Page 38

BEFORE

May 1979

Sally

South London Crematorium, London

Lizzie Fox’s body was released for the funeral once the post-mortem was completed. This confirmed that Sally’s mum had died from a single blow to the back of her head. Wearing a black skirt and cream blouse borrowed from Nicola, Sally couldn’t believe that her mother was finally gone. Only when she arrived at the crematorium with her friends and saw the simple pine coffin did the stark reality of the situation begin to sink in.

Sally trembled and her breath quickened. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to get through the service. But then Elsie and Nicola, who had supported her steadfastly over the past couple of weeks, tightened their clasp on either side of her. She’d never needed them more than she did right then.

To Sally’s surprise, shortly before the short service began, Sister Jones arrived, followed by Cyril, along with Noreen, Sandra, Carys and Mary. This gesture, knowing that they had each forgone sleep to be there, made her heart ache, and it was her undoing. Tears she’d promised she would not shed today came thick and fast. She looked around the small room with gratitude.

These people had never met her mother yet were here for her.

Sally would always remember that. And, even though she was no longer a charwoman, she knew that bond would stay with them for life. She caught Mary’s eye and nodded, a thank-you to the woman who had taken over her shifts at a moment’s notice.

Sally noticed a woman sitting at the back of the church on her own. She was around her mum’s age, in her early forties, Sally guessed. The woman wore a black headscarf, and held a white handkerchief to her mouth as she quietly wept and waited for the service to begin. Sally didn’t recognise her, but she smiled in the woman’s direction, grateful that her mother had a friend here.

There was no eulogy for Lizzie Fox. But Sally had asked the funeral director to play ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ by the Beatles, which she hoped her mother would have approved of. It had come on the radio once while she was visiting her the previous year, and her mother had sung along to every word, holding Sally’s hand as she had done when Sally was a little girl. It was one of Sally’s favourite memories of them.

The small group began singing along as her coffin disappeared through the velvet curtains. And, by the time the last note ended, Sally whispered, ‘I hope you are at peace now, Mum. Sleep well.’

There was one more surprise for Sally. When she left the crematorium, she found Detective Sergeant Ian Baldwin waiting outside, leaning against his car.

‘Will I go with you?’ Elsie asked as Sally walked towards him.

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll be with you in a moment,’ she replied with a smile of thanks and made her way to him. After the emotional release of the tears she’d shed at her mother’s service, she wasn’t sure she could take any further blows today.

‘Hello, Detective Sergeant Baldwin.’

‘Hello, Sally. That’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? Why don’t you call me Ian?’

Sally smiled weakly.

‘I can imagine the service was tough,’ Ian said. His dark eyes searched hers and Sally felt a shiver run down her back. ‘You holding up okay?’

‘Let’s just say that I’m glad it’s over.’

He nodded. ‘I came today because I thought you’d like to know this. We’ve arrested a man for the murder of your mum.’

Sally took a step back, almost stumbling on the street kerb. Ian reached for her arm to steady her. Sally watched a black crow swoop down from a nearby electricity pole to peck the ground near her. And in the distance, a woman’s cry echoed towards them. The next funeral cortege had arrived.

‘Sally?’ Ian asked, his voice laced with concern. His hand remained on her arm, and the warmth of his touch brought Sally back to the moment.

‘Who w-was it?’ Sally eventually stammered.

‘A man called John Fenton. Local.’

‘Do you know why he did it?’ Sally asked, even though she realised that it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t bring back her mother.

‘He was one of her regulars.’ Ian paused momentarily to let that sink in, and Sally was grateful for it. The thought of her mother having ‘regulars’ was a difficult pill to swallow.

‘We had a couple of leads from one of the women who worked alongside your mother. Betty and your mother were good friends and since the string of murders in Leeds and Manchester, Betty said that Lizzie and her had made a pact to keep an eye on each other. They took note of the car regs of their customers, that kind of thing.’

Sally felt nauseous thinking about the women that had been murdered by the Yorkshire Ripper. And the police seemed no closer to finding him since it had all begun five years ago. Visceral, raw headlines appeared in the papers almost daily about the seemingly unsolvable crimes. In the salon, customers spoke about the victims in whispered voices. Most were prostitutes, but some victims happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. As each new murder was reported, unease spread from the North to London.

The latest victim, Josephine Whitaker, was only a couple of years younger than Sally. A lovely young woman, walking home from her grandparents, taken from the world cruelly. Now, when Sally, Elsie and Nicola went for a drink in the Grove, Reggie insisted that he walk each of them home. And they clung to each other, each feeling vulnerable as their eyes searched the shadows for the bogeyman who bludgeoned women to their deaths.

Sally’s breath quickened because she knew that if she was scared, how must her mother have felt? And Betty too, and other women like her. They must live in constant terror. She looked around, searching for the woman who’d sat at the back of the church, sure she had to be her mother’s friend, Betty. But there was no sign of her now. She’d disappeared once the service ended.

‘Are you saying my mother’s murder is connected to those up North?’ Sally whispered.

Ian immediately shook his head and leaned in closer. ‘No. Your mother’s injuries were not consistent with those women’s . . .’ He paused, seeing a flash of pain pass over Sally’s face again, then continued. ‘Betty told us about a punter called John, who had become obsessed with Lizzie. And it was making Lizzie a little uncomfortable. He drove a green Pontiac. A neighbour said that they’d regularly seen a green Pontiac parked outside your mother’s house. So we questioned all owners of green Pontiacs in the Greater London area. When we called Fenton’s house, it was almost as if he was waiting for us. We pulled him in for questioning, and he caved and confessed.’

Sally wasn’t sure how to react to this. Should she be grateful that this John Fenton had a conscience?

‘He alleges that it was an accident. He didn’t mean to kill Lizzie. They fought when he tried to get her to give up the game. She pushed him, he shoved her back and then she stumbled and hit her head on the corner of the coffee table. Fenton said he panicked and left her there.’

‘I can’t believe it ended like this for Mum,’ Sally said, feeling fresh tears prickle her eyes as she grappled to accept the bitter truth of her mother’s demise. She turned to glance at where her friends stood, looking over at her in concern, and she desperately wanted to go back to them, to talk this all through with people who loved her.

‘I appreciate you taking the time to come and tell me this, Detective Sergeant. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for finding out what happened to Mum. I’ll always be grateful.’

‘Ian. Please call me Ian,’ he replied, those dark eyes of his boring into Sally’s soul. ‘And there are no thanks necessary. Knowing you have some peace, with the murderer behind bars, is enough for me.’

‘That does help,’ Sally replied. ‘Well, I better get going.’

‘Maybe you could cut my hair some time,’ Ian called out as she turned to walk away.

Sally swung back, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Of course. Call the salon whenever it suits you. You know where I work.’

He nodded, and a broad smile changed his face from broody to handsome. Sally felt her heart quicken in a way it hadn’t for a long time. As Ian got into his car and sped off, leaving a trail of dust on the road, Sally knew that this would not be the last time she saw him.