Smoke and Mirrors (19 page)

‘Emma.’

‘Yes?’ She had been subdued since the scene with Roger Dunkley. Edgar knew that she felt embarrassed about the collapse of her theory. He would tell her later that it hadn’t been her fault. But now he had more important things on his mind.

‘Do you remember what the children said, the ones who saw Annie and Mark by the park?’

They had reached the foyer again. The attendants were standing with trays of ice cream, waiting for the interval. Great ‘Oohs’ and ‘Aahs’ were coming from the theatre. Max must be performing a trick.

‘They didn’t know the time,’ Edgar persisted, ‘but said they’d just seen the number twelve bus go past.’

‘Yes.’ Emma and Bob were both looking at him.

‘Do you remember where Betty was last seen?’

‘By the bus stop,’ said Bob.

‘Do you know which route Reg Webster drives?’ asked Edgar.

It took one phone call to establish that Reg Webster drove the number 12 bus on a route that went all the way from Queen’s Park to the Devil’s Dyke. It was a Southdown bus and the depot was at the bottom of Freshfield Road.

Edgar asked for a squad car to meet them at the garage but he thought that they’d be quicker on foot. It had started snowing again and the roads were becoming icy and dangerous. They jogged across the Old Steine, heading towards Edward Street and the road up to Queen’s Park. The fountain was frozen, the water held in mid-air as if it was part of one of Max’s illusions. As they ran, Edgar explained his theory.

‘You know everyone said that Annie and Mark were like brother and sister? Well, I think they were brother and sister. I don’t think that Mark was Reg’s son. I was thinking of the photograph in Daphne Young’s book. Annie, Mark and Betty. Two sisters and a brother. I think that’s what she had discovered. I think she realised when she read the lesson at the funeral. Martha, Mary and Lazarus. Two sisters and a brother.’

‘Betty had that picture too,’ said Emma. ‘It was in a box under her bed.’

‘So you think that Mark is Jim Francis’s son,’ said Bob. ‘Why didn’t he have red hair then?’

‘The red hair comes from Sandra’s side,’ said Edgar. ‘Her mother has it.’

‘And that was the significance of
The Stolen Children
,’ said Emma. She was less out of breath than either of the men. Edgar was quite impressed at how fit she was. ‘It was about finding a long-lost brother. “Brothers and sisters, friends for ever.” That’s what Betty wrote. I think she knew. I think that’s why she wanted me to see the play.’

‘And you think that’s why Webster abducted her,’ said Bob.

They stopped at the bottom of the hill to catch their breath. Bob and Edgar bent double, Emma pawing at the snow like a reindeer, a shaggy reindeer in her big fur coat. Edgar was relieved that Bob used the word ‘abducted’ and not ‘murdered’. Please, God, make Betty still be alive.

They started up the hill. ‘We’ve got no evidence,’ muttered Bob from the back.

‘No,’ agreed Edgar. ‘Do you want to go back?’

No one spoke as they continued the climb, heads bent against the snow.

*

Ruby came to see Max in the interval.

‘You were good,’ she said. ‘I was quite scared of you.’

‘Not too sinister?’

‘No, just right, I’d say.’

Max looked at her, neat and perfect as ever in a tightly fitting green dress. The theatre manager had bowed almost to the floor when he’d shown her into Max’s dressing room. He was surprised that Roger Dunkley hadn’t popped round to see the visitor. He was usually everywhere in the interval, telling people how well they were doing, urging everyone to get through the business quickly ‘so that we’ll be in good time for the bar afterwards’.

‘I called on Edgar,’ said Ruby, ‘but a very stuck-up policewoman told me that he was in the middle of a murder case and couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like pantomimes.’

‘He is a bit busy,’ said Max, marvelling slightly at Ruby’s self-absorption. Mind you, it was probably a necessary trait in an actress. ‘Another child has gone missing. His sister and nephews are here tonight though.’

‘I didn’t know he had a sister.’

Would you have remembered if he had told you? thought Max. Aloud he said, ‘Why have you got the evening off?’

‘Oh, the director lets all the chorus have the odd night off,’ said Ruby. ‘There are all these stage-school children from Chichester just dying to step into our shoes.’

‘Our director never lets anyone have time off,’ said Max. ‘Even if you were dead, you’d probably have to go on.’ Surreptitiously he searched for some wood to touch.

‘But you’re the star,’ said Ruby. ‘People come because of you. You should hear them talking about you in the audience. I wanted to tell everyone that I’m your daughter.’

‘You’ll be a bigger star than me one day,’ said Max.

‘I do hope so,’ said Ruby. ‘I’d better be going back to my seat now. Break a leg.’

