BEFORE I FOUND YOU

by Daisy White

  “Yes, but they kept changing the dates, and then when I did finally get them to agree, I turned up at the stage door last week, and they’d already gone home! I looked like a crazy fan or something.”

  The coffee bar owner, a small, beady-eyed chap with startling ginger hair, is only too happy to talk to reporters from the Herald. But he doesn’t know John Stocker, and didn’t even meet him when he bought the building.

  It's a fun night out, and we catch up with people I haven’t seen for ages. The kind of friends who you only meet on a night out, but who always buy you a drink. I think the venue is going to become a favourite, not least because the owner keeps offering everyone drinks ‘if you come back next Saturday’ . . . Even if I don’t learn anything else about the Collins case I leave with a buzz, humming a few show tunes. I head home to Mary, and by the time I’m climbing the stairs, I’m back to puzzling over Hector and Eva’s disappearing act.

  Mary is still reading when I get in, and she agrees that Hector and Eva have probably gone because Ella is back.

  “It was in the papers, so they must have seen it, or maybe they even guessed it was her before then. There was that bit in the Herald reporting the attempted kidnapping, wasn’t there?” I suggest, brushing my hair, and throwing my clothes into the growing pile on the floor.

  “Did the police say any more about that?”

  “I can’t remember. I think they just treated it as a misunderstanding and calmed the other girl’s parents down.” I yawn, and collapse onto my bed. “Oh, and Will turned up and gave me some newspaper clippings and photographs.”

  “Of what?”

  I lean over and shake them out of my purse. I’d almost forgotten, what with all the chat about Hector and Eva. “These must be the Stockers,” I say, passing them over to Mary.

  John Stocker is a big, burly man; he’s laughing in most of the pictures. In all of them he has an arm around a pretty blonde woman. Her shining hair is done up in a beehive, and she really is rather beautiful. Hard, a bit like James’ new girl, but stunning. In one photograph she is turning to cut a cake and in profile she seems a bit familiar. But I can’t have met her before. Perhaps I’m just thinking of her picture in the Herald after she drowned.

  Summer wakes once around midnight, but Mary settles her pretty quickly, and we both manage a busy day at the salon. Johnnie is still taking rather more personal telephone calls than normal, and he disappears around midday for another appointment. I think by now we’ve all asked him if something is wrong, but he brushes off our concern.

  Wearily dragging a bag of shopping up the hill after work, I see a familiar shape ahead. Will is leaning against a cobbled wall, smoking. The weak sunlight draws gleaming lines in his dark hair, and the brown and amber eyes are fixed on mine as I get closer.

  He indicates the wall next to him. “Got five minutes for a chat?”

  I sink down in relief, feeling the warmth of his leg against mine as I put the shopping carefully at my feet. I inch away a little. “I really need to talk to you.”

  He grins, “I just had some work to do in Eastbourne. It took longer than I thought so I stayed the night with a friend of mine. He knows this Appleton chap from Hastings. Were the photographs helpful?”

  “What about DS Appleton?” I’m slightly annoyed by the obvious subject change.

  As usual he ignores my questions. “So how have you been today? Any more progress at the Ruby Baker Investigation Agency?”

  “Not really. Beverly called to say Ella has settled in really well . . .”

  “You don’t sound very happy about it. Not the happy ending Beverly was expecting?”

  “No! I mean, she's just so happy Ella is alive she doesn’t care. I’m sure she will later, though. Ella still says she is called Emily, and that she was separated from her dad on a day trip from London. That’s all she says.”

  Will throws his cigarette butt over the wall and lights another, offering me the packet. “How’s that other girl doing?”

  “Beach Girl? I telephoned and asked if Mary and I could take the baby to see her but they said not until Monday. We’re taking Ella too.”

  He considers, eyes narrowed against the cigarette smoke, donkey jacket thrown down on the wall beside us. Finally he turns, his expression serious. “If Ella recognises her do you think she’ll tell you?”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugs. “It must have occurred to you they might know each other or you wouldn’t be doing it, but you have no idea what has happened to these girls. Not speaking is a pretty extreme reaction to something, or someone.”

