by Daisy White
Beverly licks her lips nervously, her toffee-brown stare directed at the inspector. She doesn’t even acknowledge the other man. Interesting. This would be the policeman she called ‘a right bastard,’ if I remember rightly. DS Appleton is clearly slightly uneasy, as well you would be when confronted by someone who knows you screwed up their entire life. His cheeks are ruddy from the wind or the sun, and his pale blue eyes flicker from one of us to the other even as his smile shows very white teeth.
Annie scowls at both men, but directs her words to Appleton. “Yes, I heard you were over in Hastings making everyone miserable. You arrested any more innocent women recently?”
Obviously, DS Appleton remembers Annie, and he clears his throat noisily, interlacing his large fingers and putting them carefully onto the table between us. “Inspector Hammond felt — and I am very grateful to him, that I should be present. He telephoned me yesterday with some . . . some rather interesting theories relating to your case, Beverly. I understand Miss Baker has been assisting you.”
She says nothing, and I squeeze her shoulder gently. She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering. The detective sergeant meets my eyes, holding my gaze for just a bit too long and still smiling warmly. The intimacy in his expression is slightly startling for someone I’ve never met before — it’s like we’re sharing a secret. Despite the fact that physically they are nothing alike, I’m reminded of James.
The man continues, “As you know, there was considerable evidence against you, Miss Collins, and several witnesses . . .”
Inspector Hammond looks up quickly as someone knocks on the door, and makes a quick note on the file in front of him. “Five minutes, please, WPC Stanton.”
“What is going on?” Annie demands. “We know all this. Don’t upset Bev any more with your stupid justifications. We heard it all at the time, and I told you at the time that you were wrong. Say what you need to so we can all go home.”
Inspector Hammond opens the file on the table and takes out a photograph. “We do accept that we were wrong, and I want to offer you our apologies. Miss Collins, would you say this photograph was an accurate representation of your daughter as you last saw her?”
It’s a reproduction of the picture Annie showed us, and shows the little girl beaming at the camera, dark blue eyes narrowed against the sun, brown hair lifted in the breeze. On one little dimpled cheek is a scar so similar to Beverly’s own that with the resemblance she already bears to her mother, the child could be her in miniature.
“Yes. Yes, you know it is . . .” Beverly starts to cry, horrible rasping tears of loss and regret that make her whole body shake.
“Next question,” I say, slipping my arm around her shoulders.
“You will be aware that we were recently called to an incident on Brighton beach involving two girls. One of the girls has been reunited with her parents, but the other . . . Miss Collins, we have reason to believe she may be your daughter.”
Beverly puts her face in her hands and sobs, but I’m watching DS Appleton. His serene, open expression never slips, but you can see the tension in the whitening knuckles of his neatly clasped hands. He catches my eye, smiles again and shrugs ruefully as if to say, ‘I know you’re thinking I screwed up.’ But he says nothing, deferring to his inspector.
“Why ‘reason to believe’? Can’t she tell you who she is?” Annie snaps, almost in tears herself, fumbling for a handkerchief in her cardigan pocket.
Inspector Hammond rubs his hand over his hair and across his face. “She claims her name is Emily, and she hasn’t given us any further details.” He darts a glance at me. “She has refused to answer any other questions, apart from informing us she was on a day trip from London with her father. She claims they were separated in the crowds, and that the girl she was leading away by the hand asked her to take her to the ice cream shop.”
At a nod from Hammond, DS Appleton continues the conversation. “In view of recent events, your case has certainly been — how shall I put it? — on all our minds, and the charming WPC Stanton noticed that ‘Emily’ bears a striking resemblance to your daughter, right down to the scar on her cheek. We were able to confirm that her blood type also matches that of your daughter. Although she has refused to confirm her age, it is entirely possible that she is fourteen years old.”
There is another knock on the door and this time the inspector calls, “Yes, come in.”
