Widows 2

Chapter Four

Bella had kept vigil all night, and was still sitting by the window in Shirley’s lounge when dawn broke. She was no longer looking out, no longer waiting for Dolly, she was just sitting, and thinking. Several times she got up to make herself a cup of tea, then left it undrunk.

Shirley had been in bed when Bella had come back and told her that they had found Linda, that she didn’t think Linda would be coming back. Shirley couldn’t take it in to begin with. She made Bella repeat everything she had seen. Bella broke down and cried when she described the figure on the stretcher, with the red blanket over her face...

All the memories now flooded back into Bella’s mind, making her cry again. In Rio, during the robbery, when they’d first met. In the back of her mind was a tiny, fragile hope that they’d been wrong, that perhaps she was still alive. But deep down in her heart she knew that Linda was dead, and she would never see her again.

Shirley had been shocked at first, then she’d cried, then she’d got calm again. She asked Bella if she was sure, and then she started to cry again, and Bella had left her crying herself to sleep, while she went to sit by the window, waiting for Dolly.

She kept asking herself questions, but she couldn’t find any answers, so she just sat and waited, and during the waiting time the memories flooded back in waves, drifting in and out, behind them all a terrible feeling of guilt.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d turned away from that last kiss. And how Linda had then put her hand out to her, asked if they were still friends, and Bella hadn’t shaken.

She could hear Shirley moving round and looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was after nine. She heard the toilet flush, and then Shirley came into the lounge.

Bella couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. Shirley was dressed, made up; she looked very smart.

‘Are you going out?’

Shirley sounded uneasy. ‘Yes, I... I’ve got an appointment.’ She joined Bella at the window. ‘Still no sign of Dolly? Where do you think she’s gone?’

Bella shrugged. Shirley picked up a tray with the cups of tea Bella had made in the night.

‘Just leave them,’ Bella told her.

Shirley put the tray down again. ‘We don’t know, not for certain,’ she said suddenly.

Bella shook her head. ‘I saw her. I saw them put the blanket over her face. She’s dead, Shirley.’

Shirley’s mouth quivered as she tried to hold back the tears.

Bella got up, just wanting to get out, to get away from her. ‘Don’t smudge your make-up,’ she said with a brittle smile. ‘If you’ve got an appointment, you’d better keep it!’

‘Oh, Bella,’ Shirley whispered, reaching for her hand, and Bella clasped it tight.

‘I’m sorry,’ Bella said. ‘Look, you go ahead, do what you have to do. I’ll wait here for Dolly.’

Bella watched as Shirley walked down the path. She turned at the gate and gave a little wave. Bella didn’t wave back. The anger had gone, but she still couldn’t quite believe that Shirley had something so important to do that she could walk out of the house now, with Linda dead and Dolly who knows where, and everything in pieces.

She wished Dolly would come. Dolly would know what to do. Dolly always knew what to do.

Dolly woke with a splitting headache, as if someone had clamped a band round her head and was pulling it tight. She opened her eyes and everything was hazy. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The furniture was heavy, Victorian, masculine. There was a big dressing table, and Dolly saw her handbag on top of it. Then she saw the chair, with her torn stockings, her skirt and blouse, all neatly laid out, with her mud-spattered shoes on the floor underneath. She looked at the pillow next to her, the half-full brandy glass on the bedside table and felt a momentary panic.

There was a tap on the door and Dolly reached for the sheet to cover herself. Vic Morgan walked in with a smile, carrying a cup of coffee.

‘How are you feeling?’

Dolly just wrapped the sheet tighter round her.

He put the coffee down and picked up the brandy glass. ‘Do you feel like something to eat?’

Dolly was still desperately trying to remember what had happened the night before. It was all a blank. How did she get here? And, more importantly, what had she told this man? How much did he know?

Morgan carried the glass to the door and took the dressing gown that was hanging there off the hook.

‘Would you like this? If you want a bath or something, it’s first on the left.’

Dolly managed to say, ‘Thank you,’ then added, ‘Do you have an aspirin?’

He opened a small drawer in the dressing table, took out a bottle of aspirin and handed it to Dolly. ‘Your gun’s in there as well, by the way,’ he said casually.

As she took the bottle, she felt the sheet slipping away from her breasts, and Morgan could sense her discomfort. ‘I slept on the sofa,’ he said gently. ‘You got yourself undressed, I just laid them out.’ He turned to leave.

