The Return of Rachel Stone

by Amy Cross

  “I don't want any of this,” she whimpered. “I just can't resist him.”

  “Of course you can,” he replied with a sigh, looking out the window again and seeing that Natalie was still out in the garden, still enjoying the sunshine. “You just won't.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Today

  The towers and office-blocks of London, and the cathedrals and palaces, rose up high above the city, while huge cranes stood precariously in the distance, silhouetted against the cloudy gray sky. Traffic roared across the bridges, and trains too, and a few midday drinkers had already gathered outside a pub on Tyers Street as Jo made her way through the crowd. Quickly crossing the street, she slipped through a gate that led into Vauxhall Gardens.

  At the far end, beyond the benches where workers sat with their lunches, a few homeless men were chatting as they sat on the ground with their backs against a wall.

  “Have you seen this girl?” Jo asked as she reached them. Holding up a piece of paper, she showed them the slightly blurred photo that Margaret had given her several days earlier.

  One of the men simply chuckled and looked away, but the other squinted and took a closer look.

  “Give it here,” he said, reaching out with a dirty, mittened hand.

  Jo let him take the piece of paper, and then she waited impatiently as he peered at the image.

  “Have you ever seen her around here?” she continued. “I think maybe she lived in the area for a while, until a month or so back. Please, if you recognize her, I have to know.”

  “What's she in trouble for?”

  “I didn't say she was in trouble.”

  He sniffed. “Friend of yours, is she? Little sister, something like that?”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Can't say that I have, but -”

  Snatching the paper from him, Jo muttered a vague “Thank you” as she hurried on, following the path that snaked through the park. She'd been asking around all morning, and she'd approached at least a hundred people who were living rough in the area near Vauxhall Bridge, but she still hadn't found anyone who recognized the girl. She knew this approach was desperate, and that her odds of success were low, and deep down she realized she might have better luck if she went back to her hotel room and tried searching online. At the same time, she couldn't bring herself to sit still for too long, because sitting still meant thinking back to that awful moment when Rachel had been shot, whereas at least now she felt as if she was doing something.

  “Have you ever seen this girl?” she asked, thrusting the piece of paper in front of a man who was searching through a bin.

  He turned to her, and she immediately realized that he was blind.

  “Never mind,” she muttered, slipping past him and heading around the next corner, only to find that she'd reached a dead end. She looked around for a moment, hoping against hope that she might spot some new route to take, before realizing that she'd have to head back the way she'd come. Her nervous energy was growing as she headed back across the park. Already, her mind was racing as she tried to figure out where she could check next. Deep down, she knew that her search was becoming more and more desperate, and less and less likely to succeed.

  And then, a few minutes later, she found the city within the city.

  Intending to head back toward the river, she'd tried taking a shortcut behind one of the many pubs, only to end up in a series of winding alleys. She'd hurried on, hoping to find some way between the buildings, but suddenly she'd come across an open doorway that led into another, wider alley, and she stopped as she saw that there were twenty or thirty people ahead. Some were sitting on the ground, while others were warming their hands over fires that burned in old cans, while plastic bags filled with bottles overflowed all around. There was a sweet smell in the air, and smoke from a nearby fire too, but Jo instinctively took a step forward until suddenly she heard someone chuckling nearby.

  “Are you lost, love?” a Scottish man asked, eyeing her from his spot on the ground. “There's no coffee shop down here.”

  Too stunned for a moment to say anything, Jo pulled out her new phone and rechecked the map. There was no alley marked anywhere, but she quickly put her phone away as she realized that she'd accidentally stumbled upon what seemed like a small community of rough-sleepers.

  “Her,” she stammered finally, holding the print-out toward the man. “Do you know her? Have you seen her before?”

  “Aye,” he replied, peering at the picture as if he was struggling to see properly at all. “Yeah, she's been around.”

  “You've seen her here? Are you sure?”

  “I'm not sure sure,” he muttered. “You see a lot of faces in this part of the world, and most of them don't stick around for too long.” He leaned closer to the image. “But I think I've seen her a few times, maybe.”

  “What's her name?”

  “Her name?” He chuckled again, as if the question was absurd. “Oh, I don't bother much with names, not these days. But if you're after that kind of information, you need to go and find Brenda. She usually takes an interest in the younger ones, keeps them out of trouble and so on. She'll be around somewhere. Sorry, love, I'm not trying to be difficult, I just really can't help you when it comes to names. But if you could spare some change, that'd be mighty appreciated.”

  ***

  “Cassie was a right one,” Brenda said as she looked at the photo. “Some people are wrong ones, and some people are right ones, and Cassie was a right one. I saw that the moment I clapped eyes on her.”

  “Cassie?” Jo replied, feeling a rush of hope as she realized she might be getting close to an answer. “Are you sure her name was Cassie?”

