by Daisy White
“You know, people who used to live on the Downs, the ancient tribes. Carla and Katie were a bit obsessed with Lady Isabella at Glebe House, and it’s true that is an important site, but Isabella isn’t really that important. She was unfortunate, and she did have the gift, but — well, she just married the wrong man, didn’t she? She could have taken control at any time with her power. I’ve spoken to her.”
Katie. Obviously. “I see. Maddie, do you know a man called Leon? He’s got glasses, tall with brown hair. Or maybe a dark-haired man with a northern accent?”
She frowns and then shakes her head. “No, why?” Then she gives that naughty, knowing smile again. “Although I do know a few men with dark hair.”
“Doesn’t matter. It was just a thought.” Is it really too much of a coincidence that Leon could have used that exact same phrase earlier?
“So did you know Linda, as well? Did — um, did Linda have any gifts?” I scramble frantically for the right thing to say to this self-possessed, self-proclaimed witch. Clearly witches do not have gangs or groups, and I refuse to say ‘coven.’
Maddie pulls out a box from under another table. “No, she didn’t. Come on. She was just a friend who wanted guidance. They mostly ask for that. ‘Who should I see?’ ‘Does he love me?’ Silly. Men are just for procreation, everyone knows that. Linda wanted to know about a man called Ted, I do remember that. I think she was in love with him, but she felt she was too young to settle down.”
Right. I follow the witch out through the kitchen door into the sun-drenched garden, past a basket of dry clothes and a mop and bucket. Sanity returns, and the witch turns into a normal, lonely, slightly sad-looking girl.
“We’ll sit over there.” Maddie walks through a row of beans and pushes through lavender and daises, before settling herself and her box onto a wooden bench, “Wait — no, we need to be closer to them. Sit on the grass instead.” She takes out a familiar box of shiny cards, and a small glass ball on a wooden stand.
I lower myself cautiously onto the sheep-nibbled green slope. The view is breathtaking. I must be able to see all the way back to Croydon from here! Mary would love it. “Maddie, did you not think it was a bit weird that all the girls who have died, were all interested in . . . um . . . well, they were all friends of yours?”
She glares at me for a second. “The police asked that too. They even wanted to know where I was each time. Dad set the dogs on them in the end. I tried to reach them, the girls, but the channels are blocked. Sometimes it can happen. If you’re too close in life, you can’t reach them in death.”
“Okay. Look, I don’t care how you do it, but I need to find Mary. She’s having a baby in a few days’ time, and she’s my best friend.” My palms are anchored to the smooth turf, the hard, chalky ground, to reality.
“Sweet,” Maddie says. Serene again, she removes the ball from its stand and plays with it. She moves it hypnotically from hand to hand, and the last rays of sun gather and spin in her palm.
“It isn’t sweet.” I raise my voice, forgetting myself. “You have no idea what we’ve been through. Our lives have never been sweet, but we did what we had to. She’s never given up on me, and I won’t stop looking until I find her.”
Maddie looks pleased at my little outburst, and puts the ball down in the grass. “I knew we had lots in common. Pick a card, Ruby.”
I hesitate. She knows a lot more than she’s saying, I’m sure of it, so I play along and pick a card. “No way. I had this one at the picnic. How is this going to help me find Mary?”
The girl studies my card, which depicts a bent old man on a mountain top, with a lantern in his hand. “You’re very impatient. This is the Hermit card. It shows you are beginning a solitary quest, and need to be alone, isolated even, to complete it. Now pick another and think hard about your friend, her image, her essence and her beliefs . . .”
Her ‘essence’? Sighing, I stretch out my hand and slide another card out of the pack, flicking it over — a figure on a horse, and banner with a rose. Again I hear Linda’s laughter, feel the warmth of her leg against mine, her breath on my cheek as we both lean down to look at the card. She was so alive, so real and happy. The scene in my mind’s eye shifts and I see Linda tied to the stone, but something is wrong, and this time when I inch closer, her face has become Mary’s. My whole body freezes and the green and gold Downs seem to spin slowly around us.
