by Daisy White
“What I don’t understand is why Leon was so helpful when we were trying to find Mary. And he was the one who told us all about the link to the murders and the building sites. He even came down and gave you a map!”
The inspector nods, “He needed to be close to you all, and to find out what was happening. I also believe you mentioned that he said in the cellar that we all needed to understand why the girls were being murdered? That there was no point unless we linked the housing developments with the killings?”
“Oh yes, I suppose . . . I expect he had a blast walking in and out of the police station knowing nobody suspected him.”
Eileen snaps her notebook shut, and I ask a final question, “Will I . . . I mean, Leon died while we were fighting so . . .”
The WPC glares at me for a moment, then raps out, “Self-defence, Miss Baker. If you hadn’t been able to fight him off you would have been another victim. Of course there will have to be further enquiries, but I think it is safe to say you probably don’t have anything to worry about.” She pauses, looking hard at me. “With your injuries, it is nothing short of a miracle that you were able to do so.”
I squirm in my bed and when they finally leave I fall back against the hard pillow with a sigh of relief. With the police gone and all the difficult questions answered, I can relax my guard, and admit to feeling pretty weak and feeble.
“You ready for visitors?” Pearl demands from behind the curtain. Without waiting for an answer she shoves it open, and Mary creeps in. Her baby’s snoozing in her arms.
“Oh she’s beautiful!” I clap my hands over my mouth, but it’s too late. I’m crying, my best friend is crying, and the baby wakes up. Big bluey violet eyes, tiny rosebud lips, and the palest down of fine hair. She blinks as a tear falls on her pale skin.
“Mary, you’re a mum! How did you do that?” I laugh through my own tears.
She grimaces for a moment. “It was awful. Not just the birth, I mean, but being stuck down there. But it was so quick that even when the police came in, just after you and Leon left and they smashed the door open, they said not to move me. Victoria was amazing. She just kept talking all the way through and she knew exactly what to do, and then the ambulance came—”
“Victoria was in earlier. She said it was the best moment of her life, and how proud she was of you. Do you know she seems to have just shrugged off the fact that her boyfriend was a killer, as though it never happened? In fact she seemed more concerned about the fact he killed that cat. Do you remember? On our very first night out.”
I sink back and sigh again, my eyes still drinking in the baby. I’m sure Victoria is hurting, but I doubt she’ll ever show it. She is one tough nut.
“Crazy Leon. I was such an idiot to let him in, but really he always seemed so nice. He said he had found a little highchair for the baby, and would I come out and have a look before he unloaded it from his car. I made him a cup of tea, of course, and had one myself. Victoria said that was when he must have drugged me. The next thing I remember is waking up in the cellar. All the time you were looking I was right next door. I can’t believe none of us worked it out!” Mary runs a finger over her baby’s cheek.
“Well, we did, didn’t we? Just not quickly enough. But his cover as this gentle professor type was perfect. I feel really sorry for Victoria, but you know a strange thing? He said he did actually love her. I suppose that probably saved her from becoming a victim.”
“No way! And the watcher? Did you tell the police about him?”
“Shhhhh. No. I’ll tell you why later. I feel really bad about Ted.”
Mary sighs, “But from what you’ve told me all the evidence was pointing his way. I’m sure he won’t hold a grudge.”
“Victoria reckons he just might move on somewhere else, depending on the court case.”
The baby starts to grumble and Mary picks her up. “I need to feed her, Rubes. I’m doing it myself, you know,” she adds proudly, shifting further up my bed. I make room for her on the pillows, as the baby latches on and begins to suckle.
I feel my mouth stretching into a grin, and a wave of love for both of them nearly has me in tears again. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.
“What are you going to call her?” I ask suddenly, when the little girl has finished feeding and is dozing in her mother’s arms.
“I thought of loads of names, but when I was down in that cellar, it was so dark I kept praying that I would see the sun again, and praying she wouldn’t be born yet.” Mary’s light blue eyes meet mine. “I can understand how people can kill to protect someone, you know. I swore to myself if the baby was born down there I would protect her however I could against Leon.”
I nod, and squeeze her hand.
“So anyway, I’ve decided to call her Summer.”
“Perfect,” I stroke the soft pale down on the baby’s head, and beam at my best friend.
* * *
Two days later we both hobble out of hospital. The sun has returned and the clean, salty air is a welcome change from the antiseptic smell of the ward. Johnnie helps me carefully into the car, and takes Mary’s bag for her.
“I can’t believe this has all happened. Brighton was lovely and peaceful before you two misfits turned up. Now what do we have? Scandal and murder!” He shakes his head, smiling, and lights a cigarette before settling behind the wheel. “I do hope this hasn’t put you off? You are sticking around for the rest of the summer?”
As we pull away into the traffic, I glimpse the sea, lazy blue with the waves dancing in the afternoon light. I see the scattered sand on the beach, the jumbled mass of houses, bars, cafés, shops, and offices that cling dark-shadowed to the long hill, and the people bustling in the heat. I catch the smell of coffee, candyfloss, and hotdogs. Everything that makes up the city by the sea.
