by Daisy White
“He’s out investigating the fire at Tegdown Stables. That was a terrible business wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. I really need to show you something on this letter . . .”
“Leave it with me, and I’ll pass it on when the DC gets back. Off you go now. I won’t forget.” He waves his hand in a patronising manner.
Before I can direct any murderous thoughts in his direction, WPC Stanton opens a door at the rear of the station and drops a load of paperwork on the sergeant’s desk. “All in order, signed and ready to go,” she says, before turning to me. “Hallo, Ruby. Are you alright?”
The sergeant is glaring at me, but I ignore him. “Actually, no. If you’ve got a moment, can I speak to you in private, please?”
“Of course.” She smiles, and leads me to an empty room. “What’s the problem?”
I explain about the letter, and show her the address. “This is the other letter, the one I telephoned about earlier this week.” I put the crumpled sheet on the table between us.
“So what exactly are you investigating this time, Ruby? You must have upset someone to get these threats.” Her gaze is bright with intelligence.
“Sammy Stonehill asked me to look into his sister’s death. He thinks she was murdered. I know what you’re going to say, and I’ve been very careful not to get in the way of your investigation. I told him I’d ask around, but if I found any evidence that it wasn’t suicide, I’d have to tell you first.”
She gives me a look, half exasperated, half amused. “He accepted that?”
“Oh yes. He seems genuinely devastated about Rita, and wants to know what happened.”
“You must know that we’re treating Rita Stonehill’s death as suicide. There isn’t a shred of evidence to say it was anything else, Ruby. Do you have any evidence that it wasn’t? Or did you see anything at the fire?”
“No, I absolutely swear I haven’t.” I search my mind for anything that I might have uncovered by accident. “Did you know that Rita’s dad used to beat her?”
She nods. “I heard from various sources that he could be a bit rough. Is that relevant?”
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to think of any reason why I should suddenly be targeted. Did you talk to Bev?” Frustration is breaking through my voice, and I fight to keep it steady. I don’t need this at the moment.
“She came in to see us. Look, Ruby, I admire your desire to help, and I always have, but I’m not sure that Sammy is helping us by getting you involved. Rita had a tough life, with a lot going on recently, and sometimes people just snap. They can’t take any more. It’s tragic, but it’s more common than you would probably think.”
I don’t want to discuss suicide with her. “I only said that if I saw anything . . .”
“I know. Okay, I’ll tell you something in confidence, because I don’t want you to get into trouble. Letters like this have gone out to Roger Harper, Joey Castle and Tommy O’Mara. All three gentlemen have handed us the exact same messages. The only difference is the name at the top. Yours was hand-delivered, but the others were posted, which probably accounts for the address that you can see imprinted on this envelope.”
“So it isn’t helpful at all?” I feel like an idiot.
“Not really, but you never know. Just be careful, and, Ruby, you can tell Sammy we have the case in hand, and he doesn’t need to worry. We are working hard to find out if there is a link between the recent incidents, and in the meantime, if you hear of anything . . .”
“I know, come and tell you.”
“Exactly.”
I trail back to the salon, and arrive bubbling with frustration. This investigation is going nowhere, and unless I get a major break and somebody starts talking, I’ll just have to tell Sammy I can’t do any more.
Perhaps Joanna, the one other person convinced that Rita was murdered, will be able to help a bit more. There is also the Purple Chemical Company connection to look into, but I still feel a bit low. This whole case seems to be taking more energy than I have to spare, and someone is always one step ahead. I should be putting all my efforts into helping Mary plan her wedding.
“Get cracking you two, I’ve got a full appointment book for this afternoon. Ruby, you had some telephone calls . . . I wrote the names on the pad. Here you go . . . Sammy. He says you know his number and to call back, your chap, Kenny, and your mum.”
“Really? My mum?” I take the paper, biting my lip. Asking no questions, but giving me a bright glance, Eve bustles off to take the coats of a couple of soggy customers.
