Detective Ruby Baker series Box Set

by Daisy White

  “Where’s your mum?” I ask as I pass through the black front door for the second time in an hour.

  “She’s out shopping. She won’t be back for a while. Come upstairs.” Sammy bends down and carefully removes his boots. “My mum’s a bit house proud,” he explains.

  He’s already running up the worn staircase, socked feet thudding on the wood. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow.

  At the top of the stairs, four closed doors face us. One of the doors has a key in the lock and three bolts on the outside. He flings it open, wide. “This was her room.”

  I take in the tiny room, the overpowering smell of bleach, and the bars on the windows which bizarrely, also have pretty flowered curtains hung over them. There is a bucket in one corner along with a crate of towels and clothing. A metal bed frame with a thin sliver of a mattress stands opposite the window. There is nothing else except a crude painting of a Madonna and her child hung above the bed. As prisons go, it could have been worse, but I can’t imagine being caged somewhere as hot, airless and tiny as this room.

  I turn to Sammy, who is watching me anxiously. “Why didn’t she just leave?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. She didn’t used to come back very often, but it was like she couldn’t ever leave for good. He’s very clever, my dad, and he would either be all over her, playing the perfect dad, giving her presents, or he’d lock her up here for weeks on end. I think the longest was two months.”

  “Didn’t her friends wonder where she was? What about school?” I think of someone as wild as Rita being locked in this tiny room, peering through the bars, day after day. What did she dream of as the sun rose and set?

  “She was a good girl up until she left school. But then she started going out with that boy from the funfair on the pier. Dad didn’t like him, so he got Derek and Josh to give him a good beating.”

  “Paul.”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I spoke to him recently. It doesn’t matter, go on.”

  “Well, that was the first thing, but after that she used to go out with Bev and Joanna, and got in with a crowd who were into CND and all that. Rita was behaving badly, and Dad couldn’t control her anymore.” He looks down at his feet. “I used to creep up and let her out for a bit when nobody was around. I tried so hard to get her to run away, but she wouldn’t.”

  “Do you think it was because your dad threatened to hurt you or your brothers that she didn’t go?” I say, remembering what Bev told me.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I hope not. If we’d seen Dad beat her, we would have stopped him, you know, but I only ever saw him give her a slap. We all got the belt when we were younger. It was Bev who told me it was a lot worse. But Rita never said.”

  “I need to get going, Sammy, but thank you for showing me this. I’m afraid I don’t see how it will help prove anything about Rita, other than that she was desperate, which leads to the suicide conclusion again.”

  “But she didn’t kill herself!” His voice is almost a wail.

  “Sammy, I’m really sorry, but after what your dad said, there doesn’t seem to be anything else I can do to prove that. There’s no evidence to prove she was murdered. I did say I might uncover things that you wouldn’t like, and I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but unless I get anything else, I’m going to have to drop the case.”

  “You can’t give up! Just give it one more week, and then if nothing happens . . .” His voice trails away, and I watch him blink hard, obviously fighting back tears.

  “What will you do now?”

  He runs the back of his hand across his wet lashes. “Oh, I’ll go to Spain. A mate of mine has got a bike, and we’ll go and work in a bar or something. I’m not coming back. Without Rita there isn’t anything to be here for. I’ve got some money saved too.” A glimmer of wry amusement. “Quite a lot actually. You can’t work for one of the best tipsters in the business and not win a bit yourself.”

  “I see. Not like Barney then?”

  “I don’t know quite what went on between him and Dad, but I know that when they get in too deep they get desperate. It’s all about that next win, and nothing else matters. It’s like a drug. But I’m not stupid. I’ve made my pile, and once I’ve made my peace with Rita, I’m going to start a new life. Hell, I’m only twenty-one. Rita used to say there was a whole world out there, waiting to be explored.” He smiles at me now, still like a child, but now one holding onto a particularly golden memory.

  As we part at the door, I catch myself wondering exactly where Sammy has made his pile of money from. Have I been so diverted by Rita’s death that I’ve missed the obvious link between all the incidents?