“Let me see,” Maddie deftly snatches the card from my fingers. “Oh . . . Death.”
Chapter Nineteen
“What’s wrong? Death doesn’t mean actually dying you know. It means your friend is going to face a transformation, leaving old things behind and taking on a new challenge.” Maddie peers at me curiously. “It. Doesn’t. Mean. Death. Okay?”
“Linda picked that card at the picnic, the night before she died,” I tell her shakily.
“So? Linda was also turning a corner, and embracing her new self. There was this man she’d liked for ages, like I said, but then another one she fancied.” Maddie is gathering up the cards now, pausing for a moment to caress the glass ball. “You need to go. My dad will be back soon.”
“Maddie, Linda was murdered, just like those other girls, and it just happened to be the day after she picked the card. She went out to meet —”
“Yes, I know, I know, the police told me. She went out to meet a man, or she had lost her necklace or something.”
“Don’t you care? Three girls have been murdered in the past year and their bodies dumped at the Killing Stone. There is one very sick man out there who is also probably holding my friend captive, or worse.”
Maddie shakes her head. “Nobody has been murdered since Lady Isabella.”
“What?”
“Those girls weren’t murdered, Ruby. They were sacrificed.”
I stare at her, as little chills raise goosebumps on my bare arms, “How do you know?”
She smiles, showing small, even white teeth.
“That’s sick. How do you know, Maddie?”
“Maddie? Where the hell are you?” A voice from the cottage makes her scramble up. The witch becomes a child again. “I’ve got to go.” She grabs her box and runs towards the house. I run after her, trampling plants underfoot.
“Go away! Go round the back gate. It takes you around to number one, and back onto the driveway. Go! I don’t know anything else, but I do know that until you open yourself to other possibilities, you won’t find what you are seeking.”
“My God, Maddie, she’s going to have a baby any day now! A child’s life is at stake. Not just Mary’s, but an unborn baby.” I take a risk. “Surely nobody would want to be responsible for harming a baby!”
A flicker behind those hazel eyes says I’ve got her. “Alright, I will consult the Ancients, and my spirit guides. But I can tell you that all infant life is to be nurtured and a baby boy would never be used in sacrifice.”
But a girl would? The sick feeling in my stomach brings bile up to my throat, and I retch. Is this why the murderer is keeping Mary — so he can use her baby as a sacrifice? Sanity and normal, logical thinking have vanished. This can’t be happening. Mum creeps back into my head. She always said that, muttered the phrase under her breath, when George started on one of his rants. “This can’t be happening.” But it could, couldn’t it?
Someone bellows again from the cottage and I run across other gardens of flowers and vegetables, jumping a low wall and hurtling around the block of cottages into the driveway. As I pause at the gate, I can hear a ferocious argument from inside number four. Yells and screams pour out and the windows of number one shut with a bang. Finally, as I linger uncertainly by the hedge with the memories of my stepdad raw in my brain, a glass ball comes flying out of Maddie’s front door. It shatters against the flint wall into glittering pieces.
I catch the last shout of the man I presume to be her dad. “You are going to get yourself killed, Madeleine, playing around with powers you don’t understand! I will not let that h
appen — do you understand?”
The door bangs shut but I can still hear the girl sobbing something that sounds like a curse.
* * *
We’re halfway back to the salon, the little Austin Healey scuttling along the road like an over-excited insect, before I can find the words to tell Leon what happened.
“She was really strange. I honestly think she believes she is a witch, but I don’t think she had anything much to add after all. We already know that she was friends with all the victims,” I tell him. I need to be careful, though. I sift through the conversation in my mind before I speak, choosing the things I want him to know. He sits next to me unperturbed, humming a Beatles hit. “It was weird though. She seemed to think it was all quite amusing, and a bit exciting. I wouldn’t say she was upset that anyone had died.”
He stops humming. “Really? That’s a shame. I know Victoria was really hoping she might give us some clue as to Mary’s whereabouts. A witch? Slightly odd in this day and age, but that doesn’t mean, as you say, that she has any fresh information.” He sighs. “Of course, witches have been in and out of favour over the past few centuries. They were originally wise women who cured the sick you know. People depended on them.”