Beside me, my best friend grins, and baby Summer snuggles safely between us.
“We’ll stick around for a bit.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all the wonderful people who took the time to give me advice and information for this book. However this book is a work of fiction, thus bending of the rules/geography etc. has been done to enable the plot, and does not reflect on their expertise.
BOOK 2: BEFORE I FOUND YOU
A gripping mystery full of killer twists
DAISY WHITE
First published 2018
Joffe Books, London
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
The author asserts their moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
©Daisy White
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
For everyone who has believed in me, supported me, and read my books.
It means so much, and keeps me going through the rainy days!
Chapter One
Her screams are almost drowned out by the crashing waves.
Confused, I stop walking, and stare into the darkness. For a moment I think I’m imagining the small, slender figure standing in the middle of the stormy beach. The cool rain pours down, pelting off the road and making it difficult to see properly. I blink hard to clear my vision. My head is spinning from the few drinks I’ve had, but I know I’m not mistaken. Not a ghost or a nightmare, but a real person, standing far too close to the water.
My heart starts pounding against my ribcage, and I lick the salty spray off my lips before I shout to the others, “Kenny! Stop! There’s some
one down there!” The wind whips my words away and tosses them down the beach, and I dash the rain from my eyes and stare hard into the darkness. She’s still there, and visible only because of the street lamps lining the promenade. Their stripes of eerie whiteness stretch just far enough to illuminate the dark figure on the shingle. A car driving fast on the wet road makes me spin around. A red E-Type Jaguar, gleaming in the streetlights as it heads east. Kenny is always lusting after a new ride, so even if he didn’t hear me surely he’ll turn to see the car. . .
I was already lagging behind, so nobody notices as I run towards the railings and lean over. A small figure with the wind blowing her dress sideways — oh God, is it a child? I grip the top rail tightly, straining my eyes to see properly. Whoever it is stands on a shingle bank, just above the high tide line. The sea has been whipped into a bubbling, foaming frenzy by the summer storm, and with every ebb and flow, it stretches its greedy, frothy fingers closer to the figure. Another scream, shrill and raw, or is it just a few storm-torn gulls, wheeling high in the dark clouds?
“Pearl!” I swing back around again, but the others still haven’t noticed.
I can hear Kenny humming along to The Searchers’ ‘Sweets For My Sweet’, the way he often does after a few beers, and I can see my cousin Pearl is still dancing along beside him, holding her pink cardigan over her head in a futile attempt to stay dry. James is wandering a couple of paces ahead, leather jacket over his own head, trying to light a cigarette by cupping the match in his hands. It’s only a fifteen minute walk home, and the middle of summer, so none of us minded a bit of rain.
“Kenny!”
Without waiting to see if they have stopped, I’m already climbing through the railings, hanging by my hands for a minute before dropping down onto the shingle. I drag my high-heeled sandals off and run towards the figure by the sea. The stones hurt my feet, and the wind almost knocks me sideways, but I keep going.
It is a little girl, with her hair blowing in the wind, dress floating out sideways, and her back to me. Before I can stagger down the last shingle bank to reach her I feel a hand on my arm, pulling me back. “Have you gone mad? What are you doing?” Kenny yells against the storm.
“Look! There’s a child down there!” I scream back, yanking myself free and jumping down the last few feet. I land awkwardly and stumble, bruising my knees on the wet stones. Right behind me, I hear Kenny curse, and then I forget everything except the dark little figure.
She’s still standing there, right at the very edge of safety as the waves roll over and smash down into a torrent of foam. The rain is blowing sideways across the beach, but now that I’m closer her voice carries over the wind and the waves. Instead of just a scream, I can hear the words, raw and painful — “Come back! Please come back!” shouted over and over again.
I’m aware of both Kenny and James beside me as we reach her, and without any hesitation, Kenny scoops her up and away from danger. Oblivious to us until now, she is clearly terrified at the intervention, screaming at him now and beating her small fists against his back, but he hangs on grimly.
“Is there anyone else out here? Calm down, we're trying to help you!” I shout at the little figure, trying to hold her hand, but she carries on fighting, gasping and coughing, her face soaked with rain and tears. I take a last look around the storm-battered beach, but it is empty. If there was someone with her, the waves have probably taken them.
James grabs my arm and I fling a hand out and cling onto Kenny’s shirt. For a moment the wind is too strong, and my heart is hammering in panic. The sea pounds the beach, deafening us, and the rain drives down in vicious torrents. The four of us cower on the shingle, just out of reach of the waves, and then slowly, as the next gust passes, we start to inch back up the beach.
The child is quiet now, cradled in Kenny’s arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. She makes no effort to hold on, but her chest is heaving. I wonder if she has fainted.
Victoria and Pearl are at the top of the beach and as we struggle up to them they throw cardigans over the figure in Kenny’s arms. Their exclamations of horror are lost in the wind. I have no breath to speak and my eyes are streaming with salt, my skin icy now, my ears stinging.
