by Daisy White
Johnnie picks up an armful of bottles and heads for the door. “Just a thought. If he's capable of working for Stocker all these years, he’s obviously used to blackmail and corruption. Don’t forget that if you're right he’ll lose everything. Be careful, Ruby, and just leave this alone until you get that call. If I were you I’d be more afraid of Appleton than Stocker.”
Closing time comes, and Mary runs off with an umbrella to pick up Summer.
Without much hope, I dial Trixie’s number one more time.
“Hallo?” A man’s voice, rough and jovial.
“Hallo! Can I speak to Trixie, please?”
“Course you can, darling!”
I can’t believe it, and stand shaking next to the phone until a woman’s voice comes on the line. “Yes?”
“My name is Ruby Baker, and I’m a friend of Laura Grieves. She gave me your number. I . . . I wondered if we could meet somewhere?” No point in trying to talk on the phone, but if I can get her out for a coffee, she might be more helpful.
There is silence on the line, and I can hear the crackle of a bad connection.
“Laura . . .” A man yells something and she shouts at him to piss off. “Yeah, she said you might ring. I promised her, so I’ll meet you. Only you, though, I’m not talking to anyone else.”
Quickly, I give her the address, and she tells me she knows the salon, but wants to meet in an alley a bit further down, and to give her a quarter of an hour to ‘get herself together’.
I don’t hesitate to agree, and when she rings off I call Kenny.
“Are you sure you don’t want someone with you? Didn’t she ask anything else? Sounds a bit strange to me.”
“I don’t know. It was like she was expecting the call,” I say. “She said she promised Laura something, but I didn’t dare ask any questions over the telephone, in case she hung up on me.”
“Well, be careful, and ring me later.”
I give it five minutes, then lock up, and walk down the road. Stamping along, dodging puddles, I don’t see Will until he blocks my path.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing really. Sorry, Will, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“That’s alright, I’m busy myself. I just thought I’d check on you.”
I give him the latest news, glancing at my watch. “And you were right about the girls. From what they said Stocker has been taking girls off the streets for years. Ella kept calling them her ‘sisters’ and she said they ‘left home’ when they got too old. I don’t like to think what happened to them.”
“What are the police doing about it?”
“I telephoned them yesterday, and again this morning, because I thought they’d probably go straight up to Alice’s Farm and get the girls to identify John Stocker, but they never rang back. Johnnie says they might have just gone to arrest Stocker. It’s so frustrating not knowing. Oh, and Hector and Eva, our magical duo, seem to have vanished. According to the manager, they cut their run at the Hippodrome short and just packed up and left.”
“Hammond is solid, from what I hear, and I think he’ll do his best. It’s lucky you have me on your side, though, Miss Baker.” He smiles, showing no sign of leaving.
“It is. Look, Will, I’m sorry, but I’m actually just off to meet someone, so can we catch up another time.” If Trixie sees me talking to someone, she might run away. I did promise it would be just me.
“Yes,” he says — does he look a little smug? “I know who you’re meeting.” He indicates an alleyway that leads across to Middle Street. “I gave her a lift over.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Will?” I walk slowly after him, “What the hell is going on? How could you know . . .” I’m so wet now my shoes are squelching and my hair is dripping into my eyes. Then I stop, confused.
“This is Trixie. Trixie, meet Ruby.” Will is clearly delighted with himself. “Luckily, I happened to be in the office when you called, and I offered Trixie a lift.”
The woman standing smoking in the alley looks sulky. She has sharp, pinched features and bruised, skinny legs. Her peroxide blonde hair hangs in wet curtains down to her shoulders. “I said I wanted to meet her on my own.”
Will brushes past me and leans in close to the woman. She flinches, even though he doesn’t touch her. “Talk,” he says softly.
“Will!” I say, shocked. His voice is menacing, and his connection with Trixie bewildering.