Dolly could feel herself flushing with embarrassment. ‘Thank you, Mr. Morgan.’

‘That’s all right... Mrs. Rawlins.’

A bolt of lightning hit Dolly. Did he just call her ‘Mrs. Rawlins’? Then he knew.

‘Er... what time is it, Mr. Morgan?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice relaxed and casual.

He turned to her with a smile. ‘Almost 9:30, Mrs. Rawlins.’

Detective Inspector Alex Fuller also had a headache that morning. He was washing his hands in the cloakroom, wondering why he’d had so many lately. Probably something to do with his sinuses. He took out a nose spray and gave himself a squirt, hoping that would help matters. He wiped his nose and then washed his hands again. He examined his clean, short-cut nails and dried his hands, before looking at his watch. Perfect. Just time to nip up to the canteen for a cup of coffee before sifting through all those reports.

Detective Constable John Reynolds was assigned to Fuller. At that moment, Reynolds was sitting behind his desk in the annex, carefully typing Fuller’s diary reports and silently cursing his boss. Fuller was a stickler for accuracy, and everything had to be by the book, while on a personal level he could be stiff and unfriendly. But at least, Reynolds thought to himself, as Detective Inspector Eric Frinton banged through the double doors, Fuller was a professional.

Frinton was carrying a coffee and eating a bacon sandwich as he strolled over to Reynolds’ desk and perched himself on the corner.

‘Got you going, has he? Bit of a slave-driver, our Detective Inspector.’

Reynolds stopped typing with a frown. ‘Something I can do for you?’

Frinton took a slurp of his coffee, almost spilling it over Reynolds’ neatly typed papers. ‘Your guv’nor about? Might have somethin’ of interest for him.’ He took a big bite of his bacon sandwich and began chewing noisily.

‘Like what?’ Reynolds asked, pushing his typewriter to one side.

Frinton swallowed his mouthful and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Your guv’nor was working on the Rawlins caper, wasn’t he? With Resnick? You gotta fag?’

Reynolds shook his head. ‘I don’t smoke.’

DI Fuller appeared through the swing doors, carrying a coffee cup in a saucer. He gave Frinton a cool nod.

Frinton pushed himself off the desk. ‘I was just telling Mabel Privet, here, I might have something that’ll interest you.’ He shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it might not. Christ, I’m gasping for a fag,’ he added hopefully.

Fuller looked at him with distaste. ‘Come on, out with it, Frinton. I’ve got work to do.’

Frinton coughed. ‘Yeah, right. We had a stiff on Hampstead Heath last night, a girl — Linda Pirelli.’

For a moment Fuller looked blank. ‘Pirelli?’

‘Yeah, Joe Pirelli’s old lady. He got fried on that underpass raid, remember?’

‘And she’s dead?’ Fuller was now very alert.

Frinton grinned. ‘Yeah, as a doornail. Could be suspicious. My lads are looking into it.’

‘Suspicious how?’ Fuller asked.

‘Well, the body was twenty yards from a car, in a ditch. Hit and run, by the look of it.’

‘Another vehicle?’

‘Well, I don’t suppose she ran over herself.’

Fuller looked thoughtful. ‘How come you’re involved?’

‘Couple of my boys were just drivin’ past — seems the Pirelli girl had a smash at the top of the road, they followed her down and found her in the ditch.’

Fuller looked bemused. ‘So what the hell happened?’

Frinton shrugged. ‘Look, you want any details, come over to my place. I’m on the way home now, but my lads’ll give you anything you want. But just remember you owe me, right?’

Fuller nodded. ‘Right.’

Frinton gave him a wink, took another bite of his sandwich and lurched away, spilling coffee as he went.

Fuller turned to Reynolds. ‘Let’s get a car organized and go over to his office. Nothing else on, is there?’

Reynolds shook his head. ‘Very quiet at the moment, guv.’

‘Right, and while you’re at it, get out that file on... Tell you what, go and see if you can pick up all of Resnick’s old files on Harry Rawlins, all right?’

Fuller picked up his cup and took a sip of his coffee, deep in thought. He didn’t seem to notice that it had gone cold.