  “Maybe. It depends if, as Mary suggested, the Stockers were in the habit of stealing other people’s children, I suppose. But if they were, they aren’t any more — she’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “Why did you need to talk to me?”

  “I need to know more about Stocker. Who was close to him? There was a woman who cared for Susie when she was really sick, but nobody local seems to know who she was . . .”

  “Well, I’m not local either, am I? Oh, I got you a little present, but I’ve left it back in my room—”

  “Will, who do you really work for?” I interrupt, finally done with dancing around the subject.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No it isn’t, and if DS Appleton is going to try and stir up trouble I need to know so I can keep him away from you. Away from us and Croydon.”

  “So let’s say I haven’t been entirely honest with you . . . Ruby, do you remember hearing that John Stocker handed his clubs and property over to a cousin?”

  “No, I don’t think I did hear that . . .”

  “He lost out because the cousin screwed him over. Well, I work for that cousin. His name is Jeff Kendle, and he does what Stocker did in the '50s. He’s a hard man, and I met him when I was living up north. I’ve been doing jobs up and down the country for him ever since. He pays well.” Will is looking sideways at me now, trying to judge my reaction.

  I stare at him. “I never thought of that. Do you know more about the Collins case than you've told me, Will?” I’m not exactly surprised that Will is working for someone like that, but it is a shock to discover it’s so close to home, so close to the Stockers.

  “No. Kendle and his lot don’t have anything to do with Stocker, and haven’t for years. Did he work with him ten years ago? Yes, the whole family did, so he may have known something, but he’d never say, and especially not now.”

  “And Appleton? You must have heard something more about him.”

  “I’ve heard he sells information. I know he was Stocker’s boy for a while, but he didn’t get passed onto Kendle for some reason. I’ve also heard a few things about him . . .”

  “Such as?”

  “He likes young girls. Really young girls. And you can pay him in flesh if you don’t have the cash. Maybe it’s something he and John Stocker had in common?”

  I feel bile rising in my throat, and swallow hard. Oh God, poor Ella. And Beach Girl. I think of Laura’s terrified face. Laura too? That would be a good way of bribing people. And he would know they couldn’t go to the police, because Appleton was the police in Brighton back then, and I’m damn sure he could have squashed any little complaints from the White Oak estate.

  “How’s Mary doing?” Will glances at his watch, changing the subject abruptly.

  “Oh, she seems much happier, and Summer is sleeping through most nights now.”

  “She’ll be fine. Now, do you really want John Stocker?” His lips curve into a smile, amber eyes gleaming and intense.

  I think of Ella, of Beach Girl, of Beverly locked away for ten years, and wonder how many others have suffered. “Yes, I want him.”

  “Only call that number I gave you if it’s a real emergency. I’ll get you all I can on Stocker.”

  That’s it, he’s gone. Striding away with the breeze lifting his dark hair, he could have been anyone. I don’t have to keep going with this investigation, but if Will is right abo
ut the girls, I’m going to have John Stocker and drag him to justice any way I can.

  Monday is a busy day at the salon, and the chat is all about Ella Collins. Suddenly everyone is back on Beverly’s side, and keen to point out how they knew she didn’t do it but the evidence was all there. Catherine and Eve take the events in their stride, and Catherine says she is going to get the bus over to Rottingdean to apologise in person next week.

  We get as much as we can out of the way before a bridal party come in, but Mary is still behind on the manicures and I’m washing hair like a maniac when the bride and her mother arrive.

  Laura Grieves is due shortly for her appointment, but I don’t have time to worry about it, as the rest of the bridal party of eight are set to make this an exhausting morning.

  The mother of the bride fusses around, getting in our way, snapping at the little bridesmaids, who all need flowers threading in their hair, until Eve finally tells her quite firmly to sit down and relax.