It’s almost dark now, and very soon we’re swallowed into the lights of the town and cruising down the hill past Green Ridges. A perfect opening.
“She did say one thing that struck me.” I pause and glance at my companion. His expression is as benevolent and relaxed as usual. His glasses are slightly skewed and his hair a bit ruffled. “She was talking about the Downs and mentioned ‘the Ancients.’ I suppose she meant the historical people who lived there.”
He smiles now, turning to me. “And you’re worried because I mentioned them on the way up to the cottages. Ruby, I promise you I’m not the murderer, or involved with any silly girls playing witchcraft. And Victoria would kill me if she found out I was!” Leon laughs. “That doesn’t make sense, does it? But look, please don’t let some crazy teenager worry you. We will find Mary, and to do that we need to eliminate all these red herrings that have the police endlessly chasing the wrong leads. The police are good up to a point, but what you are doing is better. People talk to you, and sooner or later someone will have some information.”
I pretend I’m looking out of the window so that he can’t see me blushing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it was you, I just wanted to know if there was somewhere she could have read about things like that. If so, maybe we can get hold of the book and . . . I don’t know. My brain is so tired I don’t think it’s working anymore.”
Leon gives my hand a gentle squeeze. His brown eyes are wide with concern. “Don’t give it a thought. I know how worried you are about Mary. Yes, I’m sure I can get hold of a few books that cover the subject in more detail. I believe it was actually Johnnie who first mentioned ‘the Ancients’ and their presence in this particular area. He is quite knowledgeable about local history — nice chap!”
“Really? I didn’t know Johnnie was even interested in history. Oh, but you’re right, I am so worried about Mary.” (Johnnie?) I fumble for a cigarette, covering my frantic thoughts, trying to act naturally. “Maddie said something else that I do agree with though — developers covering the Downs with all these new houses does seem wrong. You were saying yourself earlier about all the history that goes with these hills, but it isn’t just that. They’re beautiful. When I was talking to Maddie, we were outside and I could see for miles. It was breathtaking.” I hold my own breath now, waiting for his answer.
“I couldn’t agree more. Such a tragedy that generations that come after us won’t be able to see such wonderful sites. But people do need new housing, and it’s happening everywhere, not just here — Wales, Manchester, and of course all over the South-east.”
Smooth, I think, very smooth and practised, with his soft Welsh accent firmly in place and that pitch-perfect lecturer’s voice. Tiredness is kicking in though, and I need sleep to work this out. Can I really go to Inspector Hammond and tell him I suspect an academic is colluding with a slightly crazy teenager to sacrifice local girls. For what purpose? Maddie said she had to consult the Ancients, but perhaps if she has some kind of second sight, then that would be like fortune-telling. Sacrifice suggests cults, and evil. Things like that do not exist.
The car pulls up next to Johnnie’s, and I thank Leon and head miserably up to bed. The room is empty and cold without Mary’s chatter, and my untouched cold soup has formed a sticky skin across the bowl. I chuck it in the sink, and fling myself onto Mary’s bed, hiding my tears in her pillow.
* * *
When I wake, the light is pouring through the windows, hitting my eyes like flame. My watch tells me I’ve slept until six, and I rub my eyes with both fists, like a child, slowly uncurling from a foetal position. The empty Estolan box is upside down on the floor, and the notes are scattered like snowfall across the wooden floorboards.
I follow my new morning routine of washing and dressing quickly, dragging a comb through my hair and shoving a bit of mascara on to disguise my exhaustion. I hope Mary is comfortable wherever she is. I hope she’s not hurt, or hungry, or cold, or having the baby, or . . . or dead.
Downstairs, the salon is warm and smells comfortingly of hairspray, furniture polish and bleach. I sort out a mug of tea, light a cigarette, and start dialling. It’s a toss-up who to go for first, but I need some advice. Kenny takes ages to answer and I am about to ring off when he finally offers a sleepy “Hello?”