Dolly sat at Vic Morgan’s elegant dining table and thought what an extraordinary jumble the whole place was, with antique furniture rubbing up against modern lamps, typewriters and other gadgets. It had the uncared-for feel of a bachelor pad, but somewhere along the line it could have been his mother’s. She looked at the photograph of a woman and a young boy on the mantelshelf.

Morgan stood at the door. ‘They’ve got her in the morgue. I’m sorry.’

Dolly knew Linda was dead, but hearing him say it was still a shock, somehow.

‘D’you want some more coffee?’

Dolly shook her head. ‘She pushed me out of the way. It should have been me.’

Morgan poured himself another cup. Dolly was ripping up a piece of tissue paper, pulling it apart, piece by piece.

‘They’re doing an autopsy this morning.’

He wasn’t sure she heard him.

‘Why in God’s name didn’t you go to the police in the first place?’

She didn’t answer.

‘You must have known he’d come after you. You took everything he had — plus you sent his girlfriend and baby to Australia!’

Dolly stood up and walked across the room to a wastepaper basket, dropping the torn-up tissue in. ‘I was frightened. I told you, I just wanted to pay him off, to be left alone.’

Morgan spooned sugar into his coffee. ‘Didn’t look that way to me.’

‘Well, it’s the truth,’ said Dolly.

Morgan took a sip, frowned, and added some more sugar. ‘When I found you last night, what were you going to do?’

Dolly sat down at the table again. ‘I was going to kill him.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t have been very clever, would it?’

Dolly gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘Obviously not; he wasn’t there.’

Morgan shook his head. ‘What I meant was, there are other ways of getting rid of someone. Did he get any money from you?’ He leaned across the table. ‘You said you were going to pay him off. Did he get the money?’

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head and picked up her handbag. ‘No.’

Morgan chose his words carefully. ‘You see, there’s a friend of mine who wouldn’t mind getting his hands on your husband.’

Dolly shrugged. ‘Well, you won’t find him in that flat. He’ll have moved on by now.’

Morgan persisted. ‘There’s a big reward up for grabs, for any information on the cash missing from the underpass raid — thirty thousand.’

Dolly snapped her bag closed. ‘I see.’ She stood and picked up her coat. ‘That what all the questions are for? Reward money?’

He watched her put on her coat.

‘You’re all the same, whichever side you’re on. It’s all he ever wanted, all my husband ever cared for — money. Well, you can chase after it all you like, but don’t try using me to get it.’

She walked out. He didn’t try to stop her, but he was angry with himself for the way he’d mishandled things. At least he had a lot more information now, even though he knew for certain that Dolly Rawlins was holding something back, something big.

He took another sip of his coffee, thinking what a strange, fascinating woman she was. He’d held her half the night, held her tenderly as she’d sobbed her heart out for Linda Pirelli. Yet in the morning she behaved like a total stranger. It was going to take time before she truly trusted him.

Ray Bates was sorting through a pile of bills, tapping his pencil on the desk, when Micky Tesco arrived at the garage.

Micky leaned against the door. ‘Come on, what d’ya say? I just need a couple of motors, two Transit vans, maybe a spot of driving?’

Ray scratched his head. ‘I dunno. I been straight for a long time, Micky. I don’t want to get into anything heavy.’

Micky picked up a handful of bills. ‘Business doesn’t look too good to me. Reckon you could do with a few readies.’

Too right, Ray thought. His business was going down the drain — and at the worst possible time, with Audrey pregnant.

‘Who’s running the show?’

Micky shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you the name — but a big man, well known. And the money’s big, too. But if you’re not interested—’ he shrugged — ‘there’s plenty of people who will be.’

He turned away, knowing Ray was hooked like a big, fat salmon.

‘I’m in, Micky. I’ll do it.’

Micky smiled. ‘Good boy! OK, first off I want you to sort that Jag out for me, get a replacement...’

When Dolly finally reappeared at Shirley’s, her relief was short-lived, because Bella couldn’t stop crying. Dolly calmed her down and put the kettle on, thinking how odd it was the way everybody always offered cups of tea, not wanting to actually talk about what had happened. Eventually Bella calmed down enough for Dolly to ask her how Shirley had taken it.

Bella sniffed. ‘Yeah, she cried, you know, but I don’t think it’s really hit her yet. I think it’s the same for me. I still can’t believe Linda isn’t going to walk through the door.’