*

The Southdown garage was at the bottom of Freshfield Road. They must have walked past it hundreds of times in the past few weeks. Through the high windows they could see the big green buses inside, off the road because of the snow. How many times had they seen those buses lumbering about Brighton? What had Max said about the waiter?
They’re always there and yet you never see them.
Wasn’t the same true of buses, the permanent backdrop to a city scene? Could one of these buses have held the dead bodies of Annie and Mark? Was Betty even now imprisoned here, amongst the double-deckers?

‘The doors are locked,’ said Bob, stating the obvious as ever.

‘Then we’ll have to break in.’ Edgar started searching in the snow for a rock but it was Emma who found an old wheel hub leaning up against the wall. Edgar climbed onto the wall.

‘Pass it up to me. I’ll see if I can smash this window.’

‘Let me do it,’ said Bob.

‘No.’ Edgar knew that Bob was reminding him that he was younger and fitter but he wasn’t going to let anyone else do this thing. He’d always known that he would have to be the one to find Betty. He just prayed that he’d find her alive.

Using all his strength, he threw the wheel hub against the glass. It shattered immediately and he could hear the crash inside as the metal hub hit more metal. If Betty was there, she would be terrified.

He hauled himself up onto the window ledge.

‘Be careful, sir.’ That was Emma.

‘Let me do it.’ Bob. Faint but persistent.

He was higher than he had thought, on a level with the top deck of the buses. ‘Betty!’ he called. ‘Betty!’ His voice echoed against the vaulted roof. Outside he could hear more voices. The squad car must have arrived. But whatever was hidden in this garage, he had to be the one to find it. He jumped down from the windowsill.

He fell awkwardly, twisting his ankle. He scrambled to his feet. ‘Betty!’ Silence, voices outside, then . . . a small scrabbling sound, like a mouse or a trapped animal. He limped towards it.

She was in the number 12 bus. He saw her sitting on the bench seat at the back, huddled in a blanket and sucking her thumb. When she saw him, she whipped out the thumb as if embarrassed to be caught doing something so childish. He climbed onto the running board. ‘It’s OK, Betty. I’m a policeman.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve seen you before. Is the lady policeman here?’

‘She’s just outside.’ He could hear bodies battering the doors. They would be inside in a minute.

‘I’m cold,’ said Betty, and he could see that she was shivering, despite the blanket.

‘It’s all right,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’

Maybe it was the magic word but Betty suddenly launched herself at him, almost knocking him backwards. He scooped her up and she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

‘Uncle Reg,’ she whispered. ‘He brought me here.’

‘I know,’ said Edgar. ‘Everything’s all right now. I’m going to take you back to your mum and dad.’

*

The doors caved in as he approached. Bob, Emma and the other officers crowded round. ‘Is it her? Is she all right?’ Edgar didn’t answer any of them. With Betty in his arms, he started up Freshfield Road. Though small for her age, she was no lightweight but he didn’t, for a minute, consider putting her down.

‘Bob,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘Take Sergeant McGuire and go to the Websters.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Arrest Reg Webster and keep him there until I come.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Emma, you come with me.’

‘Try and stop me,’ said Emma.

The steep hill was nothing to him, even with his injured ankle and Betty clinging round his neck. The falling snow was soft beneath his feet. The light was on in the Francises’ house. As Edgar was encumbered by Betty, Emma hammered on the door. Jim answered, with Sandra close behind.

‘I’ve brought Betty home to you,’ said Edgar.

It felt like the best moment of his life.

Edgar left Emma with the Francises and walked seven doors down to the Websters’ house. Reg Webster, handcuffed to PC McGuire, was sitting on the sofa. Edna Webster sat opposite, staring at her husband with a kind of silent horror.

‘Get up,’ said Edgar. ‘Reg Webster, I’m arresting you for the murders of Annie Francis, Mark Webster and Daphne Young and for the abduction of Betty Francis. Do you have anything to say?’

He knew these words would have been spoken before, probably by Bob, but he wanted to say them again, to see the look in the man’s eyes.

‘You’ve got no proof,’ said Reg, his eyes darting between the three policemen.

‘Your fingerprints will be all over the sweets put into the children’s grave,’ said Edgar, ‘and I’m pretty sure that we’ll find traces of blood and hair on your bus.’

Reg Webster seemed to sag visibly. He was a small man anyway but now he seemed to shrink into himself, to become almost animal-like. Edgar thought of Denton McGrew, halfway through transforming into the Dame. This was infinitely more disturbing to watch.