WPC Stanton leads a girl into the room. Ella. I’m struck at once by the similarities between this girl and the child I rescued from the stormy beach. Not so much physically — the face shape is different, and Beach Girl had grey eyes. It’s the wary pose, the expression that verges on blankness, and the slightly vacant stare.
“Ella,” Beverly whispers, half rising, her hands resting on the table between us. She stumbles as she turns towards her daughter, and her face is milk white. Even her lips look bloodless, and the tears roll slowly down her cheeks. “Oh, Ella.”
The girl slowly turns her head, looking carefully at each of us, one after the other. The scar on her cheek is faded, barely visible against her pale skin. Her dark blue eyes flicker over her mother without any trace of recognition, but the little nose, the shape of her eyes, and the full lips are all Beverly’s. Her hair is long and loose, and has turned darker over the years, but it has also turned curly, and it falls in waves to her waist. She is beautiful, and obviously terrified.
WPC Stanton smiles awkwardly at us and prompts the girl, “Emily, do you recognise anyone in this room?”
Again the slow gaze around, lingering on faces, her lips slightly parted. This time she definitely looks harder at Beverly, but turns and shrugs when she is finished.
“Ella?” Beverly tries the name again, but still faltering, as though tasting the word for the first time. She takes an uncertain step towards the girl. “Ella, do you really not remember me?”
“Nobody is going to be cross with you,” WPC Stanton adds. “Do you remember I was telling you that sometimes people get confused when they have been away for a long time, and forget things?” She is as smart, poised and professional as when I last saw her. Her hair is shiny and pulled back under her hat, and her immaculate skirt falls just below her knee. Pearl would be dragging out the scissors, I think randomly, trying to dull the rush of raw emotion that comes flooding into my throat. Ten years. Where the hell has this girl been, and what has she been through?
I don’t know what WPC Stanton has told the girl, but Ella nods doubtfully, then she points to Beverly.
“Her hair . . . her hair is like mine, isn’t it?” Her voice is soft and hesitant — a younger version of Beverly’s.
“Yes it is.” Inspector Hammond clears his throat, and he and DS Appleton rise from the table. “Right, well I will leave you all together for a while, and WPC Stanton will explain the current position. Miss Baker, a word if we may?”
“Oh, well I suppose so . . .” I look at Beverly, but she is still staring at her daughter. Annie nods at me, so I follow them out of the door.
In the corridor we stop, and DS Appleton opens another door opposite, politely inviting me to lead the way in. I’m so disorientated by Ella’s appearance I can’t think straight, but the policemen waste no time with their questions.
“Don’t panic, you aren’t under arrest or anything,” the inspector smiles at me.
“I never imagined that I would be.” But I’m staring at DS Appleton. This is the man who arrested Beverly, who was heavily involved in the case and gathered evidence to convict her. Now he’s been proven wrong and he just smiles, while Inspector Hammond leans back in his chair and lights his own cigarette. If it weren’t for the tiny signs of stress on both men, I’d be convinced this was just a quick chat to round up recent events.
“Do you have any more information on the Collins case, Miss Baker? Or can I call you Ruby?” DS Appleton asks, leaning closer to me. “Here, do you smoke?”
He reminds me again of James, with that slightly arrogant, flirt
y exterior, but whereas I find James amusing, this man is at least ten years older . . . I move my fingers quickly away from his as he passes the cigarette, and catch a quick flash of amusement. He seems to see no need to comment on Ella’s reappearance, and clearly he feels the awkward bit is done. So now what?
Something about him bothers me. He’s too smiley, but not apologetic enough. As our eyes meet, he winks, like we are sharing a secret. I decide to find out exactly how bad he is feeling. “You worked on the original case, so you must have seen all the convenient evidence stacking up against Beverly. I don’t blame you for believing it, or for doing your job, but surely you can see that something has been going on ever since Beverly was released?” Leaning across the table, cigarette in hand, I smile into his eyes. “I’m really sorry, it must be very difficult for the police when you end up with the wrong person in prison.”