Dolly watched the kettle. ‘She isn’t coming back, Bella, and we’re just going to have to carry on without her.’

Bella badly needed someone to hold her, but Dolly made no move toward her.

‘What are we gonna do, Dolly?’

Dolly just shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know...’

It was the last thing Bella expected Dolly to say and it shook her. Dolly suddenly seemed just as vulnerable and lost as she felt herself. But without a leader, someone to organize the three of them, what were they going to do?

Shirley’s brother, Greg, was in one of the garages washing the Jag with an old, white T-shirt when Ray slid the doors open. Greg got up off his knees and held out the shirt.

‘See these stains, Ray? I think this is blood.’ He pointed at the front of the car. ‘It’s all along the mudguard. I think he must’ve hit a dog.’

Ray turned on him sharply. ‘Just do as you’re told, son, and keep it buttoned. You understand? Keep your mouth shut.’

Greg nodded.

‘Just get it cleaned up and then take it to the paint shop for a respray. Got it?’

The garage door clanged shut behind him. Greg dipped the cloth in the bucket and went back to washing the car, trying not to think too hard about what had really happened.

Suddenly everything that had happened the night before was forgotten. Shirley was perched on a high stool in front of a blue 174 backdrop in the photographer’s studio. She only had her underslip on, which had been Sellotaped to her nipples, giving her a very low cleavage. At first it had embarrassed her, having Sellotape stuck round her, having her body touched and painted, but gradually she relaxed and even began to enjoy it. The girl who had done her make-up was very chatty, helping her to feel at home, and the outrageously camp hairdresser, who spent hours putting a blonde rinse in her hair, was hilarious. He used a can of gold spray, then back-combed, teased, pulled, pushed, and now her hair was like a lion’s mane. The make-up girl had matched the hair, using glistening, golden tones and heavy black eyelashes. She’d plucked away at Shirley’s eyebrows, giving her a very high arch, molded her cheeks, and instead of lipstick she’d used a silky gloss. Shirley looked in the mirror and hardly recognized herself.

The photographer was obviously well into his forties, but didn’t behave like it — he was like an old hippie. He spent hours in the make-up room, looking at her, checking her out before photographing her. He’d decided that they should lower the slip even more, but there was nothing sexual in it — just professional. He wanted to do all the shots cut low, just neck and shoulders. The make-up girl told Shirley that he was one of the best.

‘Cost a fortune, he does. You from Marion Gordon?’

Shirley had nodded, feeling like a million dollars. This was what she had always dreamt about...

And then she remembered Linda.

‘You all right?’ the make-up girl asked.

Shirley took a breath. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

Then the photographer had come in. ‘We’re ready to roll in a minute, darling. I want you up on this stool.’

Shirley’s blondeness against the deep blue backdrop looked fantastic. Shirley went hot and cold as the lights went on, then off, and then they started work.

The photographer rapped out instructions: ‘Turn your head right, left, just relax, chin up, now chin down, look at me, now right to the camera, left to the camera, flick your head back, come on, back, back, open your lips slightly...’

Shirley felt self-conscious and slightly foolish, especially when he said, ‘OK, now I want you to look really angry — come on, come on, give me an angry look!’

Then Shirley let herself go and just did whatever he asked her to.

‘Run your fingers through your hair, that’s it. Hairdresser! Hairdresser!’ And there was the hairdresser teasing her hair, giving her a wink, and the make-up girl redoing her lips.

‘That’s a lovely girl. Hold that, Shirley, hold that.’

Shirley lost track of time as they went through roll after roll of film, and all the while he was telling her how beautiful she was, how perfect. Then he changed tack.

‘Now give me something a bit different, different mood, lips parted slightly, that’s it. Now think of something sad, something really sad — yes! That’s it. Just hold it like that.’ And all of a sudden it was as if Shirley was frozen. She’d thought of Linda, and as the photographer kept snapping away, telling her how brilliant she was, how beautiful, the tears started to slide down her cheeks.

The camera kept clicking, and then he called for a rest.

He nodded enthusiastically to Shirley. ‘That was a good session, darling. I’ve got some really good stuff.’

Shirley slid off the stool and ran to the make-up room.

He turned to the hairdresser. ‘What do you reckon?’

The hairdresser pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I think she’s special. She could really do something.’

