‘Detective Preston, hold on there a minute, I need to speak to you,’
The wind whipped away the voice but Ruby knew it belonged to Helen Phifer, the young journalist fresh to their patch. She sped up, painfully aware of the blister which was now forming, thanks to those bloody heels she wore last night. Why she thought it was a good idea to slip her feet into them today was anyone’s guess. Ruby grappled with her door tag, pretending not to hear the young woman calling her name. Stumbling in her haste, she dropped the lanyard on the path. A small hand with red painted nails stretched forward to pick it up.
‘Here,’ Helen panted, ‘I was calling; you mustn’t have heard me.’
Ruby smiled at her optimism. She reminded herself that the girl was young enough to be her daughter and decided to give her a break. She was usually pleasant, a bit ferrety-looking, shiny brown hair, dark beady eyes set too close together.
‘Thank you,’ Ruby replied, as Helen pressed the fob into her palm. ‘Now if you don’t mind I need to get into work and take these awful shoes off, they’re killing me.’
‘Can you spare me five minutes? There’s something important I need to talk to you about.’
Ruby hesitated, but Helen’s next words won her over.
‘It’s to do with the case you’re investigating.’
‘OK, five minutes. But not here.’
The Shepherdess Café on City Road was Ruby’s favourite greasy spoon. Strip lighting, shiny tables and old-fashioned sauce bottles made her feel at home, while the smell of freshly cooked bacon and sausages made her stomach rumble. She winced as she eased off her shoes from under the table.
‘I’m never wearing those torture devices again. From now on it’s loafers all the way.’
Helen smiled, stirring her coffee. ‘I can’t imagine you in loafers.’
‘Oh yeah, I have a whole wardrobe of them,’ Ruby lied. ‘Beige ones, with little tassels on the front. They go with my twin set and pearls.’ Ruby remembered who she was speaking to and checked her watch. ‘Anyway, you’ve got four minutes left so make it quick.’
Helen raised her bottom from the seat to take a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I printed off this email. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, but then I thought of your case and wondered if there was a connection.’
Forgetting all about her sore feet, Ruby unfolded the copier paper and smoothed it on the table.
‘Dear Helen.
Detective Ruby Preston (RIP) is sleeping with gangster Nathan Crosby and DI Jack Downes. Disgusting behaviour from a MET police officer. The public needs to know.
Lucy’
Ruby paled with each word she read, and a sick feeling overcame her. Steadying her breath, she returned her gaze. ‘Utter rubbish,’ she said, the break in her voice denying the strength of her conviction. She was rattled and she could not hide it.
‘Of course, that’s what I thought. I mean, what’s with that whole “RIP” business? It’s obviously someone you’ve rubbed up the wrong way.’ Helen looked at her watch and her forehead creased. ‘I’d love to chat, but I think our four minutes are up.’
Ruby shot her hand across the table and dug her nails into Helen’s wrist. ‘Don’t play games with me, girl. What do you want?’
Helen shrank back, looking every inch of her twenty years. ‘Oh, I… I’m sorry. I just wanted your attention.’
Ruby released her grip. ‘Why? We both know you can’t print that information. It’s slander.’
‘I thought we could work together. See what else this Lucy has to say.’
Ruby inhaled a long, deep sigh. ‘What do you know about Lucy?’
‘Word is that she’s your prime suspect for the murder of Harry Edmonds and his wife,’ Helen said, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘If I could open a line of communication, maybe I could get a scoop after you catch her. What about that?’
So this was what it was all about. Their meeting was not a ploy to blackmail, but a young girl under pressure to produce a news story. Ruby felt a pang of sympathy.
‘Honey, if we arrest her and have enough evidence to charge then you’re definitely getting your scoop.’
Helen beamed. ‘Good. Then I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Do you have anything you can give me in the meantime?’
Ruby pushed her hand into her pocket and slid out a business card. ‘Give me a ring at nine tonight, and I’ll see if I can give you the official line on it. That should keep you going.’
‘Really? Cool. Maybe we could do this all the time.’
Ruby rose from the table. Plucking a pen from her breast pocket, she began to scribble on the back of the card. ‘This is my personal email address. Forward the email and any others you receive to me. Then delete them from your email account, your sent box and your deleted items. Don’t attempt to communicate with this individual. Most likely it’s some nut. We can’t take any chances. Oh and Helen? We didn’t have this conversation. You get me?’
‘But… ’ Helen said, following her onto the street.
‘No buts. Leave it in the hands of the police.’ Except Ruby had no intention of reporting it to the police. At least, not yet.
The folded paper burned a hole in her pocket as she sat through briefing justifying her reasons for staying quiet. It’s a random accusation by some nutter, that’s all. Happens every time a high profile case hits the press. And as for signing it ‘Lucy’? People talked. Emily could have confided in a neighbour. But it was the full stop after the salutation that got her. The same full stop that drew her in on the original letters to the murder victim, Emily Edmonds. Was it a grammatical error or set up to grab her attention? If it was the latter, it meant there was more to come. Ruby did not hop from Nathan’s bed into Jack’s as the email implied, but her relationship with the two men was the last thing she wanted publicised to the world.
And the ‘RIP’? Ruby shuddered. Lucy was watching her. And she wanted her attention. By the end of briefing she had it all figured out. She would follow up on the email privately, using a computer techy to investigate its origin. In the end, it came down to a choice of two people: Nathan or Luddy. Neither were ideal, but both were trustworthy.
Yet still… the name prickled her senses. Surely it could not be the Lucy she knew. Not after all these years.
The press appeal was held that afternoon. Jack sat next to DCI Worrow as she appealed directly to the woman who had identified herself as ‘Lucy’ to come forward. She widened her appeal to friends, family, and members of the public to get in touch with any concerns they may have. Ruby sighed. Soon they would go from having minimal information to being deluged with it. Their caseloads were at breaking point as it was. But it was the same story across the board, and nobody could spare the extra resources to give them a dig out.
They failed to mention the possibility of an adopted daughter. It would have made a great human interest story, but it was too early to say just what was going on with this case.
Hunched under the glare of the cameras, Jack looked exhausted, his suit creased, the knot on his burgundy tie bunched to one side. Ruby had surprised herself by getting a decent night’s sleep, but as she was drifting off she thought of the meeting with Nathan earlier in the day. She loved the new flat. It was perfect for her: close to work, in a nice, safe area, and very secure. But she could not be indebted to him. She had thought about returning the keys when something stopped her. She pushed them deep in her handbag, just in case the time arose when she needed a safe haven.
She was wading through her paperwork when Jack lumbered in, hands deep in trouser pockets, his broad frame filling her tiny office.
‘What about ye?’ he said, grabbing a ginger snap from the pack on her desk.
Ruby wanted to tell him about the email, and the young journalist that was sniffing around, but the words would not come. Mentioning their relationship – if she could even call it that – in the same sentence as Nathan was mortifying. Whatever the future held, Ruby could sort it out on her own.