  “That's the name she went by when she was here,” Brenda continued. A large woman wearing several layers of tattered clothing, wedged into a gap between two walls, she was peering at the photo from behind a pair of cracked spectacles. “In fact, come to think of it, I saw proof one day. She asked me to keep hold of a few important items for her, in case they got lost or stolen. I remember she turned up a couple of years ago, acting all tough but not really knowing how to survive. She was cocky. I'm not a miracle worker, but I helped set her straight on a few things. Got some of the cockiness out of her.”

  “What was her surname?” Jo asked, looking down at the picture of the girl she'd known only as Rachel Stone. “Where did she come from? How did she end up living on the streets? Why did she leave?”

  “Slow down with those questions, lady. Why do you want to know, anyway?”

  “It's important.”

  “I get that, but why? Is she in trouble?”

  Jo stared at the photo for a moment, before turning to Brenda again. “She's dead.”

  Brenda paused, before nodding slowly.

  “You don't seem surprised,” Jo pointed out.

  “Cassie was a smart girl,” Brenda explained. “Too smart for her own good, most of the time. Always coming up with crazy schemes, with ways she was gonna get off the street and start living a normal life again. She even said she'd come back for me some day and set me right, but I knew there was no way she'd ever manage any of that. Well, no, that's not quite true. I admired her ambition and I figured that if anyone could get straight, it'd be her. But the gravity's too strong down here.” She looked up toward the top of a nearby wall, where the tip of a nearby skyscraper was just about visible poking into view. “Can't get all the way up there. Not from here. Not once you've fallen this far.”

  “Did you ever hear her mention the name Rachel Stone?”

  “Rachel?” She paused, before shaking her head and turning, reaching into a large plastic bag that was already overflowing with old bottles and various other items of junk. “No, her name wasn't Rachel. Her name was Cassie.”

  “But did she mention someone named Rachel?”

  “Her name was Cassie.”

  “But did she ever -”

  “See?” Pulling out a small plastic card, she held it up fo
r Jo to see. “What did I tell you? Her name was Cassie!”

  Jo opened her mouth to ask her about Rachel again, but then she hesitated as she saw that Brenda was holding a school library card with the name Cassandra Alice Hayes printed on the bottom. Even more striking was the photo on the card's right-hand side, which showed a happy, smiling girl. Just as she was about to say that there had been some mistake, that the girl on the card wasn't the girl she was looking for at all, she realized that the eyes did seem a little familiar.

  In fact, the more she looked at the card, the more she realized that the face staring back at her really was the girl she'd known as Rachel Stone.

  Instinctively, she reached out to take the card, only for Brenda to pull it away.

  “I'm not letting this out of my possession,” the woman announced gruffly. “Cassie asked me to look after it until she got back, and that's what I'm doing.”

  “Cassie's not coming back,” Jo replied.

  “Doesn't matter. A promise is a promise.”

  “Can I at least see it again?”

  Brenda hesitated, before holding the card up once more. “No touching!” she said firmly.

  “It's really her,” Jo whispered, feeling a tightening sense of shock in her chest as she saw the girl's face. “I've found her.” She paused, before taking out her phone and typing the name into a search engine. “I've got to -”

  She froze as soon as she saw the first result. Tapping the link, she was taken to a page from a local newspaper's website, covering the story of a girl named Cassie Hayes who'd run away from home a couple of years earlier. There were more photos of her, along with pictures of her distraught parents.

  “Cassie was a good girl,” Brenda said after a moment. “She wasn't always around, she came and went as she pleased, but I was always glad to see her. I worried about her, too, but there wasn't much I could do to make her stick around. The last time she was here, I told her she -”

  “When was that?” Jo asked, interrupting her.

  “A few months ago.”

  “And she gave you some things to look after?”

  “Just this card. She hung onto it all the time, like it was important to her. People can be funny like that. She didn't have much with her when she showed up, so I reckon the card was all she had left of her old life. Maybe she was hoping to go back there someday.”

  “And she never mentioned anyone named Rachel Stone?”

  “I told you,” she said with a sigh, “her name was Cassie! Why do you keep asking about someone called Rachel?”

  Jo was about to explain, before realizing that perhaps she'd learned as much as she could from someone whose mind seemed to be in a little disarray. Getting to her feet, she took one last look around before stepping back and reaching into her pocket. Taking out her wallet, she counted out all the money she had with her, and then she held out the notes for Brenda, who took them eagerly.

  “Thank you,” Jo said. “I have to go now, but you've been a big help.”

  “So she won't be coming back any time?” Brenda asked. “You said she was dead.”

  Jo nodded.

  “Did it... How did it happen? Was she in pain?”

  “It was quick.”

  “Was she brave?”

  Jo nodded again.

  “I'll still keep this,” Brenda said, as she tucked the card back into her bag. “Just in case. Maybe I'll give it to her friend, if she ever comes back.”

  “Thank you again,” Jo replied, turning to walk away before stopping and glancing back at her. “She had a friend?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Is that friend here right now?”

  Brenda shook her head. “They took off together, a few weeks ago. Or was it a couple of months? I can't always keep track. Those two were thick as thieves, always whispering to each other, and then they ran off in the middle of the night. God knows what they were up to, but they definitely had something on their minds. Rachel was always the ringleader, of course, but that other girl followed her wherever she went. By the end, they were inseparable.”

