by Daisy White
“What are they going to do? Where are they going?” Mary asks, watching the larger groups walking across the road and up towards a ring of trees near the top of the Downs.
“I think they’re going to settle their scores out of the way of the pub,” Donovan says. “Bloody idiots. I told them to calm down, but now they’re raging, insulting each other like I’ve never seen. I’ll have to go after them. Pearl, you stay here.” And he’s away, jogging off into the darkness.
“Should we call the police?” Victoria asks.
“Perhaps we should just let them fight it out. It’s been bubbling up for ages, and they might just need a good fight to clear the air,” Kenny suggests, doubtfully.
The landlord is talking to Johnnie, and they shake hands.
“He’s closing up now, but I wanted to thank him for this evening,” he explains when he joins us. “He doesn’t seem that bothered by the brawl. He says he’s seen it all before and nobody ever gets murdered.”
There is silence for a moment as we all absorb the comment. “I think we need to go after them. The girls can go home so they’re safe, but we can follow them, and if it gets out of hand we can drive up to the telephone box and call the police,” Ted says soberly.
“I’m not going anywhere. Donovan is right in the thick of that mob,” Pearl says firmly.
Mildly exasperated, Johnnie peers at the rest of us, then shakes his head. “Come on then, we’ll take the cars and drive towards Tommy’s yard. We can park on the grass outside his drive, walk back to keep an eye on things, and if it gets nasty, one of us can run back and ring the police from Tommy’s house, or take a car to the telephone box.”
Chapter Twenty
We leave the cars and follow a few stragglers out onto the Downs. On the top of the hill there is a shallow basin, said to be part of an ancient Barrow, or burial ground, and this where the fight is continuing.
The sides of the basin make a perfect amphitheatre, the darkness pierced only by torches and the glow of cigarettes. The numbers on both sides seem to have swelled, and the noise is tremendous. There are yells and taunts. A few missiles, broken tree branches and bottles, sail over our heads and Mary ducks nervously.
We watch anxiously as the two groups approach each other like opposing armies, and the hand-to-hand fighting begins. Around us, little knots of people are gathered, cheering or booing as each fist hits home. The swaying shadowy figures come together into grotesque shapes, as the clouds flit across the moon, alternately lighting the landscape and plunging it into darkness.
“I really don’t like this. I think we should call the police now,” Mary says, her arm firmly round Ted. She has to shout to make herself heard.
“Just wait and see if they calm down,” Johnnie says, his eyes never leaving the fighters. “Give it ten minutes.”
The night is hot and airless, and the subdued shouts echo off the downland, gasps that could be curses and the thud of feet and fists.
“I’m so sorry this had to happen tonight,” I say to Mary. “We’re supposed to be celebrating your engagement, not watching a lot of idiot lads fighting.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. It was lovely before, but we could hardly ignore this, could we?”
A couple of lads come up the hill behind us, from the direction of Tommy’s yard. “What’s this, an alternative party?” one of them asks. His sharp eyes take in the scene in front of us.
“Not really. They started arguing at the pub, and then one of Moses’s lads suggested they sort it out properly.”
“Well, we’re in.” The two lads amble onward, and are soon lost in the surging crowd.
Johnnie frowns at the amplified thumps and screams coming from the fighters. If anything, the crowd is swelling further, and the violence is escalating. A lad staggers past us clutching his bloody face, and another seems to have been knocked out cold. His friends are frantically hauling him out of the melee by his feet, emptying a bottle over him in an attempt to wake him.
“I think we need to get the police,” I tell Johnnie, and he nods.
Without warning, the mob surges out from the basin in a ragged formation, heading straight for our little group.
“Look out!” yells Ted, and we brace ourselves. The mob catches us like a swimmer misjudging a breaking wave, and for a while we’re surrounded by struggling bodies. I can hear Kenny shout my name, and Mary screams, but I’m dragged under by the current of violence, falling to the ground, curling into a ball to avoid being trampled.
