Detective Ruby Baker series Box Set

by Daisy White

  I doodle around the other names on my diagram, considering random people like Sophie Harper, who is only involved because she is related to a suspect. She still links back to Rita, though. Suppose it was the other way around . . . Suppose you wanted to steal a racehorse, but you wanted to take the heat off while you escaped. Would you go as far as murder to throw the investigation out, or was Rita involved? She would have had plenty of opportunity to get to know the yard set-up, and the horses. I tap the pencil against my teeth and frown at my wall.

  Something that was mentioned at the beginning of all this, right after Rita died, was her involvement in protests. Bev and Joanna both said she was passionate about her causes, and Bev mentioned a previous boyfriend, Paul. Oh, and the reporter, Benjy, links to a protest march. I make a note to ask Sammy about that. Things are changing, and for a girl with strong views and a wild lifestyle, there would have been plenty of opportunity to upset the wrong people. Or to get involved with the wrong people.

  I can’t go so far as to think that a stolen racehorse is part of a plot to ban the bomb, but I make a note to check out the chemical company that owns Basil’s Pride. If somebody told her that she was doing it for an important cause, would Rita have believed them enough to risk her life? I always feel better when I have everything laid out on paper, and conclude that even if this does turn out to be a suicide, there is definitely something else going on. I just need to find out what. I bet that’s exactly what DC Little is doing too.

  Ruby Baker’s Investigation Bureau is back in business.

  I put my pencils back in the pot, and walk back out into the salon. The place smells of bleach, wet hair and roses. Johnnie has arranged a big bunch of pink ones next to the waiting area. They clash with the paler pink wall, but they are pretty enough. I almost don’t notice the slip of paper that has been pushed under the door, until it rustles when I step on it.

  It’s a page torn from a ledger, but there is no address, and the words seem to be from a newspaper. Each one has been carefully cut out and glued into position.

  To Ruby Baker

  Keep out of Rita’s business or you’ll get into trouble. She thought she could do what she wanted and look what happened to her. Keep out of trouble or you will end up the same way.

  I place the note carefully on the reception desk with a shaking hand. It’s still daylight outside, even if it is a wet and gloomy afternoon. A few vans splash past, heavily laden with planks of wood, and a woman hurries down the hill, red umbrella firmly clutched in one hand, bags of shopping in the other.

  My heart beats faster, and the back of my neck prickles like someone is watching me. Spooked, I peer through the misted glass windows, over the road, narrowing my eyes in the sea fog. But I have no idea how long the note has been there. The clock on the wall shows I’ve been scribbling on my diagrams for over an hour. Whoever slipped the note under could have done it just after I went out the back, in which case common sense tells me they’ll be long gone.

  Despite this, I check the door that leads out to the courtyard. It is firmly locked and bolted. The door to the cellar has been blocked up for years. I tell myself firmly that this is just some idiot, possibly even one of Rita’s other brothers trying to scare me.

  Even so, before I slip out the front door, I wait until a group of men in suits are walking down the road, and time my exit for when they pass the salon, turning the key in haste.

  The note rests in my pocket, and I’m furious to find my hands are still shaking when I get into our empty flat. Mary is obviously still at Angela’s picking up Summer. The flat is dark and cold, and I make myself a cup of tea, listening to the clatter of kettle and teaspoon echo around the big room.

  What will it be like when Mary moves out? Summer’s little bed and her rag rug will go, and her box of wooden bricks. All our shared make-up and clothes will have to be divided up. Who will get the silly things that are joint purchases, like the frying pan and the mugs?

  The empty pang of loneliness makes my eyes sting with sudden tears. I feel like I’m losing a lover, not a best friend and a child who isn’t even mine. I remind myself sternly that I’m not losing anyone. They’re only moving up the road, and this self-pity is ridiculous. I should be pleased that Mary has her happily-ever-after, not thinking about myself. I force myself to be cheerful.

  Chapter Twelve

  Baby D’s is one of our favourite coffee bars, but tonight it’s packed with students, and all the tables are full. After a couple of drinks we move out, and wander down to the beach to meet Mary and Ted for a late fish and chip supper.