‘And Betty confirms that you’re the person who abducted her and imprisoned her in the garage,’ said Edgar. ‘Were you going to kill her too?’

Now the animal seemed to snarl. ‘Probably.’

There was a scream from Edna Webster. ‘Reg! Your own son!’

Reg turned on her. ‘He wasn’t my son.’

‘How did you know?’ asked Edgar.

‘I’d always suspected,’ said Reg. ‘Mark was nothing like me, all bookish and la-di-da. But I didn’t know until I saw them rehearsing their play. It was called
The Stolen Children
and it was all about a girl who finds out that she’s got a secret brother. That Annie was too clever by half and she’d found out. I had to shut her up so I waited for them every evening. My bus went round the corner by the sweet shop. That Monday I saw them standing there arguing and I offered them a lift. The bus was empty, going back to the depot. They loved going on the bus.’

‘Then you killed them,’ said Bob.

‘I didn’t want them telling anybody,’ said Reg, as if this was quite reasonable. ‘I killed them and put them in the boot of the bus. I drove up to the Dyke the next evening and left the bodies there. I thought they’d be found in the morning but I hadn’t reckoned on the snow. I threw the sweets in the grave to put the blame on the shopkeeper. I knew everyone would suspect him because Annie and Mark were last seen outside his shop. Anyway I never liked Gee. He short-changed me once. I had the sweets for the Southdown Christmas party. We’ve got a load of them, going back to before the war. Lovely do, it is. We have a Santa and everything. The kiddies love it.’

Max was right about the sweets being misdirection, thought Edgar. Reg sounded quite nostalgic about the kiddies’ party, despite the fact that he was confessing to the murder of two children. Edna was sobbing hysterically.

‘What about Daphne Young?’ asked Edgar.

‘Silly cow sent me a note,’ said Reg. ‘Said she’d found out about Mark’s parentage. Parentage! Even when I went round there, she was all, “I’m not judging any of you, I just want to help.” So I killed her.’

Daphne might have guessed about Mark being Annie’s brother, thought Edgar, but she hadn’t realised that Reg was the murderer. She probably despised him, little ill-educated Reg Webster. He wasn’t a big, impressive man like Jim Francis. She would never have thought that he could be a danger to her.

‘Why did you abduct Betty?’ he asked.

‘She knew too,’ said Reg. ‘Those Francis girls were nosy little bitches. That’s why she insisted on putting that play on, her sister’s play. Edna told me all about it.’

‘Oh God, Reg.’ The cry seemed to be torn out of Edna Webster. ‘Why didn’t you kill me instead of Mark? I was the one who was unfaithful to you. It’s all my fault.’

‘I wouldn’t kill you,’ said Reg, sounding shocked. ‘You’re my wife.’

‘Take him away,’ said Edgar. McGuire dragged Reg towards the door. The policeman looked thoroughly shaken. Of course, he was a neighbour too, the first person to be called when the children had gone missing. Bob followed, also looking rather sick. Edgar told them to drive to the station and put Reg in the cells. ‘I’ll walk down in a few minutes.’

‘What about your ankle?’ asked Bob.

‘I’ll be all right.’

When they had gone, Edgar turned to Edna Webster. ‘Can I get someone to sit with you?’

‘A neighbour, you mean?’ Edna laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, they’ll all want to sit with me after this. I’ll probably be lynched tomorrow. You saw what they were like with Sam Gee. When they find out it was Reg all along . . .’

‘I’ll get some protection for you,’ said Edgar. ‘Maybe you could go away for a while. Have you got any family?’

‘No.’ Edna looked him in the eye. ‘My family was Mark and he’s dead.’

‘Did Jim Francis know,’ asked Edgar, ‘that Mark was his child?’

‘He probably suspected,’ said Edna. ‘We went together and, nine months later, a baby appears. But he never said anything. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.’

Like Mark, thought Edgar. Perhaps bookish, sensitive Mark was more like his father than he knew. At any rate there must be more to Jim Francis than met the eye.

Edna’s account was brutally matter-of-fact. ‘I wanted a baby. I was desperate and it was obvious that it wasn’t going to happen for Reg and me. And there was Jim. Sandra had just got pregnant; Jim probably wasn’t getting any sex at home. I asked him round one evening to help me put some shelves up and I seduced him.’

It was hard to imagine anything less seductive than Edna Webster, tear-stained and red-eyed, sitting on the sagging armchair in her hairnet. But Edgar supposed that she’d made more of an effort, that day thirteen years ago. And Jim was a good-looking man, a contrast to Reg Webster in every way. He wondered if Edna had been in love with Jim. Maybe that was why she hadn’t liked Sandra.