The DS nods slowly, not taking his eyes from mine, his face flushing an unbecoming red. We could be the only two people in the room. “Of course I am delighted that Ella has been found safe and well. As to Beverly’s case, well, as policemen we have to address the evidence, to deal with facts. In this case, it was overwhelmingly in favour of Beverly having committed some sort of crime.”
Inspector Hammond nods, stubbing his own cigarette out into a dirty white dish on the table. “There is a possibility that some recent events are linked, yes, and this girl, Emily, or Ella as we must presume she is, turning up on Brighton beach is quite frankly unbelievable. But sometimes life is stranger than any fiction.”
A knock on the door interrupts our conversation and another policeman calls Inspector Hammond outside. He hesitates before leaving the room, glancing at Appleton. “I’ll only be fifteen minutes — just got to wrap up the Kendry interview.”
Appleton nods. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, Ruby, we’ll just carry on with our chat?”
The door shuts with a bang and suddenly the room feels far too small. I wonder if I could get up and leave, but the chance to find out more about Ella makes me stay. “So who do you think managed to fool the entire police force into thinking Beverly had murdered her own child?”
DS Appleton leans across the table, shaking his head. “As I said, Ruby, we could only work on the evidence we had. The witnesses, the physical evidence, it was all very conclusive. I have no idea if Beverly was set up at all, and if she was, well, her neighbours didn’t really seem to like her at all. There is a definite possibility that this comes down to a problem on the White Oak estate. Maybe even some long-running feud between a few families . . .” He stands, scraping his chair across the lino floor, and wanders over to lean against the door, arms folded, cigarette smoking gently between two fingers.
“I’m sure that Beverly will want to find out the truth, and maybe in time Ella will be able to tell her what happened and where she has been,” I suggest.
He nods and admits it is possible.
I decide to probe a little more. He is saying all the right things, but his eyes tell a different story. Is he laughing at me? At all of us? “I have a few loose ends that I've uncovered. Inspector Hammond can decide what to do with the information.” I tell him about Hector and Eva’s ice cream van, about Beverly’s uncle buying the house on White Oak from John Stocker, and about how often Stocker’s name comes up. “His wife drowned and I think that the girl I found on the beach either watched her go into the water, or was in the water too and managed to escape. Maybe Susie did go and take her own life, or maybe there was someone else on the beach, I don’t know.”
“We’ve known the Stockers for years, and they don’t have any children,” he says, taking another drag on his cigarette. His other hand lies flat on the table and his broad shoulders are tense.
“Exactly. So what was that child doing there? And I suppose you must have interviewed Hector and Eva at the time?” I ask.
He nods, blowing out smoke, his eyes fixed on my face. “Mavis and Jack. A charming couple. They were up on White Oak that day, of course, and they remembered serving Ella her ice cream, but then Ella’s mother took her indoors. We had no reason to go any further with that line of enquiry, or to suspect them of any wrongdoing.”
“Except she didn’t take her indoors. Beverly went in but Ella didn’t. Laura Grieves lied. She admitted it. That means it would have been possible for Ella to be kidnapped using the van.”
DS Appleton laughs. “Even if Miss Grieves did lie, and I’m not sure she did, I just told you there was no reason to suspect Mavis and Jack.” He pauses, the charm returning, as he leans back in his chair. “I mean, suddenly you are asked by Miss Collins to investigate and all these suspects pop up? No, Ruby Baker, the police aren’t that stupid. As I said, we work on firm evidence. In the Collins case, everything pointed towards Beverly’s guilt. Of course I am delighted to have been proven wrong, but please bear in mind that it was Inspector Peters running the investigation.”
“And he is dead.”
“Yes, he sadly passed away a few years ago. Great chap!” DS Appleton beams at me again.
“You just said you knew the Stockers — how well did you know them?”
