The muscles in his arm are bunched below the rolled up shirtsleeves and his blue eyes are icy. He isn’t a man to cross.
“You must be Johnnie, the hairdresser. I’ve heard all about you,” DS Appleton sneers. “I believe you are friends with the inspector?”
Ignoring this, Johnnie smiles at him. “How exciting, it is nice to be well known. And I assume that you are DS Appleton. You do fit Ruby’s description most exactly. Sadly Ruby and I must go now. We have some business to attend to. Hairdressing business, obviously.”
Appleton opens his mouth, slightly at a loss, as many people are when confronted by the full force of Johnnie’s personality.
We leave him standing on the steps, and Johnnie beams at me as we drive away. “That was fun, darling. What an odious man, thinking he can needle me in that underhand manner. I take it Inspector Hammond is still AWOL?”
“Yes. You know, I hope it’s true he’s just busy on the other case. Imagine if the police station was run by those bastards. I’m sure WPC Stanton was in there somewhere too, but they weren’t going to let me anywhere near her. DS Little has apparently just returned from searching the house in Landsdown Road, and has found nothing and nobody. He said that Stocker has probably gone up to London.”
“OK. So we go back, close up early and rally our own troops. We’ll start with the house in Landsdown Road and see what we find. We don’t know if Appleton is the only bent copper, but even if he isn’t they might have missed something. You can also call your dark and dangerous acquaintance, and get him to find out anything he can. Don’t invite him to join us, just see if he knows anything else.”
“You mean Will?”
“I do.”
“You know about Will?”
“Of course. I don’t gossip with the right people for nothing,” Johnnie overtakes a heavily loaded red van, and then brakes sharply to avoid a family crossing the road. “I’ll have a think and see if there might be any other places Appleton or Stocker may have taken the girls.”
“Do you think they're already dead?”
He glances over at me, eyes very bright. “It’s possible, if Appleton is tying up all the loose ends, but I hope not. At the moment, Appleton thinks he is safe. The police are looking for runaways on the Downs, and he has no idea you’ve spoken to Trixie. We have time, angel.”
Catherine and Eve are busy with haircuts, and Mary is on the reception desk as we walk in. Beverly has arrived and she is helping out by putting fresh towels on the empty chairs. Her face is streaked with tears and her cheeks are blotchy.
There are only the two clients left, and the appointment book is empty after three o’clock, so Johnnie informs everyone that we are closing early for a meeting.
I give Beverly a hug, and take her into the backroom. Mary sweeps up, shuffling down the corridor with a bag of rubbish, as I start washing the mugs. As soon as she returns we gather in front of the wall of charts and lists.
“Are you OK, Rubes? What happened?”
I tell her, and she frowns. “Those bastards think they’ve got away with it, don’t they? Look, I’ll ring Mrs Carpenter and ask her to hold on to Summer for a bit longer. We’re closing early, aren’t we, and I suppose we won’t be more than an hour at Stocker’s house . . .” She takes a deep breath, glancing uncertainly at Beverly, “depending on what we find. Although you said the police have been down there?”
“Yes, they have. There are a couple of them out on the Downs at the moment. Miss Smith is so upset,” Beverly pauses, taking a long breath, her eyes welling up. “She is the nicest lady, and she’s been so kind, making me lunch and cups of tea. But she doesn’t know any more than we do. I checked the room where the girls slept last night, and the window is one of those big sash ones. If you pull the bottom up, it’s plenty big enough for a man to climb through, and certainly two girls.” Beverly bites her lip.
I put an arm around Beverly’s shoulders, feeling her thin body shaking with emotion. “Thanks Mary, you are the best. Johnnie’s just ringing around to try and get any more information. He suggested I might try to call Will, but I won’t be able to stop him from coming over, and I really don’t want him involved any more . . .”
“Rubes, I totally agree with you. You don’t have to justify it. I know you’re grateful to Will, because you have a history. But I can see he’s worrying you, too. Even without this new information about who he works for, he needs to be cut loose. If I was you, I’d try Trixie.”
“She said not to call her again. She told me everything, anyway.”
“She doesn’t know the girls have gone missing. It’s worth a go.”
The door bangs behind the last client, and I pause for a second before heading straight to the telephone.
The phone rings for ages before a woman answers, hard-voiced and disinterested.
“I need to speak to Trixie, please. It’s Ruby.”
“What club are you working in, Ruby?”
“I . . . I don’t work in a club. I just need to speak to Trixie. It’s really important.”
The woman sighs down the line, and yells to someone behind her. The seconds tick past, and I cross my fingers.
“Sorry love, she’s not in. Try later, alright?”
Next I call the news desk at the Herald, and Kenny says they’ll be with us in fifteen minutes.
“We’re going to Catherine’s house, Ruby. Is there anything we can do?” Eve asks, pulling on her thick coat.