‘She’s a bit neurotic, though — all that bursting into tears,’ the make-up girl chipped in.

The photographer began packing away the lights. ‘Well, darling, all the really good ones are — they’re all neurotic. I mean, if all you’ve got is a face, wouldn’t you be?’

The hairdresser was quite surprised the photographer hadn’t made a pass at Shirley. Rumor had it he’d been through most of the beautiful faces in London.

Then he saw Micky Tesco walk into the studio and instantly knew why.

Micky gave a brief nod to the photographer, then turned to the hairdresser.

‘How’d it go?’

‘Fine, Micky. New girlfriend, is it?’

Micky smiled his charming, lopsided smile. ‘You might be right; there again, you might be wrong.’

The hairdresser packed up his tools and his scissors in his neat little bag. He’d never liked Micky, ever since they worked on a shoot together, finding him big-headed and pushy. And he’d heard plenty more about him since. Like he was a nasty piece of work, and even that he’d been put away for five years.

‘How’s Marion? You still seeing Marion Gordon?’ he asked with a wry smile.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Micky replied, giving him a cool stare.

The hairdresser zipped up his bag, tucked it under his arm and left the studio.

The make-up girl was chatting away to Shirley, trying to cheer her up, when Micky tapped on the door and walked in. He took one look and couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. She looked fantastic.

She was also half-naked.

Shirley put her hands across her breasts shyly, and Micky said, ‘Sorry, I’ll wait outside.’

The make-up girl gave Shirley a nudge. ‘That your feller? He’s lovely looking, isn’t he?’

Shirley just smiled.

‘Is he your feller, or not? If he isn’t, give me a chance. I’ll move in on that!’

Shirley didn’t answer. She began to pull the Sellotape off her breasts. She looked in the mirror and she could see why Micky had been so impressed. And then Linda’s face floated in front of her again. Shirley reached for a dressing gown, tears swelling up.

The make-up girl sighed. Not again! What an odd girl. Oh well, you meet all sorts in this business. She began filling her make-up box with all her bottles and tubes. You had to admit, though, neurotic as she was, she’d certainly landed a good-looking bloke.

Sonny Chizzel’s antique shop was almost as neat and elegant as he was, with his tailored suit and cravat, his pink, clean-shaven face and his coiffured white hair. He’d never seen the woman before. She seemed nervous, well-spoken but rather shabbily dressed. The little ormolu clock she’d brought in was a very nice piece, though, and he reckoned he could get at least two grand for it.

He took his eyeglass out and put the clock down as the doorbell pinged. He hadn’t seen Gordon Murphy for at least five years, but he wasn’t the sort of man you forget. He gave Murphy a curt nod and turned back to examining the clock.

Murphy put down his briefcase, looking round the shop. Sonny hadn’t changed; he was still into this fancy Louis Quatorze stuff. He inspected an ornate dresser, tracing the inlaid wood. It was so highly polished that he could see Sonny and the woman as if he was looking in a mirror. The woman saw him observing her and pulled her headscarf round her face.

Murphy watched Sonny at work. He was a crafty old bastard, always had been. Sonny removed the eyeglass, put it down carefully, then gave a little shake of his head.

‘Mmmm, the timer’s gone, inlay missing, see... here... here... To be honest, I don’t know if I can take it... I could give you one-fifty — best I can do.’

Again the woman looked at Murphy, then turned back to the counter.

Sonny put his eyeglass in again, held the clock up, then put it down. ‘As I said, one-fifty. It’s up to you, love. Take it or leave it.’

Murphy listened to the woman trying to argue, and felt sorry for her.

‘It was my mother’s. I’m sure it’s worth more than that — it’s good, a good clock...’

Sonny shrugged. ‘Yes, well, it doesn’t work, sweetheart. Look, I tell you what, and this is my last offer — one-sixty. Now, I can’t go any higher than that. As I said, your timer’s gone, there’s inlay missing, it’s gonna take a lot of work. I’m gonna have to take this down to the workshop anyway. I mean, it’s not original, darling, it’s a copy.’

The woman nodded. ‘Yes, all right.’

Sonny picked up the clock, wrapped it in its newspaper and shoved it under the counter, then disappeared into the back of the shop, the inner sanctum.