  People don’t tend to argue with Eve, and the woman glares at my colleague for a moment, before acquiescing and sitting in the chair at the front of the salon.

  There’s no time for a lunch break so I make some toast in the back room, and have a quick cigarette out in the sunny courtyard.

  Now Laura, a little nervous and very charming, is sitting in a chair while I shampoo her hair. I start off with casual conversation, asking about her little daughter, and telling her about Summer, until she relaxes.

  “I haven’t had my hair done for ages,” she tells me, as I carefully massage her head, before rinsing the bubbles away and layering on conditioner. She blinks up at me. “I saw Ella had been found. I was so glad, you can’t imagine. After all these years . . .”

  “Quite. Beverly can’t quite believe it, and she’s certainly suffered for a happy ending,” I can’t resist saying. “Now, I think your hair is lovely already so a trim is fine. I’ll need to get one of my colleagues to watch because I’m only a trainee but I promise I’ll do a good job.”

  She laughs, sitting up as I hand her a towel for her face and twist a larger towel around her wet head. “I trust you. It really is lovely to just get out by myself sometimes. Mum’s got Marie today so I can go shopping and get my hair done. Of course I love her, but sometimes it’s hard, isn’t it?” She’s silent for a moment before asking, “So has Ella said anything? You know, about where she’s been and what happened to her?”

  Definitely not a casual question, and the second time she’s brought Ella into the conversation. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to Beverly, but I am seeing her later. Like what, for instance?”

  She’s sitting in front of the mirror now and I start to comb out her blonde hair. Her eyes meet mine. “I don’t know. I suppose Beverly must still be desperate to find out what happened . . .” She clears her throat. “Actually, Ruby, you know you were asking me about Bev Collins before Ella was found? Well, I have remembered something that might be useful. Just something I remember hearing at the time . . .”

  “Oh yes?” My heart beats a little faster but I continue my soothing strokes to her hair.

  “Yes. It was about Ella’s dad, Barry Green. Everyone knew he’d taken off and told Bev he was going abroad, but that afternoon Ella was . . . the afternoon she disappeared, Mrs Jackson — she’s passed away now, but she was lovely — she was saying to her brother that she’d seen him up on the Downs.”

  I flick a glance at Johnnie, who is cutting hair next to me, and his raised eyebrow tells me he has heard everything. Or rather not everything. Something about the way Laura has dropped this supposedly helpful information into conversation is wrong . . .

  “Really? I think the police checked and as far as I know Barry Green was never a suspect.”

  Laura smiles. “Oh well, then . . . I just thought I’d mention it.”

  “Was there anything else you remembered?” I ask, combing and snipping, as Catherine nods approval at my work from the reception desk.

  Laura’s bright eyes meet mine in the mirror, and just for a moment I see something behind her brittle prettiness. Something real and dark — a shadow of emotion or memory that passes so quickly I could have imagined it.

  “Nothing about John Stocker, for instance? I've heard the name a few times recently . . .”

  “I . . . I think my dad might have worked for him at one time, but I can’t think of anything about him, except I heard he’s dying, and now his wife has gone . . . My dad hasn’t seen him for years.” She’s gone pale, and her voice is thinner, and shriller, like a child’s. “No, I really can’t — sorry.”

  “Well, if you do think of something, you know where to find me. Ella’s home now, but you’re right — Beverly, and the police of course, will want to know exactly what did happen ten years ago, and where she’s been all this time.” I smile at her and turn the conversation to general chitchat, though my mind is racing.

  When I take Laura to the desk, she passes me the money normally, but as I go to give her change, she puts her hand over mine, and I feel the rustle of paper between our palms. She closes my fingers over the coins and paper and rushes out into the street.

  Slowly, I uncurl my fingers, pop the coins away and smooth out the torn bit of paper.

  TRIXIE

  Brighton 7654

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “How did you get on with Laura?” Johnnie asks, as we sweep up and start throwing dirty towels into the laundry baskets.