“Morning, Kenny!”
“Rubes, unless you’re actually in my bed I don’t want to hear your voice this early in the morning. Or maybe you have news? Is it Mary?”
“No, but I do have news so drag your mind out of the gutter,” I tell him firmly.
“Okay, what is it?” Kenny is yawning, apparently still only half awake.
“I went see one of Carla’s friends’ last night. A girl called Maddie.” As quickly as I can, I outline my visit, and then my niggling doubts about Leon. “Do you have anything?”
I can almost hear his brain ticking for a moment. “Not really. They found Derek, Mary’s husband, and interviewed him yesterday, but he’s up in Liverpool now, working on the docks, so the Liverpool force took care of that. They couldn’t find anything to tie him to Mary’s disappearance. Apparently he became quite abusive and said he had beaten Mary, and kicked her out because she was having an affair. Do you want me to do some digging on Leon?”
“Why can’t the police tell me this? How do you find out? Okay, I know, your ‘source.’ But it really annoys me that they don’t tell me what’s going on.” I slump down onto the reception desk chair, twisting the telephone wire in my hand.
“It’s because you’re not family, I suppose, but you know I’ll always let you in on the news. Now what about Leon? Are you telling the police about this sacrifice link? The witch girl up on Dyke Hill Road?”
“Yes. I have to, Ken, because if they get anything that might lead them to Mary it’s worth it. Are you putting Mary on the front page again today?”
“No. She’s moved down to second page. There was a big car accident on the main road yesterday afternoon, and six people died, including a couple of kids, so they’re leading on that.”
“Okay. I’ve got to ring the police before the others come in. Are you coming over here after work for another meeting?”
“Ruby Baker’s investigation bureau still alive and kicking? I thought the police told you to shut it down.” He sounds amused.
“No chance. Not until we find Mary. See you at half six, unless we get any more information and speak before.”
Next, I dial the police station, and for once, get to speak to Inspector Hammond straight away. He’s not that impressed.
“We did interview Leon Bellon earlier in the case, and he has alibis for both Linda’s and Carla’s murders. I agree this sacrifice angle is slightly odd, but I need a bit more before I pull him in for questioning again. He is a histo
rian, after all, and it would be natural for him to have an extensive knowledge of the subject in the course of research and suchlike. The girl you mention . . . mmm, oh yes, Madeleine White. Again she was interviewed—”
“So what are you doing to find Mary?” I snap, even though I can see he is being reasonable.
“Everything we can,” comes the smooth reply.
I’m tempted to say something about Johnnie, but manage to avoid it. That would just be childish. I put the phone down carefully. My brain is whirring.
* * *
By the time Catherine and Eve come in, I’ve set up, the salon is ready for customers, and I am in the back room pinning a vast sheet of paper to the wall.
“What are you doing out here? What is that?” Eve comes down the corridor.
“This is a map of the murders, and a timeline, and all the suspects, including the ones the police have interviewed. This is a list of the people present around the time of each murder — friends, family and so on —and these red circles contain people who have a common thread in all the murders.” I’m pretty pleased with the way I’ve converted our back room into a command centre for the investigation bureau.
“This is bloody marvellous, love, and a whole lot more than the police seem to be doing. I hope poor Johnnie makes it in today. Let me see if I know any of the names in the red circles.” Catherine leans close to the wall, tracing lines with her finger.
“Isn’t he a friend of yours?” She points to Leon’s name.
“Yes. I’m not saying any of these people is the murderer, because look — there are ten people in total with red circles. But they do have links, so even if they don’t know it, they could have information that leads us to the killer.”
Eve joins us, frowning. “Wait, I need to get my glasses! Oh, is that the door?”
We hurry back into the salon as a pale-faced Johnnie strides in.
“You’re back!” We fling ourselves at him.
“Did you miss me?” A proper warmth lights up his cat-like eyes, and his cheeks tinge with pink. “Bloody stupid police. I’ve a good mind to get my lawyer involved after all. Or, on second thoughts, I’ll just send Mrs Carpenter after them.”