  Poised to run for the bus, I turn back to him. “One last thing, Sammy. It must have occurred to you that your dad and your brothers could be responsible for all or part of Tommy’s bad luck, including Rita’s death?”

  He shrugs in that dismissive way he has. “They weren’t. We were all up on the course that day, but we were working. Josh took over from me so I could watch the Trial. I was watching the race, Ruby, just like you were, pushed up against the rails.”

  “You were?”

  He meets my eyes. “I saw her die.”

  * * *

  It’s past eight when I get to the telephone box on the seafront, and I know I need to get a move on or Johnnie will be at the flat before me, and Mary will be worried. No point in hurrying to the police station now, because it closed ages ago. Kenny won’t be back until late tonight because he’s gone over to Moses’s yard for an interview, so I can’t even tell him about my findings.

  I fumble for some change and ring the police station. The desk sergeant tells me that DC Little has gone home for the day, so I leave an urgent message for him to call me, and add that he needs to take a look at Barney. There isn’t anything more I can do.

  The sun casts a golden glow across the sea, and there are seagulls drifting on the breeze. The day trippers have already headed home on the trains or buses, and the beach is quiet.

  Ten minutes later, I open our front door, expecting to find both Mary and Johnnie, but the flat is empty. A scrawled note from Mary tells me Ted has taken a turn for the worse. Pearl came down to let her know. Johnnie arrived shortly afterwards, and they’ve all gone up to the hospital.

  Oh God, poor Ted. He was doing so well, he was supposed to be allowed home in time for the wedding. Hand to my mouth, I can’t stop a few panicky tears. Should I get the bus up to the hospital too? No, the note is dated an hour ago, and I know Matron is vile about extra visitors after hours.

  I think of Barney, and the fact that he is free to cause any trouble he likes for the horses and riders at Epsom tomorrow. There are lots of races, and Tommy is still taking some runners. Donovan and Joey will be riding, and Donovan will also be riding Love Me Do, as Alex is out of action again.

  Undecided, I stand in the middle of our flat, and run my hands through my hair, shaking out the sweaty strands. The clock on the wall tells me it is just past nine now. I know what I have to do, so I tear off my uniform and pull on jeans and a fresh shirt. Locking our door, I run into the salon and grab the telephone. There is no answer when I ring the news desk at the Brighton Herald, and the hospital refuse to give out any personal information when I try to enquire about Ted.

  “I only want to know how he’s doing!” I say, exasperated.

  “Sorry, relatives only,” the receptionist says tartly, and slams the telephone down.

  Frustration rising, I try Kenny’s home telephone. It rings and rings, until eventually the boy who answered last time agrees to shove a note under Kenny’s door. I should really just stay in and wait for morning. But I’m not going to. I can’t. I’ve made a mess of this whole investigation, and I’m not going to lose my chance to do something positive.

  The temptation is too much, so I scribble my own notes. One I leave in our flat, weighted down with a mug on the table, and the other I roll up and leave tucked in the
door frame outside the salon.

  Soon I am back on the bus, sitting next to the window, watching the town roll past, my mind racing. What am I going to say to him? I exit at the last stop, Dyke Hill Road, next to the new housing estate. If I cut across the field, I can be at Tommy’s yard in half an hour. I walk briskly, my shoes brushing the wildflowers, the tall grasses, sending a brace of pheasants squawking into the air. It still doesn’t make sense. All this trouble can’t just be down to one disgruntled stable lad. Okay, he owes money, and he’s got himself in with the wrong people, but that doesn’t make him a murderer. Or a horse thief, I suppose.

  The yard is peaceful, the horses munching hay, and just a few lads refilling water buckets. I wander in through the archway unchallenged, and run straight into Tommy.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He’s ticking off lists of runners with a chewed stub of pencil. His big square face is lined with exhaustion and worry. The big metal horsebox is parked next to the house, ramp down, and a few lads are scurrying around with sacks of feed and saddles. All ready for Epsom. How bitter it must be not to be loading up Basil’s Pride at the crack of dawn, and setting off with hopes of a Derby win. Someone has taken all that away.