Even as I try to dodge the boots stamping dangerously near my head, I hear a sharp crack and the screams around me intensify. Was that a gunshot? I struggle to my feet and the crowd around me thins, and I realise that everyone is diving for cover. There are a few sparse bushes at the edge of the basin to our west, and further down the hill on the Brighton side, there is a sizeable oak copse. Another shot rings out, and I start to run, half crouching, darting wildly into the darkness. My breath comes in short, painful gasps, and my body is sore. Where the hell are Kenny and the others?
A man yanks me in behind the bushes, to join a group of stable lads who are also sheltering from the shooter. As we huddle together, I can see by the intermittent moonlight that the basin area is almost totally clear. No bodies lie sprawled on the dusty grass, and whoever is doing the shooting is safely hidden by the night.
“Ruby!” Kenny is calling, and I squint into the darkness. He’s running up the hill from the oak copse. “Are you alright?”
He dives in amongst us, just as another shot echoes over the hills.
“Kenny! Did you get hit?”
“No, I’m fine. God, Rubes I thought . . . When I couldn’t find you, I thought you’d been shot and gone down.” He pulls me close, and I cling to him, feeling the frantic beat of his heart, his chin resting on my head.
“Where are the others?” I ask, still panicked. We’re talking in low voices, and the lads sharing our hiding place are muttering to each other, but the sounds carry across the open space. Who knows how many bullets are left in the gun?
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Who the hell fired that?”
We wait, ten, fifteen minutes by Kenny’s watch, and then a few figures start to emerge from the trees. They move slowly, warily, like hunted animals, but there are no further shots.
“Ken, we need to find Mary!”
“I know. Stick with me this time, Ruby.”
Another group are lying down in a shallow dip nearer the road, and we almost stumble over them.
Fist fights are one thing, guns are quite another. Was the person with the gun shooting to kill, or just trying to scare us?
“Mary!” As others starting to speak normally, hunting frantically for missing friends, I call out, scanning each figure that looms from the blackness.
It takes a minute before Mary shouts back. “Ruby! Ted’s been hurt!”
Kenny and I run, slipping on the uneven chalk and grassy tussocks, to where Mary is crouched over her fiancé. I can see even in this half-light, that he is clutching a bloody shirt to his ribs. The stain is spreading quickly, and Mary has her hands pressed against his chest in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood. Looking round wildly for help, I see my cousin and thank God she’s with us.
She drops to her knees, exploring the injury with gentle efficiency, murmuring a few questions to Ted, who seems to be in shock. Pearl turns to me. “Quick, we need a clean shirt or something to press against the wound and stop the bleeding. Ted, stay as still as you can and just breathe slow and easy,” Pearl says, exploring his head with gentle fingers. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did you hit your head when you fell?”
He shakes his head, and Mary clutches his other hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Who would do this? Why would anyone shoot Ted?”
I pull my blouse over my head and hand it to Pearl. “It’s clean, and soft. Will this do?”
“Yes, but we need more. When the blood soaks through I’m going to need another p
ad.” She looks enquiringly at the little crowd around Ted, and is soon inundated with articles of clothing.
Victoria puts a hand on Pearl’s shoulder. “Need any help?”
“Oh, Vic, thank God you’re alright. Where have you been?”
“I ran down the road to the telephone box. It isn’t far if you cut down the hill through the wood. It takes you out onto Mill Road. Police are on their way, and I imagine they’ll send an ambulance.”
“You are a star,” Pearl tells her.
“It wasn’t just me. A load of lads ran down too, but to start with we were just running away. Who would want to hurt Ted though?”
Ted groans, but seeing Mary’s tears, quickly stifles the sound.
“Probably didn’t mean to. They must have pretty much been firing at random in this light. With that and the crowd, the bullets could have hit anyone,” Johnnie says, appearing at last. He takes in the scene in an instant and shouts to a man who is holding two torches high above his head. “Can we get some light over here?”
The man shouts back, “You can have one, but we’ve got a man down too. Did someone say there’s a nurse here?”
“Coming!” Vic heads off up the hill at a jog.