“I don’t think so, thanks. We’re going to check the house in Landsdown Road, but I really don’t expect anyone to be there. They had so much notice they’re sure to have cleared out, but we need to make sure.”
“And after that?”
“After that I am hoping that Inspector Hammond will finally be able to turn his attention to the case and get the appropriate people arrested,” Johnnie says, rolling down his shirtsleeves and reaching for his tweed jacket. “You know, it won’t have been as easy as you think, Ruby, for Appleton to get away with taking the girls. After all, he needs an alibi, and he would have had to be at work at the usual time. Say he took the girl
s, and left them with Stocker, with whatever instructions, and went to work. Ultimately he is still answerable to Hammond, so he would have had to put on a show today, playing down the Collins case, making sure everyone sees him around the station . . .”
“You mean he might be going to meet Stocker later? And the girls?” Beverly’s voice is edged with panic.
“I don’t know, darling. This is all guesswork.”
The telephone rings and I pick up the receiver, hand shaking.
“Ruby?” Trixie’s cold, hard voice comes down the line.
“Ella and Lily have disappeared. They went last night from the orphanage. Do you have any idea where they might be?”
“This has something to do with Appleton, I suppose? No, I can’t think of anywhere. Stocker doesn’t have anywhere else that I know of. He sold everything, so if he isn’t holed up in his house with the girls, and that does seem a bit unlikely, he may have tried to drive them somewhere. Or just killed them last night. He isn’t going to be just waiting for the police to appear.”
“You said it was over, but it isn’t, is it?”
She ignores my comment. “He won’t have gone far if he's driven them away. He’s been going downhill fast recently. Susie’s death really knocked him out, but even before that . . . His sight is going so he won’t be able to drive far, if at all, and he can’t keep away from the bottle.”
I start to thank her, but the phone is cut off at the other end. Fine, she was helpful up to a point, and I can’t ask her for more.
The salon is silent as I pick up my bag and cardigan, and even the familiar sights and sounds of the summer evening can’t calm my fears. Surely Stocker couldn’t harm Ella, because she belonged to Susie, but then she said he took her down to the Games Room the night Susie took her own life. To hide her from the doctor? What really happened at the house that night?
Ella didn’t escape in any sense of the word, that day on the beach, and she hasn’t been settling into life with her Beverly. A trickle of ice creeps down my spine at a sudden thought. What if Ella was still helping Stocker this past couple of weeks? She was sent out to hunt for a new sister as she had so many times before, and it went wrong because Susie wasn’t there to organise it. Did she realise that John Stocker was trying to get rid of her, or was she waiting for him to call her home?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Johnnie crams everyone into his car, with Mary and me sitting on James’ and Kenny’s laps, and Beverly in the passenger seat. I don’t share my fears, but the sick feeling in my stomach isn’t helped by Johnnie’s high-speed driving, so I stay silent, one hand on James’ shoulder to steady myself. Johnnie darts in and out of the traffic, spinning the wheel deftly and finally makes a right turn up Landsdown Road.
The side roads are quieter, and day-trippers and students wander along the tree-lined pavements, sipping bottles of cold drinks, or eating melting ice creams. We park under a tree.
“Walk up to the front door like we’re going to a party,” Johnnie instructs as we hesitate on the pavement.
We march up the black and white tiled path, letting the gate click behind us. The white-pillared entrance is imposing, speaking of wealth and authority. Nobody could possibly guess what lies behind this white-painted façade.
Kenny, in the lead now, raps smartly on the black knocker, and the sound makes me jump. “Just in case. You never know, Stocker might have returned home.” He smiles at me, and steps in front, taking something from his pocket.
I lean over to see, but he pushes me gently away. “You just stand there and look like you are waiting for someone to answer the door.”
“What are you doing?”
“Breaking in.”
Johnnie is grinning. “I’m glad you’re doing that and not me, but if you get stuck let me know and I’ll take over.”
I stare at them both. “Do they teach boys this at school or something?”
A final twist and click and the tool is swiftly back in Kenny’s pocket, the shiny black door swinging open in front of us. I glance quickly back, but nobody is watching us, and the road is quiet. We step inside, shoes tapping on the chequered tiles that continue in the hallway.
“Anyone home?” James shouts, after he has pulled the door shut behind us. The echoes spin his words back but no reply booms down the empty staircase.
“Bit late for that. Ella? Lily?” I call, peering into the first room on my left. Despite the splendour of the frontage, the fresh paint and the well-oiled gate, the house is in bad repair, like an old actress putting on makeup to fool an audience.
The huge rooms should be airy and bright, but instead are dusty, and even in this hot weather, they smell damp and stale. The vast fireplaces stare like dead black eyes from the embellished walls. Chandeliers dripping with dancing crystals and drooping spider webs decorate the ornate ceilings. Most of the furniture is covered in sheets, or a thick dark material that might have been old blackout curtains.