  “I just came to see Barney. Is that okay?”

  He shrugs. “He’s in the back paddock with the tractor. Don’t distract him until he’s finished work.”

  “Any news on Basil’s Pride?”

  He scowls at me. “No.”

  Barney is indeed in the paddock, and he seems pleased to see me. After another twenty minutes, he parks the tractor and roller, and strolls across. “Hello, Ruby! What are you doing here?”

  “I was looking for you, actually. Can we have a chat, if you’ve finished?”

  Barney gives me a sharp look, but then he smiles. “Sure. I’ve got some tack to clean, so come and get a cup of tea.”

  We wander back. The ramp is up on the lorry, and the lads are gone. There are lights on in Tommy’s house now. They cast a watchful glow over the horsebox, and I wonder.

  “Does Tommy still have security at night?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but there are four lads sleeping in that horsebox tonight, and he’s moved the three runners for tomorrow into the isolation boxes nearer the house. Joey and Donovan are going to sleep with the horses down there.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. That narrows down Barney’s opportunities for mischief — if he is intending any. He looks so innocent and normal that I wonder again if Alan Stonehill was setting me up.

  After that initial moment of tension, Barney doesn’t even ask why I’m up at the yard so late on my own. It occurs to me that he probably thinks I’m taking him up on the offer of a drink in his room. He tells me that he rode one of the new fillies out this morning, and he thinks she’s going to be a ‘cracker’ for the Oaks. “Only if the owner decides to keep her in training with Tommy of course, but you’ve got to dream big, haven’t you?” He laughs.

  This is my opening, so I let it hang until we get to the tack room and he’s making the tea. “Did you dream big, Barney?”

  “What do you mean? We all do. That’s why we’re in racing.” He dips a cloth into water and starts cleaning a pair of stirrup leathers.

  “I spoke to Alan Stonehill today.”

  He goes a bit pale but shrugs. “I’ve seen him around.”

  “I know, Barney. He told me about you working for him.”

  Replacing the leathers, Barney takes another cloth and rubs it across the bar of saddle soap. He’s taking his time about it. “So? I’m not being funny, Ruby, but I don’t get paid much, and yes, of course I’ve got dreams of my own.”

  “Alan thinks you killed Simon,” I tell him casually, sipping my tea.

  “That’s rubbish.” Leathers finished, he starts dismantling a bridle, dropping the metal bit into a bucket of hot water. “Simon found out about my little extra job with Alan and he wanted to be part of the action. He pushed his way in.” Barney’s face reddens with anger. “And then Alan said neither of us could work for him until my debt was paid. I suppose he saw a chance to get his money back, and he knew that unless I had a good win, I was never going to clear it on my own.” He slams his fist down on the table, scattering leather straps and paperwork, facing me furiously, “You have to believe me!”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m just telling you what I heard,” I say quickly, to pacify him. “So who did kill Simon?”

  “I’ve got my own ideas. I reckon maybe Simon started working for someone else, perhaps connected with Moses’s yard, but doing a similar thing to Alan, tipster work. Maybe even Joey and Alex for all I know! You know they say that Seaboy was doped in his last race?”

  “You think that was someone from Moses’s yard?” He’s still angry, his thin body taut with explosive energy, but his movements are controlled again. I need to be careful.

  “Yes. I know Simon was talking to other people, and he bought a gun for protection,” he says.

  “What were you arguing about in the alley the night you went to see Alan?”

  “I don’t remember. Simon was a pushy little sod, and he was furious I couldn’t pay my debts and get us both working. He probably pushed me a bit far.”

  “You threatened him with a knife?”

  “Nah, that’s Alan getting all melodramatic. I don’t carry weapons.”

  “You should tell the police what you think,” I tell him, fiddling with a pair of reins.

  “But if I did that, then they’d have to know about Alan, and that would make him mad, and it would get me sacked when Tommy finds out. Do you want a top up?”