“I’ll go and meet the police on the road and direct them over,” Kenny says, scrambling to his feet. “Are you coming, Ruby, or do you want to stay here?”
I take another look at Ted, who has his eyes closed. His breathing is fast and shallow. Mary is fighting back her tears, and trying to reassure him. “No, I’ll stay and help. Tell the ambulance to hurry up.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump, but relax when I see it’s Barney. “Is he alright? Poor chap. That’s your friend who’s getting married, isn’t it? I’m so sorry.”
“He’s going to be fine,” I say firmly. “What the hell was that all about? Did you see anyone with a gun?”
“No. I know Joey and Alex were going at it in the middle, and a few others joined in, but it wasn’t any different to other times we’d had a bit of a fight. Even a few bets being placed.” He looks pleased at the thought, but instantly remembers where he is, and his face goes solemn again. “There’s no way any of our lot would have a gun.”
“Or our lot, and that’s Alex Davies who’s been shot over there. It looks like the bullet’s gone straight through his leg, poor chap.” A small man with a black eye steps forward. “You know what I think? I reckon someone is trying to ruin both yards, setting us against each other. This isn’t about Tommy or Moses, it’s someone trying to take out both the favourites for the Derby. They took the horse from Tommy’s and now they’re trying to get at the jockey from Moses’s yard.”
It’s an interesting thought, and judging by the mumbling and nods, a pretty popular theory. “Who would do that though?” I ask Barney.
“I don’t know. It could be any of the trainers or owners with a stake in the Derby, and hell, that’s a lot of people. This is crazy, all this . . .” He trails off, shaking his head.
Ted groans again and puts tentative fingers towards his injury. Pearl swaps hands and holds the makeshift dressing firmly in place, a bare-chested Donovan by her side. “Get me another pad. This one has soaked through already. That white shirt on top of the pile will do.”
“Shouldn’t we take this one off first?” Donovan asks. He’s very subdued, and keeps casting anxious glances towards the group around Alex.
“No! We need to keep the pressure on . . . Oh, thanks, Barney.” She snatches the shirt he offers and folds it swiftly. “Right. Hold this while I take his pulse.”
It seems ages until we hear sirens and see the familiar blue flash of emergency lights. Ted is loaded onto a stretcher and bundled away, a white-faced Mary with him. There is only one ambulance, so Joey is levered into a police car for his ride to the hospital.
“Miss Baker, can I have a word please?” It’s DS Little, looking harassed, as well he might.
“Of course.”
He pulls me to one side. “I’ll be honest with you, this violence is getting out of hand. I know what I said about your investigation, but if you have any information that might help put a stop to this, you need to tell me right now.”
I frown at him in the darkness. His patronising attitude is gone, and in this shadowy half-light his face is stripped of arrogance. With his tie askew and the stubble on his chin, he looks like any normal, exhausted middle-aged man.
“Anything that you might have heard or seen, Miss Baker.”
“I haven’t got anything solid, because in this one, people aren’t talking to me much more than they’ve been talking to you. If I had anything that would bust this wide open, I’d have come straight to you anyway.” I take a breath, and hope Barney will forgive me, but this is serious, with lives at stake. I tell DC Little about the conversation Barney claims to have overheard.
“I’ll have a word with him if you point him out, but it doesn’t sound like much to go on. A conversation like that could easily be misinterpreted. Especially with Alex Davies being one of the injured tonight.” He rubs his hands over his face, pulls his notebook from his pocket, and scribbles a few lines.
“I’ve been thinking from the start, it’s almost as if what’s been happening is being done to cover something up. So, was Rita murdered to cover the theft of Basil’s Pride, or was the racehorse theft to cover the murder? The other things, inciting the lads and creating bad feeling between the rival yards . . .”
“Another possible distraction technique.”
“Yes, but I told you, nobody is talking. And tonight, it started with a fist fight that got out of hand. The lads were all starting to calm down, and it was turning into a bit of a wrestling match, when we heard gunshots. One of the lads just suggested that the reason behind all this is simply to ruin both yards and take out two Derby favourites.”