“They could be locked up anywhere in the house and we’d never hear them. This place is like a palace. There must be eight rooms just on this floor!” Beverly says despairingly.
Johnnie nods. “Come on, it won’t take long. We’ll split up. We know Stocker isn’t here, so keep shouting for the girls. James, Mary and I will go upstairs, Ruby and Ken can take Beverly and start on this level.” He runs up the stairs.
“I’ll do this side if you do that one.” I move to the left-hand side of the hallway, and pull Beverly with me. Her fingers are cold and she clings to me for a couple of seconds before cautiously opening the door opposite.
Our footsteps clatter on the bare floorboards and skitter across tiled floors. I fling open doors. James, nearer the top of the house, is banging on doors and his voice echoes down the stairwell. “Lily! Ella!”
The house is huge, a proper old Georgian townhouse with four floors, fireplaces everywhere and dust sheets hung over what must be expensive furniture. In the cobwebbed, boarded-up rooms I find no evidence of the evil couple who lived here.
The kitchens are on a lower level, and accessed by a green baize door. Like the other rooms they are dusty and full of spiders. Rat droppings are sprinkled in every corner, and the only thing in use appears to be the huge enamel sink. A couple of recently dirtied plates are piled next to it, and a mug half full of tea obscures the plug hole. I touch the mug with a finger, but it’s cold. There is only a thin layer of scum on top, though, suggesting that it has been made today.
Through the kitchen is a scullery. The cellar entrance is much like the one we have at the salon, with brick steps leading down to a locked wooden door. I shout for Kenny, looking around for something to use as a weapon. Propped in one spider-infested corner are a number of gardening tools. I snatch up a heavy metal rake and start to batter the cellar door.
“Here!” says Kenny, who has disappeared under a brick archway.
The room is smaller, and houses a rusty wringer and another fireplace. One door opens out into a tangled garden, the other is set down a set of steps.
“Mind out!” Kenny shoots the bolts, and shoves open the door with a crash.
“Bloody hell!” I say, half choking on dust and wiping my eyes.
Beverly pushes past, shouting for her daughter, her voice echoing, strangely distorted, around the walls.
This cellar was clearly not used to store food or wine. It was a prison. The long rectangular room is separated into two halves by a brick wall and an arched doorway. In each half stand two cages. There are shackles and chains driven into the wall with huge metal rings thicker than my arm. Dark stains, made innocent by age, decorate the walls around the chains. Even after what has clearly been several years of disuse, the place stinks of terror, excrement and sweat. A place of death.
I can’t stop shaking, and Kenny takes my hand and Beverly’s as we step through the archway to check the furthest room. I step carefully, peering into the gloom, glad of Johnnie’s torch. That man thinks of everything.
“Lo
ok,” Beverly says suddenly and soberly.
The shaft of light illuminates a pile of bones, and another, and another. Some of the skeletons are small and there are odd rags of clothing attached but the flesh has long since rotted away. From somewhere in the roof I can feel a draft of cool air. In one corner, half hidden by a little collection of bones, sits a doll. A dusty, grubby little naked doll. Its hair is caught up in a blue bow, and its blue glass eyes are watchful. I choke back vomit.
“Lily! Ella!” My voice is sharp with fear and echoes around the cellars.
A tiny scraping noise makes me turn towards the second room, under the archway.
We run together across the dusty stone floor. Kenny is already moving towards the five wooden chests that are standing pushed up against the far wall. They are dark wood with heavy metal bolts and hasps holding them shut. I clutch myself tightly, wrapping my arms around my chest, shaking like I’ll never be warm again. The evil down here is so real, so raw and tangible it’s like I could take a bite out of the air and it would be poisonous.
Slowly, struggling a little with the weight, Kenny opens the lid, and gives a sharp intake of breath. “It’s OK, Ruby. Just kid’s toys, and a few clothes.” He flings open another two, with the same result.
I know he is thinking, as I am, of the irony of keeping toys in a torture chamber. If John Stocker was in the house with us now, I would kill him with my bare hands.
The fourth chest is bizarrely filled with women’s underwear, and although we’ve lost hope by the last chest he hauls the lid open to reveal a hunched up figure, knees drawn up to her chest.
“Ella!” Beverly half screams, rushing forward.
“Oh God, it’s Lily!” I push past Kenny and together we lift the child out of the chest.
She’s still breathing as I cradle her on my lap, but her eyes are shut. “I think she must have fainted, or perhaps been drugged. The noise I heard must have been her moving inside the trunk. I was beginning to think it was just a rat.”
“Here, I’ll carry her out of here. I can’t see anything else but bones. Christ knows how many people he killed down here, but she’s certainly the last one to come out alive.”