I’m still standing by the reception desk like a lemon when Mary shoves me off towards the back room. “I’ll make tea and you can get the colour ready for Miss Kemp. What did the police say about the note?”
Scrunching the paper Eve just gave me, I tell Mary what WPC Stanton said.
“Well, maybe it’s for the best. Go and see Joanna like you planned, and just wait and see what happens. I know you feel personally involved knowing what Rita was going through, but you’re not. I’d rather you left it than got hurt, or in trouble with the police. Rubes? Are you in a trance? What’s up?”
I tell her about the telephone calls.
Her blue eyes widen, and she twists her engagement ring nervously. “Why would your mum ring? You haven’t spoken to her since we left, have you?”
“No. Aunt Jackie tells Pearl that mum and the kids are fine, and she’s happy with her new job in the laundry. The last letter I got was the one in the Christmas card . . . You know how we left! It’s enough to know she’s okay, and she hasn’t taken up with another flake.” Little knots of anxiety are tightening in my belly. “What if something has happened to one of the kids?”
Mary throws a couple of custard creams onto the saucers with a flourish, and then stops to peer at the bit of paper in my hand. “Absolutely not, I’m sure. Look, Eve has written it’s not urgent, and just to give her a call when you can. It’s more likely that she’s spoken to my mum and heard I’m getting married. Perhaps she thinks it would be a good time for you two to make up?”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “I don’t know. Anyway, we didn’t fall out, did we? I killed that man she married because she asked me to.”
Mary shrugs, dismissing it. “All that’s in the past. You did what you had to do to get out and make sure everyone you left behind was safe. Nobody else will ever know.” She picks up the tray and starts to walk out of the door, her voice changing. “Have you heard from Will recently?”
Will is my stepdad’s son. “Not since he sent those gorgeous flowers for my birthday. He’s working up north for another few months. He said at least until Christmas when I spoke to him last.”
“He doesn’t know about you and Kenny yet then?”
“No. I’m hoping he stays up north, to be honest, and maybe gets a girl up there.”
Will looks out for me, in a fiercely protective, slightly claustrophobic manner. His own mum is dead, and he says he has no other family. I can’t quite relax when I’m with him, but he saved my life once, and he’s the only other person who knows the truth about his dad’s death. Will also works for some very dodgy blokes, and gets paid for doing all sorts of dirty work. He doesn’t talk about it much. It clearly makes him a lot of money, so I leave well alone.
“Enough gossiping now!” Catherine orders us out, and back to work.
As the last customer leaves, I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ve got those telephone calls to make, so I’ll lock up and sweep the floor,” I offer, and the salon empties rapidly.
“Are you coming over to White Oak with me? You said Joanna lives in the next road along to Summer’s babysitter.” Mary is pulling her cardigan on. “I need to hurry though, because I’m meeting Ted afterwards.”
“No, you go. The calls might take a while, and if I leave it till later, Joanna should be home. She said she works at the bank, and they close at five,” I tell her.
She eyes me for a moment, clearly torn. “Will you be alright goi
ng up there by yourself?”
“I’m not ten! Sorry, but I’ll be fine, and it’ll be light until nine at least,” I say.
“If you’re sure . . .” She hesitates a moment more, then grabs her bag, and I hear the light tap of her shoes as she starts to run down the hill towards the bus stop on the Promenade.
Sammy isn’t at home, but the woman who answers the telephone turns out to be his mum, and she is obviously convinced I am not just a friend. She interrogates me, her voice strident and harsh, and I can see now why Sammy told me to just pretend to be his girlfriend. She promises to get him to call back tomorrow.
Kenny is also out. The bored chap on the news desk says he is following up a story and he can’t say when he’ll be back.
I take the time to sweep the floor and tidy up before I make my final call. There is nothing new to add to my investigation chart, which hangs forlornly on the wall, one corner ripped and dangling. I take a pencil and add, Maria O’Mara to my lengthy list of suspects, circle Alan Stonehill in red pencil, and then make reluctantly for the telephone.