Murphy was now opening a roll-top desk, touching the beautiful carving with his fingers. The woman was definitely edgy. Murphy wondered if the clock had been nicked. But she didn’t look like a regular or anybody he recognized. Mind you, nowadays, everybody was dealing in hot stuff. That was the way life was. He saw Sonny come out of the back room and hand over the cash. The woman pocketed it fast, fast enough to convince Murphy that the clock was more than likely hot. If Sonny Chizzel had taken a bit more time, he’d have realized it too, but he was acutely aware that Murphy wanted something. And Murphy was not a man to keep waiting.

As soon as the woman left the shop, Gordon Murphy went to the door. Sonny watched him turn the key, turn the OPEN notice to CLOSED and pull the blind down.

‘What do you want?’ Sonny asked nervously.

Murphy picked up the case. ‘Business. We talk in the back?’

Sonny hesitated for a moment. He looked at the briefcase in Murphy’s hand, then gestured for Murphy to follow him out back.

Shirley looked round her mother’s kitchen. It was a tip: the ironing board up, with a basket of ironing waiting to be done, the washing machine going, breakfast things still on the kitchen table — even the back door stood half-open.

‘Mum!’ she called out, but there was no reply. Then she heard what sounded like a radio playing in the bedroom. She put her bags down on the kitchen table and went through. Her mother’s bedroom was in the same state as the kitchen. She paused outside her own bedroom door.

‘Lift your right leg. Now hold... straighten... and lower. Lift your left leg and hold... straighten... and lower. Now, lift both legs together... lift... hold. Don’t strain, whatever you do, ladies, don’t strain... lift... and hold... and down...’ Shirley opened the door. It was a jumble of ladders, pots of paint, sheets thrown over her bed. Audrey was sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette, her feet up on a box. She was reading a copy of Woman’s Own, as the radio cassette player on the floor beside her continued, ‘...and relax. Now lift both legs again, hold... straighten...’

Audrey turned and gave Shirley a grin. ‘Hello, love, didn’t hear you come in.’

Audrey surveyed the room. ‘What’s all this, then?’

‘It’s the nursery,’ said Audrey, stubbing out her cigarette. Audrey showed Shirley the fabrics she’d chosen, and where she was going to put the cot. Then she lifted a sheet from a crib.

‘Greg gave me this.’

Shirley crossed her arms. ‘Yeah, I’ll bet ’e did. Nicked it from Mothercare, did ’e?’

Audrey frowned. Shirley really had been getting on her nerves lately. ‘Look, love, Greg’s giving me housekeeping now. I’m getting things organized here.’

‘So I can see, Mum,’ Shirley replied with a shake of her head.

Audrey waddled back to the chair and sat down. ‘Look, if you’ve only come over to pick on me, you can leave. A woman in my condition don’t need any aggravation.’ She plonked her feet back on the box and picked up the magazine. ‘You seeing Micky, then, are you?’

Shirley didn’t reply.

‘I ’ope you are. I think your problem is you’re not getting it. Everyone knows it makes you ratty.’

‘Well, the whole world can see you’re getting yours, and look where it’s got you,’ Shirley retorted, sitting down on the bed.

The two women looked at each other as the tape played on: ‘...repeat the exercise on your left side, lift the right leg up...’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Audrey flipped it off.

Shirley looked round the room again. She’d spent her childhood in this room, but it was a long time since she’d lived here. She was glad, in some ways, that it was all going to be done up.

Audrey caught her looking at her. Slightly embarrassed, she held her tummy. She was now showing very clearly.

‘Did you want something, darlin’?’

Shirley shrugged. ‘I just came over to see you, that’s all. D’you wanna cup o’ tea or anythin’?’

‘No thanks, love, I just ’ad one. I’m watchin’ me liquids. You go an’ ’ave one if you like. I’m just trying to decide on the wallpaper.’

Shirley felt as if she wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed.

‘I’m sure it’s going to look very nice, Mum.’

Audrey held up a picture in the magazine. ‘I’m doin’ it just like this. I’m thinking of callin’ ’im ’Arry if ’e’s a boy, after the prince. Be nice, that, don’t you think? Harry Bates?’

‘Is he gonna marry you then, Mum?’

Audrey flicked through the pages. ‘When ’e gets ’is divorce, yes ’e is.’

Shirley shook her head. ‘That’s what they all say, isn’t it, Mum?’