He considers this, offers me a cigarette and thinks some more. “But there are yards up and down the country with possible Derby winners. I haven’t heard of any other trouble from, say, the Newmarket or Lambourne areas, and certainly no stolen racehorses. The reporters would be on it like a hot potato anyway, even before we found out.”
Kenny joins us. “Sorry to interrupt, but one of the lads wants a word, DS Little. He says it’s important.”
I move aside, allowing a tall, skinny boy to talk to the policeman. Kenny pulls me away. “That’s Nat, he says he was talking to Simon Arden before the fire at the Tegdown Stables. He reckons Simon told him he’d bought a gun. Apparently, he’d been in deep with some gambling set, and he owed a lot of money. I told Nat to talk to the police. He claims he’d forgotten the conversation until now.”
“Rita’s dad runs a tipster business,” I say slowly.
I look around for Barney, wanting to find out more about the possible gambling angle, but he must have gone off with the other lads. A lot seem to have slunk off home, although the ringleaders are all talking to various police constables, insisting they don’t possess a gun, and all this was just a bit of drunken fun.
“Joining up dots?” Kenny interrupts my thoughts.
“Not really. There’s too much we don’t understand. If you really wanted to kill someone, why come and shoot wildly into the darkness? Why not just wait for them in a dark alley somewhere? It’s like Rita’s death. If you were going to kill the girl, would you really choose to do it in front of a big crowd? No, because it’s too risky. At times, I think there must be professionals behind all this, and then other times I think how could there possibly be?” I sigh, exhausted. “Do you think Ted’s going to be alright?”
“He’s a tough chap, he’ll be fine. Come here.” He pulls me into a hug, and for a second I cling to his solid warmth. “You know, there’s another question after tonight.”
I think for a moment, struggling with waves of fatigue. “Got it. If Simon had the gun, but it was used to kill him, then who has it now?”
He nods. “Exactly.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Dail
y updates on Ted’s progress are telephoned through to Mary at the salon, who then relays the information to everyone else. The locals have taken our crisis to heart, and everyone seems to want to help Mary get her happy ending. With just two weeks until the wedding, she has been deluged with offers of babysitters, some beautiful flowers from the market, pretty scallop-edged leather sandals from Anna, who runs a shop up the road, and Ted’s suit is being run up by old Mr Azuzi, who used to work for a gentlemen’s tailors in London.
Ted needed surgery to remove the bullet, but he’s doing well. Apparently the bullet hit low down, below a particular rib, so missed vital organs, including his heart, by a hair’s breadth. Mary is holding up well, and she and Summer have been up to the ward today to visit him.
“Alex is doing alright too. They had to operate on his leg, and of course he can’t ride in the Derby, but he’ll live,” I tell Catherine.
Mrs Carpenter telephones at lunchtime. Her harsh bark blasts into my eardrums. “I’ve spoken to Gertie Clare, and she’s given me her grandson’s address. Paul will be in this afternoon and tomorrow, but after that he has shift work, so he’ll be harder to track down. He lives in Eastbourne, and it’s number twelve, Andrews Road, Seaside. Have you got that?”
I scribble it down and thank her profusely, but she adds a word of caution. “Gertie is very concerned that your speaking to him might cause trouble. I have assured her that it won’t, so don’t let me down, Ruby.”
“I won’t.” Putting the receiver down, I study the appointments for this afternoon. We’re pretty quiet from half past one.
“Johnnie?”
“What dangerous mission are you heading off on, and why do you need the afternoon off?” He grins at my shocked expression. “I heard you on the telephone. Yes, you can go at one, and get the half one bus.”
I don’t know why I feel so sure that Paul will be able to help with the case, but at this stage anything is worth trying. The police haven’t made any arrests after the shooting, and WPC Stanton told me that they have drafted in extra officers from Hastings to cover any further incidents. It’s the Derby this weekend, so I suppose it is reasonable to assume the person or persons behind these crimes may be planning further mayhem.