I misdial the number twice, because my hands are shaking so much, but eventually I hear her voice. “Hallo, Mum.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Ruby . . . I wasn’t sure if you’d call back,” Her voice is quiet and hesitant. In the background I can hear the cheerful chatter of young children.
“Are you alright?” My hand is sweaty on the receiver, and my heart is pounding. I wasn’t prepared for the flood of emotions that sweep over me when I hear her voice. She sounds just the same — sweet and soft, and a little bit sad.
“Fine, thank you. I was just wondering . . . I heard from Jackie that Mary’s getting married, and I know the two of you share a room . . .”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if Garnet could come down to stay with you in Brighton for a bit?”
This is the last thing I was expecting, and I swallow hard, thinking of my now sixteen-year-old sister, of her long curtain of brown hair and her sweet way of looking down at her feet when she talks. “I don’t know. Does she want to? What about school?”
“I think it would do her good to get out of Croydon for a bit. She’s finishing school in a few weeks, and she’s got in with a bad crowd. I don’t know what to do, Ruby. She stays out all hours at friends’ houses, smoking and drinking. She says she doesn’t want a job, she wants to study art. What kind of a future is there in that? She doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend . . .” Her voice is shrill now, and again I recognise the tone, the anxiety breaking through. My mum is another one who suffers terribly with her nerves, but then she has a pretty good reason for doing so.
“Okay. Look, tell her to ring me and we’ll have a chat. If she wants to, perhaps she could come down for a weekend and see if she likes it here?”
“That would be wonderful. So, Ruby, how are you really?”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to sound natural, “Still hairdressing at Johnnie’s. I’m happy, and I love living in Brighton.”
“Right. I’ve . . . I’ve been promoted at the laundry.”
“Good, that’s great news,” Despite my efforts, my words are as stilted as hers, and we’re both struggling. There is too much going on in our silences, and I’m not sure how to deal with it. “Look, I’ve got to go, Mum, but take care, won’t you?”
“Yes . . . yes, and you too.”
I want to tell her I love her, and miss her, but I can’t get the words out, and now the moment is lost. The first conversation with my mum in nearly four years . . . I slump down in the chair behind the reception desk and feel the tears trickle down my cheeks, and I’m really not sure why. I tell myself not to be such a drip. We’re both happy, and we’re both safe, and that’s about as much as we can ever hope for.
I suddenly really want to speak to Kenny, but if I ring the news desk again and he’s not there, that chap will get annoyed. I try his flat, waiting while the phone rings and rings. The big old house where Kenny lives is divided into six flats, and all share the same line. The telephone is downstairs. Eventually one of the residents answers, and tells me he hasn’t seen Kenny come in yet. I am tempted to ask if he’ll go and bang on his door just to make sure, but although he’s polite enough, he’s clearly in a hurry.
I slam the telephone receiver down, wash my face and lock up. If I’m quick I can still make the half past five bus.
The queue at the bus stop is long and people are grumbling about the weather, jostling for space. The drizzle dusts my skin and clothes in fine brilliant droplets, and I realise I should have gone back to the flat for my coat.
But it’s too late now, and part of me is pleased that I’m soon wet and shivering. The sullen sky and grey sea match my mood, and as the bus rumbles towards White Oak that sadness lies heavy in my chest, making my throat tight, and my eyes prickle. I can’t stop picturing my mum as I last saw her, covered in bruises, lying on the floor where he had thrown her. She slid the knife towards me, laid an arm over her pregnant belly, and I knew what I had to do.
If I hadn’t done what I did, I might have lost a mother and a sister. I might never have left them to run away to Brighton. Lost in the past, I almost miss my stop.
Joanna lives at number forty-two, in a neat little house with a scrubbed concrete path leading up to a black front door.
An older woman answers the door, and I explain I’m a friend of Joanna’s. Her neat brown hair is pinned up in a chignon, and her sharp, bird-like features are similar to her daughter’s.
“Hallo, Ruby. This is a surprise.” Joanna appears from the kitchen, still in her bank uniform. Without all her make-up she looks younger, softer.