  They are sitting opposite the King’s Road Arches, further down than we normally go, but there are fewer people on the beach away from the pier. I’ve never been in the Arches, but there are a few clubs hidden in the gloom. The boys sometimes go and play snooker and drink beer in one of them, and at night, groups congregate under the brick pillars to plan mischief.

  “Thank goodness we have a day off tomorrow.” Mary yawns, slumping on the beach with her newspaper package of chips. She starts breaking off little pieces for Summer, who sits kicking her legs in her pushchair.

  “I know. I’m exhausted. I wasn’t even supposed to work today, but Alice was poorly so Matron wanted me to just do a couple of extra hours. I suppose I just need to think of my pay packet. I’ve hardly seen poor Vic the last couple of weeks, either. Our shifts are total opposites at the moment,” Pearl says, lying back on the wet pebbles, careless of her clothes. The weather has cleared to a muggy warmth, and a few stray sunbeams pierce the clouds like searchlights.

  Donovan slides an arm around her waist, pulling her up like a rag doll and she leans on him, her long red hair cascading over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get up to ride tomorrow morning, but I’m no good with no sleep. I haven’t had much since Pridey was stolen.” His face looks haggard in the dusky light, and there are dark shadows under his eyes.

  “Have you got that strange note, Ruby?” Pearl asks suddenly.

  I rummage in my handbag and pass it over. Just about everyone we know has had a look, so I don’t see any harm in Donovan seeing it.

  He reads it quickly, frowning. “Do you know who sent this?”

  “No idea. Some idiot maybe, who thinks it might be funny?” It was Johnnie who suggested that I play it down, show it around, and hopefully whoever sent it will hear that I’m not taking it seriously. He said that might make them angry, and we’d have a chance of flushing them out. It was pretty much the only idea we came up with, even though it means taking a chance on some flake being so angry that he attacks me in the street.

  “Did you take it to the coppers?” Donovan asks.

  “Yes. They thought it was probably a joke.” Which is a lie, because I only rang and left a message to say I’d had a threatening letter shoved under the door. I know perfectly well that DC Little would take the opportunity to give me a lecture about keeping my nose out of police business. “It is threatening, but it isn’t like it describes my death in graphic detail. It’s just someone letting off steam in a spiteful way. When I’ve done investigations before, I’ve had poisonous letters and notes sent to me, and nothing ever came of it.”

  “Well, I’m glad you aren’t worried,” Donovan says slowly, passing the note back. “It isn’t nice to get something like that.”

  “We had a chat with Sophie Harper yesterday,” James says, after a quick, meaningful glance at Ken.

  “Who’s that?” Donovan is lighting a cigarette, which he passes to Pearl.

  “Roger Harper’s sister.”

  “One of Rita’s fellas, isn’t he?”

  “That’s right. She’s only down here for a quick break, because she’s at university, but she told us a few interesting things.”

  “Such as?” Donovan is sifting sand with one hand, the other still firmly around Pearl’s shoulders.

  Did I imagine it, or did that question come out a bit too sharp? The boys have noticed, but Mary is preoccupied with her daughter,
who is starting to whinge. Ted unstraps the child, picks her up, and starts pointing out seagulls.

  “She says you visited Roger a few weeks ago.” Kenny stubs out his cigarette, deceptively casual.

  “But I’ve never met him!”

  “She says Roger told her a jockey friend of his was visiting, and she caught a glimpse of you as you left. The description matches you, and admittedly half the yard, but she saw your picture in the paper yesterday with Joey, and she reckons it was you.”

  “So why tell you and not the police?” Donovan fires back. He stands up, regarding us angrily in the half-light.

  “She wants us to do a piece on her brother. He’s been dragged through the mud as Rita’s lover, and now the police are questioning him again as a possible murder suspect. Sophie wants us to write a story explaining how her brother and the family are very much above being sucked into anything as vulgar as the underworld of racing.” Kenny is grinning now. “Come on, man, we’re not going to do it. But just out of interest, is she lying about you going to see Roger?”