I wipe raindrops off my face and study Trixie. She avoids my eyes and speaks to the floor. “Don’t worry, love, they’ve all got attitudes like him. I’m used to it. You can’t say this came from me, but, like I said on the phone, I promised Laura if I could ever help any of those girls, I would. He said . . .” She waves her cigarette at Will, who is leaning casually against the wall, his dark hair plastered to his wet head, amber eyes glittering with something that could be menace. “He said he knows you, and he’d give me a lift. But you need to understand, I would have come forward before — I just couldn’t. Now Stocker’s old and sick, and she’s dead, Laura told me it’s time to let everyone know the truth. You can’t say it was me that told you though, because they’ve still got friends . . .”
“They haven’t!” Will interrupts her impatiently, “That’s the whole point. He’s nothing and nobody now, which is why all this has unravelled.”
I’m nearly going crazy with anticipation. “What are you talking about? Tell me, please.”
Trixie sighs and takes another puff of her cigarette. Her skin is lined and sallow. She finishes her cigarette, chucks it into a puddle and holds out a hand to Will. Without a word he pulls out a battered packet and strikes another match for her, cupping the flame in his hand against the weather.
“Trixie?”
“John Stocker had Ella Collins. That’s who did it. Him and his crazy bitch wife, Susie.” She takes a breath of smoke, drawing it down into her lungs. Her shoulders shake a little and her thin bare legs are like pale sticks in the shadows.
“Go on, Trixie. We haven’t got all night.”
“Piss off, Will. John Stocker. He owned everyone and everything. After the war he was one of them that bought up building sites and put up houses like there was no tomorrow. Of course there were a lot of bombed areas, and he had the cash to move straight in with his men. He started in London, but then he bought a club in Brighton, and a few more houses along the coast to Eastbourne, and the other way in Southampton. There were more clubs up north . . . He drove a red Roller for a while and dressed his women in fur coats.” She pauses, lost in the past, before her eyes find mine. Red-rimmed they might be, but they are sharp with intelligence.
“Go on, please,” I say.
“He married Susie when she was just a youngster, and most people thought he was mad. She was a pretty girl, but tough and ambitious. Mind you, when you saw where she came from, she’d have had no choice. Might have been a beauty queen, but the family she came from were happy enough to hand her over to their cousins up in London. Story goes that Stocker saw her strip in one of his clubs and that was it, he fell in love, and she never had to work again. The marriage worked out, I think. Of course he still had other women in London, but he spent more time down here in his big house with Susie. And the parties! Bloody hell . . . There were parties at the clubs, and parties back at his house that ended four days later. He didn’t need sleep and she was right up with him all the way, laughing and flirting with everyone.”
“Get to the point, Trixie,” Will says, cupping his hand to light another cigarette.
She darts him a poisonous look, but continues with her story. “Susie wanted kids, and she used to go on about how she wanted a big family to take over the business. Turns out she could get pregnant easy enough, but she couldn’t carry them. She lost three at four months and she and John would fight about it, like it was his fault. It was a funny relationship — this big man with all this power, who just wanted to please his little wife. I reckon it really was love, and I don’t bel
ieve in that stuff. Whatever else it was, she had things on him too. Things he wouldn’t have liked coming out to his good friends down at the police station, or his famous party guests. He could always tell what they’d like, and what had to be hidden. I do know he had more than one copper in his pockets down here, and one of them, Appleton, liked to play the same games as Stocker.”
I swallow hard as she pauses for another drag on her cigarette. I’ve forgotten the rain, my wet shoes and the water trickling down my neck. My world has shrunk to this alley and the skinny woman with her harsh voice.
“Anyway, John has . . . had these rooms under his house — the Games Room he calls it. I suppose it was a wine cellar back in the day. He liked to take young girls down there and play games, and I’m not talking snakes and ladders.”
It must be the cool breeze from the sea that whips my wet arms into goose bumps. I swallow, hard, thinking of Lily and Ella. I wonder if the Games Room had a brown door with locks.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, my mind spinning. I lean back against the wall, and accept a cigarette from Will.