For a second we face each other like armed combatants, then DS Appleton stubs out his cigarette. “What do you mean by that? John Stocker was never interviewed, as it happens. Why should he have been? Yes, a lot of people worked for him, but he owned a lot of businesses. It’s normal that his name should have come up, not extraordinary. As I say, we all knew him. He was a major player in Brighton at the time.”
He’s seriously rattled. Interesting. “How did he seem when you told him his wife had drowned?” I ask quickly. “I mean, this man had all the power to set Beverly up, and as far as I can see he was only one around here who did. To me that makes him a suspect.”
DS Appleton smiles patronisingly. “Quite a little firecracker, aren’t you, Ruby? Your theories are . . . interesting, but we can’t go around accusing innocent people of kidnapping without evidence, can we?”
The sheer injustice of this statement takes my breath away. I say nothing, but rise and walk towards the door. This man isn’t going to tell me anything. “I’d like to see Beverly again now, please. And Ella.”
My heart is pounding, and I can feel his breathing quicken. For all his smiles and relaxed posturing, this man is seriously angry. Suddenly I know that my instinct just now was correct. “Exactly how well did you know John Stocker? Did you work for him as well?”
The smirk vanishes and his blue eyes narrow. I stare at him. It was a random thought, and perhaps I should have been more careful, but I seem to be onto something.
“I’ll just take you to find Beverly, shall I?” He glances at his watch, and makes a move away from the door, but as I reach it he bars my way, then takes my arm in a vice-like grip, spinning me around, pulling me close. It happens so quickly I’m taken aback. His face is close to mine, his breath smells of smoke, and our bodies are pressed together. “Ella has been safely returned to her mother and the case has been closed for a long time.”
“Let go of my arm or I’ll scream,” I tell him slowly and clearly, not moving.
“You won’t do that. Just one last thing, darling. If I were you I’d stop poking around in things you don’t understand, or you might find yourself in all sorts of trouble. I know you have a passing acquaintance with a certain Will Blakely, so I can see you like a bit of rough. Let the Collins case go, and leave the Stockers alone, or I might have to deal with you myself. But you might enjoy that . . .” He pulls me closer and I turn my head away before bring my knee sharply upwards.
“You little bitch,” he hisses, doubled over with pain, as I straighten my blouse and put a hand to the door handle.
I ignore him, and march out of the room, leaving the door open. Furious to discover I’m shaking, once I’m out into the corridor I almost run towards the room where Beverly and Annie are. WPC Stanton is just coming out of the door, a sheaf of papers in her hand, and I take a breath and force a smile.
“Inspector Hammond was called away,” I tell her.
“I see,” she says, and I can tell from her eyes that she does. “Was there anything you wanted to tell me? Anything I could pass on to Inspector Hammond, maybe?”
I shake my head, suddenly fighting back tears. “Nothing. Except . . . I was just explaining my theories about the Collins case to DS Appleton. He was . . . very interested in the fact that I thought the Stockers might have been involved in Ella’s kidnap. But he seemed to think it wasn’t worth looking into, and he said the case was closed. I asked him how well he knew the Stockers personally, and I think he may have misunderstood, because he was . . . quite upset.”
“I see,” she says again, and for a moment we stare at each other, and I know she has got the message. “I’ll make sure Inspector Hammond is fully briefed on any extra information. Beverly has just signed the last of the paperwork, so if you would like to come down to the front desk, she will join you shortly.”
I nod, and turn back down the corridor. DS Appleton is just walking out of the door, and as I brush past him, I can feel his fury. Before he can say anything else I hear WPC Stanton’s clear voice from behind me.
“Oh, DS Appleton, do you mind just going over a couple of details for me, please? I just want to check a couple of dates on the Collins case.”
The smiling mask slips across his face with an almost audible click, and the blonde-haired, blue-eyed hunk is back. I can hear him agreeing to help her. Although I don’t turn back, I can imagine him standing a bit too close to her as he checks over the paperwork.
Chapter Twenty
By the time we leave the police station, I’m still shaken, and Beverly is still crying. She keeps hugging Annie and thanking both of us.