  Pearl is watching her man through half-closed eyes. She says nothing to defend him, which is interesting. Catching my eye, she just shrugs, and mouths, ‘What?’

  Donovan drags out a battered packet of cigarettes, lights one and chucks the match onto the pebbles. He seems torn between storming off, and answering Kenny. Eventually he sits down. “Yeah, okay, I do know who Roger is, and I’ve seen him on the racecourses a couple of times. A relative of his has got two horses in training with Tommy — South Bridge and Flower of Devon. I rode South Bridge at Newbury last year, and had a good win. The owner gave me the biggest tip I’ve ever had, and then she introduced me to her nephew, Roger. I’ve seen him around a few times since. Enough so I’d recognise him, nothing more. Not the way she says, though. I’ve never been down to the house, and wouldn’t have a clue where he lived.”

  “This gets more confusing by the minute,” Kenny comments, waving his cigarette for emphasis.

  Donovan continues. “But I was out one night and I saw Rita and him in his car. I was a bit drunk, so I thought maybe I was mistaken, and I knew Rita was seeing Joey anyway. But when I came home the same way the next weekend, they were at it again, and this time I was a bit less drunk. It’s pretty lonely up on the Downs by the Dyke, and they were pulled up down a farm track, making out.”

  “Did you tell anyone? Or confront Rita?” James asks idly.

  “I get on well with Joey, and I didn’t want him being messed around, so of course I told him. But before you start accusing him of anything, he wasn’t that bothered. He said he had other girls, and it wasn’t serious. He also said if she wanted to put herself about, then she was just a tart, and they were two a penny on the racecourse. I told the coppers this when they were up the yard after Pridey was stolen.”

  I turn to lie on my front, wriggling my bare toes, moving the shiny stones until I get to the wet sand underneath. “I spoke to Victoria today. She managed to get her photos developed — you know, the ones that didn’t take the first time? She’s taking them to the police station tomorrow, but she did say they that although they show Rita standing by the rail before she jumped, or fell, or was pushed, there is no way of identifying anyone standing near her. The crowd was just too tightly packed, and her camera isn’t good enough to pick out individual faces.”

  A group of seagulls are squabbling over some bread, squawking and pecking near the waves. I watch them idly, picking my words carefully. “I was wondering if Rita might have been part of the gang who took Pridey. I mean, I don’t know anything about horse thieves, but she was perfectly positioned to give all the information on the yard, the horse, the routine . . .”

  “If there was anything to link her to the theft, the police would have picked it up. They’ve been up at the yard ever since it happened. But it’s an interesting thought, Rubes. I always said you weren’t just a pretty face.” Kenny dodges as I reach over to retaliate.

  “If they close the case as a suicide, Ruby won’t be treading on anyone’s toes if she carries on investigating, will she? I saw Joanna last night and she is dead certain Rita wouldn’t have killed herself. She said when she found out she was pregnant, she would have just raised the baby herself,” James says, grinning at Ted, who is now lifting Summer high into the air, spinning her around so she screams with laughter.

  Which is the exact opposite of what Bev said to me. I suppose Bev had seen Rita more recently, though, so perhaps her account of her friend’s state of mind is more accurate.

  “I’ll never get her to sleep after this,” Mary complains, but she’s smiling too. She turns back to James. “I still think it was probably suicide. With everything the poor girl had going on, on top of finding out she was having a baby, it just seems the most obvious conclusion.”

  “I was thinking, Donovan, do you think it’s possible that Rita’s murder was a cover for stealing the racehorse? I did originally think it might be the other way around, but just suppose you wanted to take Basil’s Pride, but you wanted to make it difficult to get any leads . . . Could you sell a stolen racehorse?” James says suddenly.