  I hold out my mug. “Do you think whoever killed Simon is responsible for the fire?”

  “Must be. If they’d killed him but wanted to try and get rid of his body, then perhaps they thought he’d get all burnt up. Damn, I’m out of soap. Just a minute while I get some from the storeroom.”

  He marches out of the door, at the very moment I see several stacked boxes under the saddle brackets, marked ‘Carr & Day Saddle Soap.’ The door shuts softly, and there is the sound of bolts being shot.

  “Barney! Let me out!”

  He’s gone, swift feet clattering across the yard. But he’s forgotten the small high window at the back of the tack room. I climb onto a pile of rugs, wriggle through and land with a thud on the muck heap. Across the darkening fields, I catch a glimpse of Barney, running swiftly along the edge of the back paddock.

  I give chase, pounding along, sandals slipping on the dusty chalk, dodging tree roots and sharp flints. I don’t stop to think that in the time I’ve taken to escape from the tack room, Barney could have got clean away. And I don’t stop to think why he would have waited for me to give chase . . .

  He’s going fast up until the stile, and then he plunges into the darkness of a copse. I slow down, trying to control my breathing, to make my steps light. The rain makes it harder to see, and I slip in a puddle. We’re heading downhill now, to the north of Patcham.

  I hear a shout up ahead. There’s a muffled conversation, but I can’t distinguish any words. I slow down, feeling my way cautiously along an old cart track, brambles and grasses snagging my jeans and scratching my bare arms.

  No sign of Barney, so I carefully climb over the stile. Just as I jump down, there’s a crack like thunder, and the hedge next to me seems to explode. My scream is lost in the struggle, and even as I start to fight my attacker in earnest, a blow comes from behind. The pain is unbearable. I shut my eyes and sink to the ground in agony.

  I wake to darkness. I blink sleepily, terror building bit by bit, as I realise I really can’t see anything. The darkness is blinding, total and heavy as a storm-filled night, and it takes me a while to realise that my eyes are covered with thick cloth. Struggling up from a lying position, I discover that my hands are tied, and even this slight movement causes my head to explode with pain.

  I must have passed out again because suddenly, light dazzles m
y eyes. Someone is removing the blindfold, and I wince at the brightness.

  “Hallo, Ruby.”

  It’s a girl’s voice, and my heart sinks. Any hopes of fooling Barney with some clever talk are foiled. I’ve met my match, and she’s going to enjoy every minute of whatever they have planned for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Don’t try to scream or anything, because I’ll have to knock you out again, and this time you might not come round.”

  I blink hard, trying to focus, but her face is blurred and her features swirl in a grotesque fashion. “I thought you’d gone back to Cambridge?”

  “I’ve taken a leave of absence to sort out my family problems.” She’s wearing a big, baggy tweed jacket, and has a man’s cap over her dark hair.

  “I don’t understand . . .” I move my legs a fraction, and discover that there are ropes around my ankles as well as my hands. I’m half sitting, half lying on a bed of dirty straw. The place stinks of animals and manure.

  “Of course you don’t, Ruby. I did mention it before, you’re only a hairdresser. I don’t expect you to have the mental capacity to do anything else.” The voice is biting, scornful. It ignites a flicker of anger deep inside my chest, which burns away my confusion. Bitch.

  I haven’t moved more than an inch, but Sophie glares at me and shakes her head, as though admonishing a toddler for bad behaviour. Eyes still on me, she reaches into her coat pocket and draws out a gun. My expression must give her pleasure, because for once, she smiles. “Just stay where you are and you won’t come to any harm. You can shout all you like, but there’s nobody to hear you. If you annoy me, I’ll probably kill you.”

  As my eyes adjust to the light, and my head gradually stops pounding, I can see we are being watched. I count eighteen pairs of eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. From their restless movements I deduce the horses aren’t happy about their night-time visitors. Sophie has rolled up the sleeves of her jacket, and as her wristwatch glints in the torchlight, I can see that it has only been twenty minutes since I left Tegdown Stables.