“I know you aren’t on the telephone, and Sammy gave me your address,” I glance uncertainly at her mum, who is still smiling in a slightly guarded fashion.
“That’s alright. I was just making a cup of tea if you want one?”
“Thanks.” I follow her into the kitchen while her mum picks up a basket of washing and runs up the stairs.
“My mum knows all about it, and she knows about you from my aunt, so don’t worry. Anything you need to say, she can hear it too,” Joanna explains, pouring boiling water, “although she doesn’t necessarily agree with my ideas.” She adds a packet of biscuits to the tray and then takes me into their little living room.
Her mum smiles. “You two go through and have your chat. Jo and I have been over and over all this, and I don’t think I can add anything useful. I want to get dinner started anyway.”
The house is an immaculate little box of a place, quite a contrast to Bev’s vast, sprawling, grubby building. Someone is clearly very house proud. Even the plant on the shelf has glossy green leaves without a hint of dust. The walls are painted soft rose pink, and the furniture is dark, and smells of lavender and wax polish.
“I’ll be honest with you, I’m not getting very far with this case,” I tell her. “Usually, I can see a way in and can get information from people who wouldn’t normally talk to the police. This time, I’m as locked out as they are. The racing crowd aren’t talking, and I can’t get near Sammy’s dad.”
“Why do you want to speak to him?”
“If he is truly innocent, he is perfectly placed to get the information we might need to break the case. He knows the racecourses, because he’s a tipster, and he has a big motive to help, because someone killed his daughter.”
Joanna sips her tea and considers this. “But he still beat Rita up.”
“He did, but he may not have had anything to do with her death. I think if he didn’t, then he might want to find out what really happened.”
“Did Bev tell you about the wedding?”
“Yes. What about the groom? Could he be responsible for any of this?”
She snorts. “God no! Percy Thrush is the weakest little man. He works for Rita’s dad in his spare time, and he’d have done what he was told. When he isn’t on the courses, he runs a hacking stables up on the Downs. I imagine h
e was very relieved when his intended bride didn’t turn up. A firecracker like Rita would have terrified him.”
I ask her the same question I asked Bev, and her answer is quick and sure. “If I had to guess, I would say it was something to do with her dad. I think he had her killed to get her out the way. She was an embarrassment to him and he couldn’t get her under control.”
“What about everything else that’s happened? The stolen horse, the fire and the death of that stable lad? Could Rita have been involved with anyone who would do that?”
“What do you mean?” Joanna leans an elbow on the table, resting her chin in one hand. Her hair is still pinned up in a chignon, pulling her skin tight. Her eyes show dark shadows underneath.
“I suppose I’m just trying to get a connection, and she’s the obvious one. Maybe she had another lover, or an ex-lover who wanted to steal Basil’s Pride, and she helped him . . .”
Joanna is shaking her head. “She wouldn’t. No way. Rita was loyal and she was pretty moralistic at times. I know what you’re thinking — how can someone have morals and have three boyfriends on the go — but she was. She would never steal, or help anyone else to do it either. No, her dad had her killed, and we just need to prove it and get him locked away.”
It seems a sensible conclusion, but I just can’t accept it at the moment. I’m sure there is something else to all of this. “Can I ask you about Rita’s ex-boyfriend, Paul? His name has come up a couple of times, and I think someone said she met him at a protest.”
Joanna frowns. “I haven’t heard her mention him in ages. He was her first boyfriend after we left school. I’m not sure they kept in touch, and I wouldn’t blame him, because there was a rumour that Rita’s brothers beat him up to stop him seeing her. But I’m not sure if that’s true. I think his family moved away.”
I finished my tea. “Thanks for the drink. Joanna, why do you think Bev is so adamant that Rita killed herself?”
She flinches. “I don’t know. We’ve argued about it several times. She says I need to let it rest, and stop encouraging Sammy. Bev is a pretty forceful character, and if she gets it into her head that she’s right about something, she’ll argue her point to the death.”
