BEFORE I LEFT a gripping psychological thriller full of killer twists

by Daisy White

  “You say that he either had a key to your place, or Mary opened the door?”

  “Yes, which again all points to someone we know. She wouldn’t just let anyone in. We’re both really careful.” I take a quick look around the packed salon. “Pearl and Victoria are working, but the police have already been up to the hospital and interviewed them.”

  “Who else? Ted’s out with the seafront search party and Leon’s over there going through all the notes from today and collating them. We know at least twenty more people we see regularly when we go out, but who would Mary trust to open the door to?” Kenny trails off, interrupted by the cheerful departure of the “home guard,” those indomitable old ladies, who call that they will be back tomorrow to “help out.”

  “Wonderful people.” Johnnie beams after them. “Did you know Joyce was a ferry pilot? She used to take the planes between RAF bases in the war. Amazing lady.”

  “Mrs Carpenter? I thought she was a hairdresser?”

  “Oh, she was. She was only a pilot during the war. While I think of it, Ruby sweetheart, have your own set of keys for the salon. I was going to give them to you and Mary tonight anyway, but it makes so much more sense for you to open up since you’re living here.”

  “Thanks Johnnie,” For some reason silly tears are making my eyes all shiny, and I blink hard, pretending to be groping for my cigarette packet in my pinny pocket.

  “Ken?” James gives him a shove, “Do you have something?”

  “Not sure . . . I know he’s Victoria’s boyfriend, but how much to we know about ‘Professor’ Leon?”

  “Leon?” I almost laugh at the suggestion. “The police interviewed him after Linda’s murder, but only because he was with us at the picnic.”

  James jumps on it. “Yes, but has he been questioned about the other murders? Does he have alibis for all of them?”

  “I don’t know . . . oh, yes, Victoria said he was questioned again after Carla’s death because they wanted an expert view on the witchcraft aspect. I suppose with the Lady Isabella connection they needed an historical point of view. But Johnnie has been interviewed more than any of us, and nobody thinks he’s the murderer, do they?” My head feels dull and heavy, hardly able to contain my spinning thoughts. Just when I think I can see a clear path through the chaos, my roadway shatters and reforms, leading somewhere entirely different.

  I can hear Johnnie laughing as he comes back with the brush. “Like I have time to nip off and murder people! I think we’ll have a proper clean- up tomorrow, Ruby. We should have Mary back by then. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  Kenny shrugs. “I hope so. We’ll all do our best tonight, but meanwhile, Rubes, you be careful,” He claps James on the back. “We’ll find Mary. Try not to worry. James, I’ll go and file the story if you want, mate.”

  Something passes between them, a quick look like the flicker of a shadow, and James nods. “Thanks, Ken. See you later. We’ll go down to Baby D’s and catch up on the news.”

  James and I are left staring at each other in the brightly lit salon, as Johnnie locks up. “Are we really going to Baby D’s? Because I don’t really feel like talking to anyone. But I don’t want to sleep while Mary’s missing. I just can’t.” I feel like as long as I’m awake, I’m willing her to stay alive. If I sleep, I lose our invisible connection. She isn’t dead. I would know.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m going to leave you to it. Don’t do anything you shouldn’t — and James, please be careful with her.” Johnnie snaps off the lights. “Where are you going anyway? In case I get any news?”

  “I think we’ll skip the coffee bars and go down to the sea. I won’t let you fall asleep, Ruby.”

  The road is quiet now. We watch Johnnie walk down the alley to his car, then wander in silence through the balmy twilight to the dark mass of water swirling gently beneath the summer night sky.

  A few other late night beach-goers are hunkered down on the west side of the pier, and a group of ten or so have dragged sleeping bags under the shadowy, weed-covered structure.

  I hesitate, but James takes my hand and pulls me on past Black Rock to where the shingle meets the dusty white chalk cliffs. A car flashes past, and a bus grumbles its way down the seafront. I can see the passengers in the brightly lit interior hanging onto leather straps and swaying.

  “Down here.” James gives me a hand. The beach crunches under our feet as we jump down. It’s low tide and this end is dotted with little coves.

  We settle on a warm patch of sand, high above the waves, sheltered by the sea wall. I’m exhausted and on the verge of tears, but James starts to talk. He tells me about his childhood in Whitehawk, his Irish mum and Portuguese dad, and his burning desire to get away from Brighton, to make a name for himself as a reporter.

  “So these murders are good for your career?” I say lightly. I haven’t talked about myself. I have no family memories I want to share, or fond stories of childhood. That time belonged to someone else.

  James is a silhouette on the beach beside me. His face is in darkness. All I can see is his eyes on my face. “I wouldn’t commit murder to get a good story, Rubes. If you thought it was me, you wouldn’t be sitting on a lonely beach in the middle of the night, would you?”

  He sounds like he’s teasing, but I do get a prickle of unease. Not because I think James is a murderer, but because he might want something I can’t provide. I lie back and close my eyes. Mary’s terrified white face looks back at me and I snap them open them again.

  “Tell me about Mary,” James says, propped up on one elbow. I can feel his breath warm on my neck and his body along the length of mine.

  “She’s brave and smart, and I love her more than anyone.” Too late, I’ve revealed rather more than I meant to about my own life. “But more than that. She has this kind of sweetness. It’s genuine and quiet and —oh, I don’t know. The other day she was sitting outside the salon and just staring at the sun and the sea, with one hand on her belly. That is what she’s like. She sees happiness, I suppose. And really feels it.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Sometimes, but not with that kind of pure certainty. It’s like a child’s view of the world, and even after everything she’s been through with Derek hitting her, she still has it.” Exhaustion is coming in waves now, beating me back against the sand. My eyelids are heavy and gritty. “Don’t let me sleep.”

  James pauses for a moment, so close, then pulls out a tiny bag of pills, “Have one of these. They keep you awake forever.”

  I study the bag uncertainly. “Are they drugs?”

  “Purple hearts. I have a couple when I’m working the night desk, and need to keep alert. It’s fine as long as you can sleep it off a couple of days later. It makes you feel . . . great.” He tips a couple of pills into one hand and I wriggle over onto my side to see properly.

  The pills are actually little blue triangles. I’m about to refuse when another wave of exhaustion hits, and I feel sick with the effort of staying awake. I can’t let Mary down. “Don’t we need water to swallow them?”

  “Ideally yes, but they’re so small they go down okay with nothing. Here!” He tips one into my hand.

  “I won’t go mad or anything?”

  “Not any more than you already are.” He grins in the darkness, his eyes steady on mine. “Look, Rubes, you don’t have to take them, but it will help you stay awake if that’s what you want.”

  Somewhere out to sea a gull screams, and the sound echoes around the cliffs. If Mary is hurt . . . I tilt my head back and pop the pill on my tongue, ignoring the slightly bitter taste as I swallow it.

  James takes one as well and we settle back down, lying side by side again with our bodies just touching. Even here in the dark I feel safe with him. I still take a quick look round for the watcher but either he’s so well-hidden I can’t see him, or he’s spying on someone else tonight. Come to think of it I haven’t seen him since the swimming-pool.

  Would the police
arrest him and not tell me?

  My eyelids sag again, and I force them open. “The pills aren’t working!”

  James laughs, “Be patient. I know what’ll wake you up. Let’s go for a swim.”

  “You’re joking. I’m so tired I’d drown!”

  “I’ll hold you up, Rubes. Come on!”

  I stand up too quickly, feel slightly dizzy, and watch as James undresses down to his pants. He has a muscular body, I remember from the swim at the picnic. The picnic when Linda was alive.

  “Your turn!” He starts towards the waves, continuing until he’s knee deep, and a couple of yards away.

  It’s so dark that I can’t see anything properly, but I fix my gaze on the vague shape of a figure in the sea, and pull off my work uniform and shoes. I walk slowly down in my bra and knickers, wincing at the odd sharp stone or shell. The heat is heavy tonight, and sweat drips from my forehead.

  As I reach the end of the sea wall, James dives into the waves. I stand still, enjoying the cool swish and swirl of the tidal ebb and flow. A small noise makes me turn back to the beach, but I can see nothing in the darkness. For some reason it doesn’t matter anymore, and I wade deeper until I’m swimming. The tired feeling is going, and I’m floating along with every sense sharp and alert.

  The sea and sky are no longer black, but dark purple, and even red. The cresting waves in the distance are touched with gold, and the beach is far away. I lie back, licking my lips, enjoying the heightened sensations. My fingertips tingle icy cold, and my body’s weightless and drifting.

  “Ruby?”

  “Here. Further along!”

  “Do you feel alright?”

  “Amazing. You were right. Mary will be okay.” I’m so grateful, in a weird rush of golden emotion, that I suddenly decide it would be a good idea to kiss him.

  His lips taste of salt and smoke, and he kisses me back. Hard. Our bodies pressed together under the water could be naked, and the waves seem to rush past faster than they should, pushing us closer.

  The bright colours of the night merge together, and I wrap my legs around his waist, leaning back from my waist so my short hair floats gently around my face like a weedy halo. There is a reason I should stop, I know vaguely in the back of my mind, but I push everything away except the colours, and the sensations of my body. Everything is better, stronger and sharper than ever before. The sweat is rinsed clean, and our gasps are drowned by the waves.

  * * *

  “Are you okay, Ruby?”

  The first streaks of morning light are visible through the thunder clouds and the heat of the night has turned to the sweat of daytime. The sea is spread before us in a shimmering mass of gold and red. But the colours are quieter, more manageable, and the intensity and connection I had with James is gone.