  The last client managed to drop her shopping bag as she went out, and the floor near the door is still sticky with ginger beer. I dunk the mop into the tin bucket and squeeze it vigorously against the side, splashing my legs.

  “She obviously knows something more about the day Ella was taken, but she isn’t going to say. She’s terrified.” I feel in my pinny pocket for the bit of paper, “She did give me a name and telephone number just as she left, but then she almost ran out of here . . .”

  “Let’s see it then,” Johnnie says, shutting the appointment book with a snap.

  I show them the piece of paper, hoping that someone will say, ‘Oh Trixie, she’s the neighbour of so-and-so.’

  “Means nothing to me. You’ll have to ring the number, angel. Bit exciting to get a lead, though,” he adds. “Why did Laura go to the police after all this time?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing she did say was that she heard Stocker was sick, probably dying, and maybe she decided she could finally clear her conscience. She does seem very genuine and sweet,” I say.

  Eve shrugs. “I knew a Trixie Belfont when I was at school, but apart from that I’ll keep asking around. It would be proper justice for Beverly to find out who was behind all this, now Ella has been found. I still can’t believe it! And exactly where has she really been all these years?”

  Catherine is just as excited. “I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong, and I certainly was. You tell Beverly next time you see her how sorry I am, please, Ruby, and I will get over to Rottingdean. It was just . . . all the evidence was against her. It just didn’t seem possible that she was innocent. Are you going to ring that number now? Then we can find out how this Trixie woman fits into things.”

  I take a deep breath, and dial the number carefully. The line connects, and I bite my lip with anticipation. But as the phone rings and rings, my excitement turns to disappointment. I replace the receiver with a sigh.

  “Doesn’t matter, love, you can try a bit later. Remember to call if you need us,” Catherine says, comfortingly.

  I lock up and wave goodbye to the stylists. Johnnie, however, walks with me as far as the end of the road.

  “Are you coming out on Saturday night, Ruby?”

  “Yes, probably. I just need to check Mary is OK with it, and I can’t be late.”

  He smiles at me. “Good. I thought we might go to Black Rock for a swim, and then maybe a coffee bar? Ruby, just one thing . . .”

  Uh-oh, I think, hearing his tone change.

  “That cha
p you meet occasionally . . . of course it isn’t any of my business, but do be careful, won’t you?”

  I’m about to blurt out the full story but Johnnie, despite his obvious concern, is distracted and edgy. “I will. He’s just . . . just a friend from way back. He’s working in this area for a bit and moving on for the winter.” Of course I have no idea what Will’s plans are, but I am hoping he’ll move on. It seems to reassure my employer.

  “OK. As long as you're happy. Do you still want to start the apprenticeship properly next month? I checked, and you and Mary can do night classes once a month, but still do all the practical stuff at the salon. You need to have a staff ratio of two senior stylists to one apprentice, but Joyce quite often fills in when we’re busy and she’s qualified so I think the paperwork is all sorted.”

  “Thanks Johnnie!” I hesitate, then try all the same. “Um . . . Johnnie, is everything alright with you?”

  “Of course, angel, and you are sweet to ask. You know, I’m quite surprised you do still want to do hairdressing, Ruby . . .”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact you’re running an investigation bureau out of my back room?”

  “But that wouldn’t exist without the salon. It's part of what we do. You know, talking to people . . .”

  Johnnie laughs, gives me a quick hug, and leaves me to walk briskly across to Brenda’s Cafe to meet Beverly and Ella. Beverly is punctual as usual. She looks totally different with her daughter by her side. Her face is glowing, her hair pinned up and she’s wearing a pretty red print dress and brown sandals. Big sunglasses are pushed up over her little upturned nose, and as I wave and hurry over she makes that impatient gesture with her hand, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  We meet with a hug and she laughs, tears in her brown eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you, Ruby. She’s come home.”

  “Hello Ella. How are you settling in?”

  Ella smiles at me and surveys the crowded cafe without apparent interest. But her pale little face has a touch of colour and although she says nothing, she sits very close to Beverly.