  “What was the other girl's name?” Jo asked.

  “Well, I couldn't tell you. She wasn't a regular here, not like Cassie. She just hung around with Cassie, barely even said two words to me. Shy, she was, and very quiet. One of those people who you sometimes don't even notice, if you catch my drift. But they were fast friends, that's for sure. I didn't really take to the other girl so much, though. From what I heard, she was something of a pickpocket, and I've never been one to condone thievery. I know people need to find a way to live down here, but you shouldn't go taking things from the pockets of other folk.”

  Jo looked down at the photo for a moment, her mind racing as she thought back to her conversations with Rachel, aka Cassie, back in Landsley.

  “I have to get back there,” she whispered finally. “I have to find out who killed Cassie Hayes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  15 years ago

  “Look at them,” Herbert muttered as he peered out the window and saw several figures milling about near the house's main gate. “Craven parasites, the lot. If I had my way, I'd go out there with a pistol and...”

  His voice trailed off for a moment, and he allowed himself to imagine how it would feel to shoot every last one of the reporters who'd camped outside the house. He was surprised to find realize that it would feel rather good, although he knew most other people would be shocked. Still, he allowed the fantasy to linger for a few more minutes, before turning to see that Jack was looking at one of the old accounting books.

  “What do you think you're doing?” he snapped.

  “Just thinking about this family and all its dark little secrets,” Jack replied. “You know what reporters can be like. They'll start digging into everything in an attempt to find some dirt. Rachel's been gone for, what, five days now? It won't be much longer before they start looking for a new angle, to keep her story in the public eye. And don't take this the wrong way, Herb old thing, but you and Diana aren't exactly photogenic.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Have the police asked you to go on TV yet and beg for information?”

  “I told them I'd rather hang.”

  “The media won't like that. Think about all those people sitting at home, watching reports on the TV, reading about the case in the papers. They'll start wondering why nobody from the illustrious Stone family was willing to make an appearance. They'll start wondering what you've got to hide, and then the rumors will start to grow. I'd be careful what you throw out in the trash, if I were you. And watch out for your phone, too. Those reporters know tricks, they can hack into your messages and -”

  He turned as Margaret entered the room.

  “Well,” he added finally, with a faint smile, “one can only imagine what they'd turn up if they really got their claws into the family. Things could get juicy.”

  “Is there any news?” Margaret asked. “About Rachel, I mean.”

  “Nothing,” Jack told her.

  “And Diana?”

  “Don't worry about Diana,” Herbert sneered. “She's well taken care of.”

  “By which he means she's locked away in a psychiatric hospital,” Jack pointed out, “and he doesn't have to deal with her. I imagine she's on various drugs by now. She's probably catatonic. I had a friend who stayed in one of those places once, and I had to go and visit him. He wasn't in bad shape, but some of the people I saw were completely -”

  “Is there any need for this conversation?” Herbert asked, turning to him. “I'm sure Diana -”

  Before he could finish, they all heard a bump coming from one of the other rooms. They glanced at one another for a moment before hurrying out into the hallway, and Jack was the first to reach the study, just in time to see a skittish-looking man hurrying away from the desk with a couple of notebooks in his hand.

  “Who the hell are you?” Herbert roared.

  “No worries,” the
man replied, trying to slip past them, only for Jack to block his way. “I'll show myself out.”

  “Not so fast!” Jack said firmly, pushing the man against the wall and pinning him in place while he took the papers from his hand. “Which rag are you working for?”

  “I'm not a -”

  “Don't even think about lying to me!” Jack continued. “You realize you're not above the law, don't you? Breaking and entering, stealing, these are all things that the police would be very interested in.”

  “I shall call them at once,” Herbert stammered. “This is outrageous!”

  “Not so fast,” Jack told him, before turning back to the reporter. “We don't want to bring the wrath of these vengeful little assholes down on our heads. They have very legal ways of making us suffer, and I'd much rather be smart about this situation.” He paused, eyeing the cornered reporter as he tried to come up with a plan. “You're not getting any papers,” he told the man finally, “and nobody here wants to talk to you.”

  “That's fine,” the reporter replied. “I just took a wrong turn somewhere and wandered in here by accident.”

  “Tell your friends to keep away,” Jack continued. “Well away. And make sure they understand that we won't be so lenient if we catch anyone else in here.”

  “I don't suppose you want to give me anything to put in a story, do you?” the man asked. “An exclusive interview, maybe? I can make you look very sympathetic.”

  “We're not calling the police,” Jack replied, shoving him out into the hallway. “Be grateful for that.”

  Muttering something under his breath, the man hurried to the patio doors and then out onto the lawn. Jack wandered over to the window and looked out, and he waited until the man had made his way through the gate and back onto the street. The other reporters immediately gathered to speak to him, and Jack had no doubt that the bunch of them were plotting and conspiring to set up their next little intrusion.