  “Yeah, fine.” I force myself to be casual, “Thanks for — you know, keeping me awake.”

  He leans over, blocking the light, delivering a quick, impersonal kiss to my cheek, “Any time. If you need to stay awake again just call me. I never sleep much.”

  My body is sore, and my hair is salty and stiff. I rub my forearms without thinking, then notice what I’m doing. “I should go home and get changed.”

  James helps me up, laughing when I try to shove sandy feet into my shoes. “I’ll shower at Black Rock and head down to the office and see what’s happening. If I get anything new, I’ll ring you at Johnnie’s, okay? But try not to worry. The police have Glebe House cordoned off, so nothing can happen there.”

  My brain is still whirring, but I’m not tired, just disorientated. “We’re investigating it at the salon. It’s what we decided yesterday. Johnnie started all that, getting everyone to come in and share gossip. One of the clients did say the police might not like it, and we should keep it quiet, though.”

  “Are you going to?”

  I meet those turquoise eyes, slitted against the early sun, and smile thinly. “No chance. Today I’m making it bigger and better, with as many people as I can get until we find Mary and get this bastard.”

  He grins, and we walk in comfortable silence up as far as Black Rock, before I cross over, almost running up the hill to the salon.

  It takes a lot of tea to calm my jittering body, but I wash quickly, pull on a fresh uniform, and use my new keys to open up an hour early. Not that I’m expecting any customers, but I want to be near the phone. Actually I want most of all to take the bus up to Glebe House and check for myself that no victim has been found today. But as James pointed out, the place and the Killing Stone are sealed off by the police.

  In the salon window, I carefully pull down one of Johnnie’s new advertising boards, and instead stick up the photo of Mary and me. Then I write out a notice:

  Can you help? Mary Evans is missing. 23 years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, approx. 5’5”. Any information, please call in or telephone Brighton Police Station.

  The last is a pacifier to the police. Surely they can’t make me take down a notice which includes an appeal to contact them.

  I drag out cloths and disinfectant, and clean the salon with vicious energy — mopping the floor, washing the mugs, and sweeping out the whole place. Last of all I get all the paper packaging from the boxes in the back room, and tear it into strips like the pages of a notepad. We only seem to have eight pencils in the whole salon, but I shove them into an empty conditioner bottle and put the whole lot onto the little table in front of the ‘waiting chairs.’

  Catherine, Eve and Johnnie arrive punctually at half past eight, radiating a kind of ferocious energy, which is just what I need to keep me going. My brain is spinning like a globe and all I can hear is someone chanting her name: “Mary, Mary, Mary.”

  “I’ll get the tea done!” I tell them.

  Eve follows me down the corridor, picking up a fresh pile of towels, “You’ve done well this morning, Ruby. I bet you didn’t get any sleep either.” She eyes me shrewdly, and I nod. “Get an early night tonight whatever happens today.”

  “We’ll find Mary today,” I tell her, pouring hot water. I dodge her gaze — I don’t want her to tell exactly what I was up to last night — and find myself staring at the concrete floor. She grabs the towels and I hear the tip-tap of her flat shoes on the wooden floorboards of the corridor.

  Forgetting the tea, I look at the floor some more. Something’s caught my eye. The faded red brick steps down to the old cellar are dirty. Just a bit of sand and grit, but we always keep it spotless.

  I kneel down, frowning. The six steps lead down to the boarded-up door. I tread carefully down as far as the barrier, and give it a little shove. Nothing. The boards make a cross and are screwed into position on the actual door. I’m being silly. We had so many people in yesterday. Everyone was grabbing milk stuff, and everyone here would have sand and grit on their shoes at some point. If there was anyone in the cellar they would be yelling blue murder and we’d hear them.

  “Mary?” I try calling anyway. No sound. I tell myself I really am losing what little sanity I ever had, finish the tea, and take the tray into the salon.

  Mrs Carpenter and her cohorts have arrived, and Johnnie calls a quick meeting. “Ruby, you fill them in on what’s happening.”

  I put my tea tray down and lean against a cherub mirror, brushing my short hair nervously out of one eye. “We haven’t had any news, but I spoke to the police yesterday, and they have a new detective on the case. I also spoke to two reporters from the Herald, so Mary’s story will be front-page news today. The more people who see it the better. With luck, whoever has taken her will either be caught, or get scared and release her.” I pause for breath. “Today we need to carry on collecting information, and making sure the search parties cover every single area of Brighton. Does anyone else have any news?”

  “Two groups of men went out along the coast as far as Newhaven last night, and this morning my Jon is taking a load from the market in his lorry, so he’ll look along the coast road as far as Shoreham,” Eve tells us.

&nb
sp; 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.