Audrey was sharp this time. ‘Why don’t you just get out? Go on, go!’

Shirley picked her way through the mess and into the kitchen. She looked round distastefully, then picked up her handbag — but she didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to face Dolly. She didn’t want to face Bella.

She wondered why she hadn’t told Micky about Linda, but then, he’d seemed so proud of her, of the way she’d looked, she hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment.

She sighed. Time to face the music.

Vic Morgan was worried about Resnick. He seemed to be deteriorating fast. He needed to get a move on with things.

Morgan leaned forward. ‘I checked out Dolly... Mrs. Rawlins’ story. Linda Pirelli was found last night, exactly where she said. Seemed she’d pushed Dolly out of the way. He was trying to kill her; Rawlins was trying to kill his wife.’

Resnick lay back on the pillows and sighed. ‘And the girl’s dead? Linda Pirelli’s dead?’

Morgan passed Resnick the autopsy report. As he flipped through it, Morgan noticed again how little movement he had in his right hand.

Resnick handed the report back. ‘Could mean a murder investigation. We’re gonna have to move sharpish if we’re going to find Rawlins.’ He grimaced with pain. ‘You think his wife’s on the level, do you, eh?’

‘I dunno,’ said Morgan with a shrug.

‘Come on, you do, don’t you? You think she’s on the level?’

‘All right, yes, I do.’

Resnick then rolled up a piece of newspaper and swatted at something on the bed Morgan couldn’t see.

Morgan hoped to God Resnick wasn’t beginning to lose his mind.

Resnick took another swipe. ‘Can’t you see these little buggers? Bloody flies everywhere.’ Then he seemed to come back to reality. ‘You think Mrs. Rawlins is on the level, huh? Stayed at your place, did she? State of shock, I’ll bet. Don’t let that bitch wind you round her fingers, ’cos she’s all we’ve got, Vic, and if Rawlins wants her, then we’ll get to him through Dolly.’ He swatted Morgan’s elbow. ‘Can’t you see it? They’re everywhere.’

Morgan put a hand on his arm. ‘George...’

Resnick focused again. ‘I reckon if you stay on her tail, we’ll get him. We’ll also get thirty grand’s worth of reward money. And you know something? I reckon with that money behind us, you and I could open up an agency. Whaddya say?’

Morgan nodded uncertainly. Then he saw one of the tiny fruit flies land on Resnick’s pillow. So he wasn’t losing his marbles after all. He breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Just you keep a watch on her,’ Resnick repeated. ‘Watch her round the clock. Because he’ll find her, wherever she is, you’ll see.’ He lay back and closed his eyes.

Morgan turned round to find DI Fuller standing at the bedside.

Morgan stood up and gave Fuller a nod. ‘I’m afraid he’s not too good.’ He patted Resnick’s arm.

‘Be seeing you, mate.’ He walked off down the ward.

Fuller stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure if Resnick was awake. Eventually his old boss opened his eyes and coughed, before grimacing in pain. Fuller sat down in the vacant chair.

‘I’m sorry to hear... I... thought you’d be up and about by now.’

Resnick pulled himself up. ‘Why don’t you cut the bullshit, Fuller? What do you want? You’re not here to inquire about my health. If you were, you would ’ave been ’ere weeks ago. So what is it?’

Fuller took a deep breath, then told Resnick all about Linda Pirelli.

Resnick stared at him. ‘Who?’

Fuller thought he knew what Resnick was doing. He’d done it to him often enough in the office. He thought he was being funny. ‘Look, George, I’ve been over all your old files. You know there’s thirty grand for any information on the raid?’

‘What raid?’ asked Resnick.

‘The second raid.’

‘Ah, yes... Well, nobody’d really be interested in the first raid, would they? I mean, they all died, didn’t they? Yes, they all... Joe Pirelli, of course! Terry Miller... Harry Rawlins... They all bought it on that raid.’

Fuller had had enough. ‘Come on, George, don’t mess me about! Rawlins isn’t dead. You know that as well as I do.’

Resnick just looked at him. He couldn’t stand the little prick.

‘Come on, George, you saw him.’

Resnick shrugged. ‘I must’ve been mistaken. I’d taken a hell of a beating, remember? Must’ve been seeing things.’

Fuller tried another angle. ