by Daisy White
Remembering the purpose of our meeting, I gather my spinning thoughts together. “OK, but apart from that, you don’t remember anything else you saw, or got in trouble for seeing?”
“No. Really nothing. Sorry.”
“I won’t give up,” I tell her firmly.
We start to walk back to Brenda’s Cafe. “Are you sure you don’t just want me to telephone with a report? It would save you a trip into Brighton if I can just call you every Wednesday,” I suggest.
“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t be able to speak in private if my aunt was here. To be honest, I prefer a proper meeting.”
“Fine. Just one last thing, Beverly . . . I’m sure you have seen the papers, and you mentioned poor Susie Stocker of course, but what about the attempted kidnapping on the beach?” I can’t say it if she hasn’t already thought of it, but of course I’m remembering her rush to the police station when Beach Girl was found.
This time, Beverly shrugs. “I didn’t pay that much attention, to be honest. I assumed it was a silly mix-up when I saw the papers — two girls messing around, wasn’t it? I know what you're thinking, but I made that mistake first time around. That poor little soul . . .”
I take a deep breath, relieved to have got the thought out in the open. “OK. The police would have contacted you anyway if that had anything to do with Ella. But don’t you think it’s odd that all around the time of your release from prison, these things start happening?” I tick them off on my fingers, “Laura Grieves admits she lied about Ella, then a girl appears on the beach. Ten days later there's a dead body washed up and a kidnapping involving two girls? It’s almost like someone is trying to send you a message.”
Beverly stares at me. “What more could they possibly do? I’ve lost my daughter and I’ve been in prison for ten years. Surely that must be punishment enough for . . . well, anything! See you next week, Ruby.” She dashes away tears and walks briskly away.
Bugger. I really screwed that up. Bemused by her response, because I’ve never seen her that emotional before, I turn for home. The heat is intense, rising from the baking hot pavements, slowing my steps to a weary plod. I narrow my eyes against the sun’s glare. My brain is whirling, and sweat drips into my eyes as I force myself to walk faster, hoping inspiration will hit. It doesn’t, but there are definitely too many missing children dancing around my brain.
Chapter Sixteen
The baby wakes us at five, but once again she's managed to sleep through. Mary seems far more confident, and I begin to wonder if it was just lack of sleep affecting both of us. I might try and speak to Pearl again tonight at the Hippodrome, just to make sure there isn’t anything else I can do.
Mary chatters away and Summer burbles along in baby language as we go through our morning chores. I add a sweep of bright red lipstick and beam into the mirror. It’s going to be OK. We head out into bright sunshine, and Mary gives me a quick hug before she runs off with Summer to catch the bus.
In the distance, the sea is calm and flat, and an early morning haze of wispy clouds stretches across the sky as it arches over the town towards the Downs.
The morning routine in the salon takes a good hour, and Mary rushes back in, ten minutes before opening time, carrying the paper and a packet of biscuits.
“Are you going to see Hector and Eva tonight?” Catherine says, sipping her first mug of tea. “Johnnie mentioned something yesterday, but I didn’t take much notice. My neighbours are going, and Tommy’s taking his girlfriend.”
“I am, but Mary’s staying at home,” I tell Catherine, frowning into a bowl of peroxide. The smell hurts my throat and makes my eyes sting, so I give it a quick mix and hope for the best.
“Oh, can’t you get someone to look after Summer? I’ll have her if you like!” Eve suggests sweetly.
“Thanks, Eve, but I’d like a quiet night in, actually. I’ll just listen to the radio and do a bit of washing. Summer’s started trying to sit up and I expect she’ll be crawling soon!” Mary chatters away happily, flicking through the newspaper. “I think I’m still catching up on my sleep. We’ll probably take her to the beach again at the weekend, won’t we, Rubes? She loved the sea. Oh look, the Herald is still running a story about that girl on the beach. They seem to have forgotten about the dead woman.”
“I never would have thought Susie Stocker would’ve ended up like that. She was so pretty — all the girls I knew wanted to look just like her. Of course, most of them wanted to end up marrying a rich man too!” Eve shakes her head in mock disapproval. “Let’s have a look then . . .”
We all peer at the inky pages of the local paper.
BEACHSIDE DRAMA
As we reported yesterday, the body of Mrs Susie Stocker was washed up on Brighton beach just hours before a sixteen-year-old girl allegedly attempted to kidnap four-year-old Maisie Watson. Several people are currently helping police with their enquiries. Bystanders told our reporter that the unnamed teenager attempted to take Maisie Watson (4) and was leading her across the road when Maisie’s brother intervened.
The girl has told police she was on a day trip to Brighton with her father, when they became separated in the crowds. The pair are said to be from London. There is no further comment on the kidnapping attempt from police, but we understand they expect to have the matter cleared up shortly.
It was a record weekend for incidents. On Sunday evening three young men, also from London, were drowned when their hired fishing vessel was overturned by a freak wave.
Police are urging anyone with information on the incident to come forward and report to Brighton Police Station. Police are also advising locals and holidaymakers alike to take care on the beach after a rising number of accidents already this summer.
“Dreadful news. If it isn’t bodies on the beach, it’s kidnappings. I heard the police still have the girl at the police station. That WPC Stanton is taking care of her, because she doesn’t seem to have any family, and she isn’t quite all there in the head,” Johnnie says, biting the end of a pencil as he stares at the appointment book. “Probably a bit loony, poor love.”
“I bet WPC Stanton was delighted to get yet another stray girl off the beach to look after,” I say. “I expect she’ll end up at Alice’s Farm as well.” I can't help the sarcastic remark, but really I'm worried. I must get up there to see Beach Girl. It’s been a week now since I was told to let her settle in. Perhaps Mary would like to go tomorrow night . . .
“Perhaps she just wandered off from one of those day tripper parties?” Catherine suggests. “I hope they find her father and get it all sorted out. They can’t possibly think she was actually trying to take that little girl away.”
Johnnie nods, catching my eye for a second. “It is rather odd. Rubes, you might want to have a chat with Kenny about that. Bad reporting, not writing the full story.”
“I suppose they don’t know the full story.” I look at him, but he just smiles like he knows something I don’t, and takes another sip of tea.
“And poor Susie Stocker is dead. Mary says you were in the water with her, Ruby? Must have been awful. I met her a few times at parties and things a few years ago. She was in her fifties, of course, but still beautiful in a rather Hollywood film star way; you know, all old glamour and red lipstick. She had lips like Ruby’s — that perfect bow — and she was thin and blonde. What more could you ask for? She certainly used what she had to catch John, but they were rather sweet together. He treated her like his little princess,” Eve says.
“Well, whatever happened in the end, they had a long time together so something must have been right.” Catherine picks up the brush and starts to sweep.
“True.” Johnnie turns his attention back to the appointment book. “Thank God we’ve got a wedding party in tomorrow. Bookings are a bit slow at the moment. I might get some posters done, or take an advertisement out in the paper. ‘Beautiful hair for half the price’ or ‘Summer specials at Johnnie’s.’ What do you think?” Johnnie smooths his hair back and h
angs his tweed jacket neatly on the chair behind the desk.
“Great idea,” Catherine tells him. “I can put a poster up in the pub if you like. But what happened to all your models coming down from London?”
Johnnie pulls a face. “I’ve actually not been socialising in London for a while, darling. It gets a bit . . . claustrophobic up there. And my brother is back from his travels abroad. He really should have stayed in Paris, but no, the bank offered him a posting back here.”
I watch as my employer sips his tea before getting up to greet a young woman with his usual enthusiasm. It sounds like Johnnie has got himself in a bit of trouble. Again. He is always slightly disdainful when he talks about his rather grand family up in London. But then it can’t be easy being a hairdresser in a family of bankers and doctors.
Later, I’m taking a turn on the reception desk, greeting clients and answering the telephone, when I see Will lurking outside. He wanders past, smoking, and winks at me through the window before crossing the road to the bench next to the ice cream shop. I glance up at the clock on the wall, check nobody is looking, and hold up four fingers to Will.
I have to squint to see, but he gives me the thumbs up and takes out a newspaper, crossing one leg over the other. Today he’s in shirtsleeves and black trousers, so I assume he’s been working in that office of his . . .
The telephone distracts me. “Hello, Johnnie’s. Ruby Baker speaking, how can I help you?”
“Hello, Ruby. It’s Laura . . . Laura Grieves?”
My heart beats a bit faster, and I dismiss Will from my mind. “Oh, did you want to book a hair appointment?” Damn, I forgot all about my offer and I haven’t cleared it with Johnnie. I’m sure he won’t mind another booking, though, and Laura isn’t notorious like Beverly. There are quite a few things I want to ask Laura, once she’s stuck under the dryer . . .
“Yes, please. Is that still alright? You did say . . .”
She sounds a little nervous now so I hasten to reassure her, “Of course! We’re not too busy this week so . . .” I run my eyes down the appointments, “do you want to come in next Wednesday at either ten or half past two?”
We settle on ten o'clock and she thanks me again in her charming way. No mention of my visit, or the fact she slammed the door in my face. Interesting.
“Another booking, angel?” Johnnie is snipping away while his client reads a magazine, but he doesn’t miss anything.
“Yes. Actually, Johnnie, I meant to say . . . She’s a special client so I’ll speak to you about her later.”
His blue eyes glitter with amusement, and he points the comb in my direction. “Really? I’ll look forward to it. I suppose you’d like a quick break at four as well?” he asks innocently.
I meet his eyes. “If you don’t mind?”
His teeth show in that feline grin, and then he laughs. “Of course not. Just make sure you get the towels out first, please. Eve will be back soon, and then Mary can go after you.”
Will falls into step with me as I make my way down Ship Street, dodging women with heavy bags of shopping, and a boy on a bike.
“So how’s Ruby Baker’s investigation going this time?”
He’s laughing at me, and I smile ruefully back. “Not great, and I think Johnnie knows about us.”
His amber eyes darken for a moment, his expression watchful. “Knows about me, you mean? What does he know?”
“I didn’t say anything, but he just hinted. No more than that, and despite his spy system I’m sure he doesn’t know exactly who you are. He wouldn’t have been able to resist teasing me if he did.”
We cross the road and walk down onto the beach, shoes scrunching in the pebbles.
“As long as that’s all it is.”
I shoot him a sidelong glance. He’s very attractive, with that dark and brooding look that some girls love. But I can’t see him as a romantic interest. There is still something just slightly wrong about Will. His intense gaze, his habit of following me around and just turning up when he feels like it, these strange gifts he likes to offer . . . The question is, how do I get rid of him?
“I haven’t really got anything on the Beverly Collins case at all. A few theories, and lots of loose ends.” I give him a basic rundown of the past week, including Beverly’s account of her family documents. He nods, eyes narrowed against the cigarette smoke, and for a while we sit side by side, just staring out to sea. “So you see,” I finally say, "it's pretty obvious Beverly was set up, but by who? It would have to be someone so powerful they could blackmail a whole street of neighbours, including an eight-year-old girl. And then that would require a strong motive.” I shrug, breathing in the salty air, laying back and half shutting my eyes. “Not only that, but you will have noticed all the other stuff that has been happening around here . . .”
Will shifts and leans back onto one elbow. When I open my eyes, his face is close to mine. I move slightly away, pretending to look for a cigarette. What is it about him that still makes me wary?
“What if Beverly is a bit more special than she thinks?” he suggests after a pause, apparently noticing nothing about my behaviour.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you just said it would take power and motive. So the family history you mentioned might be relevant. What if someone wasn’t getting back at Beverly herself, but her family?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think the family was important or anything. They were just normal people, from what she said.”
“How about the man who ‘took advantage’ of her mother? You said she worked in a big house. What if the man was the owner of the house or something . . . I’m not saying I’m right, just throwing things out for you to consider. The baby she had would have been his, of course. Perhaps she tried to blackmail him after the adoption?”
“Why would she bother? She got married and then had another baby, didn’t she? And surely that would be someone trying to get back at her mum, not Beverly.”
“OK. Laura’s dad, and the uncle, then, who both knew or worked for John Stocker.”
“What about them?”
“I’ve heard of Stocker. He was one of the major players in the late '40s and '50s. He owned clubs up in London, and properties all over the place, all filled with tenants. Including down here in Brighton. He had some pretty seedy strip clubs in Soho, too, and he made money any way he could. You wouldn’t mess with any of his lot.”
I roll onto an elbow, listening intently. “So this is someone who had the power to silence people.”
Will nods slowly. “By the way, I got you a little present — remind me to give it to you before you go.”
My whole body tenses, and my palms are sweaty, but I force a smile. “Will, you are so kind, but you really don’t need to give me things.”
He smiles back, but there is a darkness in his expression. “Who else is going to look out for you?”
I force myself to stay calm, although my heart is thumping painfully. Lovers give each other presents all the time. Is that how Will sees our relationship?
“Thank you, but you really shouldn’t . . .” Hoping I don’t seem too ungrateful, I change the subject. “So do you know any more about the Stockers?”
Will’s set expression relaxes, and he smiles again. I shove my hands into my skirt pockets to stop them shaking.
Chapter Seventeen
“I know a bit more. Stocker had a reputation, and I heard he and his wife used to drive around all decked out like film stars. Nobody crossed him. Even my boss still talks about him with a bit of respect. Of course he’s sold all the clubs now, and gone respectable in his retirement. I believe he’s been unwell for a few years. His wife too. I heard about her turning up on the beach. Nasty.”
I wait for more, but Will is silent. “Do you think Beverly’s uncle may have been the one in trouble with this John Stocker? Beverly said he bought the house in White Oak, and a few others. Maybe he was a rival in business?”
“Could be, and
if he crossed Stocker, that might well lead to a bit of revenge, but setting up a woman for murder? I just don’t know. Seems like it would need to be more personal.”
“What about all these events — Beach Girl, then Susie’s body washing up, and after that the kidnapping thing? Any thoughts?”
I’m sitting close enough to feel the shift in his breathing. His dark eyes rest on my face for a second and then he frowns. “They're probably not connected. Why should they be? I mean, a few other people drowned at the weekend, didn’t they, so unless you have another serial killer out there, or a loony, there doesn’t seem to be any obvious connection. These things happen . . . as we know.”
“I suppose so. Can you maybe ask your boss if he knows any more about the Stockers? One of my clients said they had a woman living with them to nurse Susie when she was ill . . . It might be worth talking to her if I can find her. The police said they were checking, but they didn’t think the Stockers had any children, so why was Beach Girl out there when Susie went in?”
“Assuming that was when Susie went in,” he says, his expression wary again.
“Oh God, I need to go now,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. If I run off quickly, I can pretend I’ve forgotten about his gift.
“So do I. I’ve got work to do too. I can ask around.” He rises to his feet, far taller and stronger than me. “See you soon, Ruby. And be careful.”
“You always say that. I should say it to you, really.”
He laughs and before I can resist he takes my hands and pulls me up from the beach. “Get back to work, Miss Detective. Oh, and Rubes, don’t forget I have something for you . . .”
Oh no, not this again. I struggle to smile as he pulls out a square white box and hands it over.
“Open it, then!”
I lift the lid, my hands shaking a little, and pull out a beautiful silk scarf. The blue and yellow squares flutter in the breeze. I glance at the card nestling beneath it. Pucci. “This must have cost a fortune!”