Trixie frowns at me, “I was there, of course. I was in the cellar, in the house, the clubs. I was Susie’s friend. Don’t look like that, and now you need to shut up and listen, because there’s more I need to tell you.”
“We were told that Beverly’s chap, Green I think he was called, had double-crossed Stocker. He'd stolen a load of money from one of the clubs and taken it over to America with him. I thought he’d just take her off the street and put her in the Games Room for a bit. But he didn’t. We were told that he was going to take her kid and set her up so she’d go down for murder.
“That was harsh, and I know a few people stood up to him and refused to have a part of it. But that didn’t do any good.” She looks right at me. “Will said on the way over that you couldn’t understand how everyone involved kept quiet and did what they were told. Imagine this . . . Stocker took a girl from each family and kept them in his Games Room for a week or so. Then he sent them home again. It was a great way to scare people. He didn’t hurt those girls, not really, but, like Laura, they won’t ever forget. Laura, well it got a bit out of hand when she was staying. Too many visitors.” Trixie studies my face, “You’ve met her, haven’t you, so you can see she’s a pretty girl. Brave, too. I got her out of trouble, and we’ve stayed in touch. But we couldn’t do anything else until now.”
“What about the other girls? Ella said that she had ‘sisters’ that came to live with them?” Trixie scowls at me, and I hastily shut up.
“After that, once everyone was good and scared enough to shut up, he used that daft couple with the ice cream van to take her from White Oak. They moved away pretty quickly afterwards. I was surprised to see them back at the Hippodrome, but perhaps they heard the Stockers were losing control and thought they had nothing to be scared of any more.
“I know Laura’s dad was relieved when John started selling off his clubs, and even more so when his cousin took over everything. There was no tie anymore, you see. Laura told me she went to the police and admitted she lied about Beverly, the daft cow. It wasn’t going to do any good when Beverly was just about due for release, was it? But she wanted to clear her conscience. Everyone around here has been the same the last eighteen months. John Stocker has had his day and now we're starting to live again.”
“That was enough to keep everyone quiet for this long — the Games Room thing? To convince them all to help kidnap a little girl, and to set her mum up for murder?” I can’t help the disbelief that creeps into my voice. “I still can’t see why you didn’t go to the police way before this. You say you got Laura out of trouble . . . What about the other girls?”
“You don’t know how it was!” Trixie snaps at me suddenly, her voice rising to a whine. Her yellow teeth are bared in a kind of snarl. “And you don’t know what it was like down in those rooms. It’s like being an animal in a cage, hidden away in the darkness with no food or water unless he chose to bring something. Sometimes he brought other men down too. Sometimes friends of his to play his sick perv games, but it was mostly ones who had crossed him. We watched them being beaten, or even shot dead, right in front of us. He got his thrills out of fear, out of driving us nearly mad with terror, and then he’d go back up the stairs and play the big businessman in a suit again, going to lunch with the mayor. That copper of his, Appleton, used to be a regular visitor. Very tight those two were, so when I heard he was on the Collins case at the start I knew Beverly had no chance. It was arranged months before. None of those girls who’ve been down in that place will ever be the same again. They can pretend they’re fine, but they’re scarred underneath. If I could have got them out, I would have done. But I could help more by just keeping my mouth shut. I ran the house, my old man was one of Stocker’s closest friends, and I was Susie’s best friend. Hell, I even ran a club at one time. I had the power on the inside, and believe me, I did all I could without ruining my own life too. Before you ask, my old man died a couple of years back, so I’m on my own, doing pissy jobs for this new lot . . .” She indicates Will, “. . . just to pay my rent.” She’s breathing fast now, her mouth slightly open, one hand shooting out like a snake striking, and gripping mine with surprising strength.
“Laura? And Lily?”