“Where the hell did she come from?” James asks, helping the girls to arrange the cardigans. “Here, Ken, you take a break, and I’ll carry her up to the road.”
Kenny nods, gasping for breath, dashing the rain away from his face. His dark hair is flattened and soaked, his eyes narrowed against the storm. His boxer’s nose and square face show a few scratches from the girl’s flailing hands. He passes his burden over awkwardly, and as James takes her, her eyes flash open, widen in horror and then close again. But one small hand is now clinging to his shirt, and the eyelids flicker again as we watch anxiously. “You’re safe now,” I say. “We’ll get you warm and dry soon,” but her eyes remain defiantly shut.
“Take her to Ruby’s — we’re almost there anyway and I can’t see any obvious signs of injuries. She’s breathing and conscious so we don’t need an ambulance.” Pearl looks questioningly at Victoria, who nods. “Did you see anyone else down there?”
I shake my head. “No. But if there was . . . I mean, the waves are enormous . . .” I cast a glance at the child. I don’t want to say it in front of her, but if her mother was down there, standing where she was, the chances are high that she will have drowned by now. “Poor little thing — how the hell did she come to be out on a night like this?”
“Lucky we’ve got two nurses with us,” Kenny manages, his breathing slowing at last. “I thought that last wave was going to take her.”
I squeeze his hand and we make our way with difficulty to the steps, then up onto the road. We gather around James and his little burden, trying to shelter them from another gust of rain and wind. As we start to walk across the road, the stones bite into my feet and I realise I’ve left my shoes on the beach. Behind us the tide is still rising, and the dark mass of storm clouds on the horizon is whipping the sea into a Devil’s frenzy.
Staggering up Ship Street, we reach the salon and I lead the way round to the side door, yanking it open and ushering everyone inside. A narrow corridor leads to a second set of stairs and we troop through into the bedsit I share with Mary — my best friend for years — and her three-month-old baby.
Luckily, Mary is sitting up in bed, with both lamps lit, feeding Summer. She looks up in alarm as we fill up the room, dripping onto the floorboards.
“It’s OK now. You’re safe with us,” I tell the girl, who is still in James’ arms.
“What’s going on? Who is that?” Mary’s voice is shrill, and Summer breaks off feeding and gives a wail. She shushes the baby, holding her against her shoulder and patting her back.
“Put her on my bed, James, and I’ll make us a hot drink,” I say, realising how cold I am. My bare feet are sore and icy on the wooden floorboards. “Oh, and there are towels in that box to wrap her in so the sheets don’t get soaked. She really ought to change out of that wet dress . . .” I look at the child doubtfully, remembering the terror in her eyes when she looked up at James.
“Hi Mary,” Kenny says. “Sorry to burst in like this.” He rubs a hand across his wet black hair and scatters a spray of droplets across the table. “Sorry!”
Mary smiles awkwardly, glancing at the girl on my bed. “Are you going to tell me who this is? I thought you were going to a party at Beth’s?”
We all look at the little girl, and she stares blankly back, swaddled in towels now, her little face pinched with cold and her eyes huge.
“She was on the beach, just standing there screaming next to the waves as we came home along the seafront. I can’t imagine how she got there . . . She hasn’t said another word since we rescued her. What’s your name, darling?” Victoria leans towards the girl, but she shrinks back against my pillow, drawing her skinny legs underneath her. Like me, she wears no shoes.
I finish making tea for everyone, and hand an e
namel mug of hot milk to the girl. She hesitates, then takes it without speaking, wrapping her thin hands around the warmth.
“Do you remember how you got on the beach?” James asks her, sipping his tea, brushing raindrops from his forehead with a tanned hand. He and Kenny are sprawled on chairs at our little table, while the other girls sit cross legged, dripping onto the red woven rug on the floor.
The child tilts her head and stares at him, eyes bright like a little bird, but she gives no other sign that she has heard his question and makes no attempt to answer it.
I rummage in the old chest and throw out rugs and more clean towels, then glance up at Pearl and Victoria. “Thank goodness you’re crashing at Kenny’s tonight or you’d have to get the bus back up the hospital. I wish I had a car.”
“It’s fine. I haven’t got a shift at the hospital until tomorrow afternoon. We’ve only got a couple more weeks of freedom and then it’s exams, so we might as well make the most of it,” Pearl says, shaking out her long red curls and starting to plait her hair in two wet ropes.
The girl on the bed takes the rug I offer her and drapes it around her shoulders. There is a large damp patch on my sheets despite the towels, and the floorboards are covered in puddles. Outside, the storm seems to be quieter, winding down as suddenly as it appeared.
“We can borrow your umbrella, and Kenny’s place is big enough for the four of us. We don’t want to upset Summer,” Victoria adds, getting up to see the baby. “I swear she’s bigger already and its only been four days since I saw her last. She looks so much like you, Mary.”