It’s like ‘The Juniper Tree’, he said to Emma as they walked back down the hill together.
A woman wished for a child as red as blood and as white as snow
. It was desperation for a child that was the motivating force behind half these stories. A man wants a son even if it’s half hedgehog. But the bagpipe-playing hedgehog born into the wrong family hadn’t been Annie, it had been Mark. And Mark hadn’t been able to change his skin and turn into a handsome prince. He hadn’t been able to lay a trail of stones that took him safely home. He had been killed by the wicked stepfather.

‘It’s not a happy ending,’ he said to Emma, ‘because we couldn’t save Annie and Mark.’

‘But we saved Betty,’ said Emma, ‘and maybe she’ll do great things in the world.’

Yes, thought Edgar, wincing as he stumbled over the icy main road, maybe Betty would soar like a bird, rising above her traumatic start in life, returning only to shower blessings on her deserving family. He hoped so. He really did.

*

It was past midnight by the time he got back to his flat. Superintendent Hodges had ordered in crates of beer to celebrate Betty’s return and Reg Webster’s arrest. But Edgar hadn’t felt like getting drunk. He was truly, deeply glad that Betty had been found, and relieved that Webster was behind bars, but there was still the memory of the other children, of the little bodies in the snow.
I killed them,
Webster had said,
and put them in the boot of the bus.
Just as if they had been rubbish to be thrown away. Well, Webster would probably hang now, but that thought couldn’t bring Edgar any pleasure. Killing their murderer wouldn’t bring Annie and Mark back.

He wanted to tell Emma and Bob how well they’d done, but when he looked over, they were in the centre of a crowd of young officers, laughing and toasting each other. Emma’s hair was loose and she looked like an entirely different person. Edgar began to edge towards the exit.

‘Are you leaving us?’ It was Frank Hodges, standing by the door with a pint mug in his hand.

‘I’m just feeling a bit tired,’ said Edgar.

‘I’m not surprised.’ Hodges’ little eyes were surprisingly kind. ‘You did good work tonight, Stephens. How did you make the connection with Webster?’

‘Just a lot of things falling into place,’ said Edgar. He didn’t feel up to explaining the train of thought that had started with Wishy Washy and ended up with the number 12 bus.

‘You’re limping,’ said Hodges.

‘Twisted my ankle climbing through a window.’

‘Take my advice and leave that sort of thing to the younger officers. I’ll have my driver take you home.’

Edgar tried to refuse but, in the end, the thought of a warm, comfortable car taking him smoothly back up the hill was too much to resist. The Jaguar skidded slightly at the bottom of Albion Hill but the driver skilfully steered onto the fresher snow where the grip was better. When Edgar thanked him, he simply touched his cap and began the process of turning the long car in the narrow street.

Edgar let himself into his flat. For the first time he thought about Lucy and the boys. He hoped that they’d got home safely. Gently he opened the bedroom door and could just make out three shapes on the bed.

‘Is that you, Ed?’ Lucy’s sleepy voice.

‘Yes. I’m sorry to wake you.’

‘You didn’t.’

Edgar tiptoed back into the sitting room. He hadn’t wanted to disturb them to search for blankets; he’d just have to sleep under his coat. Maybe he would have a nightcap first. Taking the whisky bottle and a glass he sat down on the sofa. And stood up quickly.

‘Edgar?’ Another voice. A warm shape lying under a blanket. Black hair, white skin in the darkness. A hand on his arm.

‘Ruby? What are you doing here?’

‘I had a night off so I came to see
Aladdin
. I called for you at the station. Didn’t that policewoman tell you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I went to see Max backstage after the show and I met Lucy and the boys. Max brought us all back here in his Bentley. It was too late for my train so Lucy thought I should stay on the sofa. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Max didn’t seem keen for me to go to his digs. I bet he’s got a woman there.’

That was a thought. He noted that Ruby was realistic about her father’s private life.

‘Did you find her?’ asked Ruby. ‘The little girl who was lost.’

‘Yes,’ said Edgar. ‘Yes, we did.’

‘You are clever.’ She was sitting next to him now and he could smell her perfume, her clean hair, her minty breath. She was wearing what looked like one of his old shirts.

‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ he said.

But Ruby moved towards him and he found himself kissing her, pushing her back against the cushions, feeling her wonderfully soft body under the thin cotton. He heard her sharp intake of breath and started to draw back, but then it was Ruby pulling him onto her, undoing his shirt so that her skin touched his. ‘We can’t,’ Edgar started to say, but somehow it was part of the night and the journey and the dark path through the forest. He kissed her more fiercely as, outside, the snow continued to fall.