  Donovan nods, his dark blue eyes brilliant. “Could be. It’s hard to get rid of a horse like Pridey, but you could do it. You’d have to create a new identity for him to register at Weatherby’s, but horse thieves have got all kinds of tricks. They can dye horses’ coats as easily as you two do in the hair salon, and paint on different markings, file down their teeth so it’s harder to tell what age they are . . . If you’re paying good money for a horse, you’re going to want to race him, and as Pridey’s a stallion, use him at stud. No point in using your stolen horse as a sire if you can’t register the progeny.”

  Mary takes her daughter from Ted and straps her back into the pushchair. She drains her bottle of beer, and looks at her watch.

  “I heard that one of the stable lads has gone missing too,” I say, passing a large, blue pebble to Summer for her to inspect. She kicks her legs happily and points to the sea.

  “Simon. Tommy thinks he might have been involved in the theft, but he’d never kill a girl. He’s the skinniest little runt you’ll ever see. He gets carted if he ever rides out. If he’s gone, it’s because he said something he shouldn’t. He’s full of tittle-tattle anyway, and always skipping work.”

  The name is familiar, but I struggle to place him. Donovan sees me frowning and grins. “He was quite taken with you, Ruby. He spent a lot of time telling everyone at the yard how beautiful you were.”

  “He was the drunk boy from the Black Jug who had to go outside and be sick?” I can just about recall a round face, freckles and brown hair.

  “Right. A real little charmer.”

  “Have you still got the reporters at the yard?” Pearl asks.

  Donovan jerks a thumb at James and Kenny, stretched out with their bottles of beer on the warm pebbles. “Apart from this lot, yes, they’re camped out by the gates. Driving Tommy ape. That, and the police keep coming up to interview everyone. That DC Little is a right idiot. Seaboy bit him yesterday,” he adds with satisfaction.

  Mary giggles. “Is Seaboy horse or human?”

  My cousin laughs. “He’s the chestnut in the corner stable, next to the tack room.”

  “Impressive, but you only know that because I sleep above him,” Donovan murmurs, and she shoots him a sharp look.

  “So what are you going to do about Sophie Harper?” I ask the boys. “I mean, she’ll be waiting for a story to appear, based on what she told you, won’t she?”

  “She’ll be waiting a long time.” James grins. “We never said we’d run it, but it was interesting background. I also told her we can’t control what anyone else writes. Benjy Harley is a total bitch when it comes to gossip, and he’s the editor’s favourite boy at the moment.”

  “I thought you two were the golden duo?” Pearl says.

  “Most of the time, but Benjy’s come in and sort of wormed his way around everyone. Even the girls on
the news desk think he’s ‘divine.’ He isn’t, of course, he’s a little sod, and I’m certain he’s got some personal agenda. As soon as I find out what it is, he’ll be history,” Kenny says with satisfaction.

  “He’s been doing those really nasty pieces on Rita and Roger, hasn’t he?” I say, remembering the byline on the story that had upset Sammy, and the vicious little story about Roger. I also remember Bev’s list of boyfriends. “Actually, I heard that he went out with Rita at one time.”

  “Did he? Perhaps she ditched him, and that’s why he feels the need to slate her. Everything he writes is nasty. There’s a place for sleazy gossip, and the Herald isn’t it. Like I said, he’s poisonous. Actually, I probably don’t have to do anything about him myself. If he keeps writing stuff about Roger, Sophie will be round with an axe.”

  “It seems like everyone went out with that girl,” Donovan remarks, and Pearl frowns at him. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t have anything to do with her! I did hear something interesting though. Joey mentioned that Rita was big into CND, and he said she found out that Pridey’s owners are part of some chemical firm who are developing a new type of bomb. Purple Corner Chemicals, they’re called. Now that would turn this whole thing on its head, wouldn’t it? Suppose your friend Victoria was right after all, and Rita was trying to kill the horse as a protest?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Saturday night we head back to the Black Jug. It’s just me and Kenny, Pearl and Victoria coming up from the town, so we pack into Ken’s dilapidated car for the short drive to Patcham. Donovan is already at the bar, with a big group from Tegdown Stables, and he waves at us, but makes no move to come over. Whatever the conversation is about, it seems to be fierce, with lots of low, angry voices and fingers jabbed in faces.