She nods, “And Mavis and Jack’s two nieces, and Stan’s sister . . . You still don’t get it. Stocker owned us! There wasn’t anyone I know who didn’t have someone they loved who worked for him. Could be in the clubs, the building trade, hell, he had reporters and police bursting out of his pockets at one time. He said jump and we said, how high?”
“What do mean ‘owned us’? The whole estate?” I just can’t grasp the scale of this thing, “And why are you working with Will now?”
“You really don’t see it, do you? Stocker owned everyone. He had contacts all over London, all over Brighton, and he paid well for information.” Trixie is shaking her head. “Now his cousin’s taken over all the business, they’ve got a load of idiots like Will working for them.”
“Does Stocker know you work for them too?” I can’t help asking. I’m swinging between pity for this hard-faced woman, and a kind of fury that she didn’t do anything sooner.
“No. I told you, I only do a few bits to pay the rent, and I didn’t start until Susie died.”
She doesn’t show any emotion when she says this, despite the fact she has mentioned at least three times that Susie was her best friend. “No wonder Ella is the way she is,” I say sadly.
“Beverly’s kid never went down in the cellar. I didn’t realise until afterwards, but Ella was a present for Susie. She used to take her out to pick up new girls if they went up to London, but mostly she kept her inside. She looked after the kid like her own all these years.”
“But why? I mean why Ella specifically?”
“I don’t know, she never would tell me and she told me everything, right up until she died. Susie was a crazy bitch, but she ended up as my best friend. My old man was doing well, running part of the business, so Stocker put me to work in one of the Soho clubs — the Wild Rose, it was called. I ran the girls and made a good bit of money, and on my days off I came down to Brighton and stayed with the Stockers. That’s how I ended up running the houses for them. I ditched the club completely when Susie started getting poorly, and he brought me back to care for her. Emily . . . Ella helped care for her too, and Susie would say the girl was the only real family she’d ever had, and how it was all worth it to have something of her own.”
“That’s really twisted . . . All the time Beverly was in prison for the murder of her daughter! Do you think Susie convinced herself that Ella was actually her daughter? What happened the night she drowned?” I ask quickly, as Trixie sighs, stubbing out her cigarette and adjusting her bag to the other thin shoulder.
“We knew she was getting worse, but I never imagined it would end so quickly. I wasn’t there that night so I don’t know what happened. Stocke
r kept on asking me afterwards why I hadn’t seen it coming, and I suppose the signs were there. I do remember a telephone call, just as I was leaving that evening. Something had really frightened her, but she was almost more angry than anything. Susie was like that, she was either high on happiness or screaming at everyone. I asked about the call, of course, but she told me to push off and keep my nose out.
“She always said she never wanted to lose control. She’d fought for what she had, and suffered for it in her early years, so she obviously decided to die when she wanted. While she still had a choice. I don’t know why she took Lily with her either, but I do know, for the first time since I’ve known them, there is nobody in the cellar now. It’s over.”
“How long had Lily been down there?” I ask her, rubbing rain off my face and blinking hard.
“Six months, maybe? Not long. He used to have four or five girls down there at any one time, but as Susie got sicker she finally lost interest in helping him. It was her that used to get the girls in, you know. After she got Ella, she’d go into London, or down in Southampton, where he had some property, and then they’d come back with another one. The last year or so, there was only one other girl. Stocker was losing his grip and getter sicker. He sold off most of his clubs — the houses, too — and let his cousin run the rest. It worked for a couple of months then the cousin screwed him over, and got some legal man to say Stocker left the business to him. The ruse worked, too, or Stocker didn’t have the heart to fight it. He’s dying now and he knows it. He’s got no money and nobody left since Susie died. It’s all gone.”
“How did Ella get away?”
“She didn’t — he let her go. He couldn’t be bothered with looking after her when Susie died, but she hadn’t got a clue who she really was. She’s pretty backward, but then she’s been shut up all her life. He told her he was going to drop her off on the promenade in the car, and she was to go and find a friend to bring home.”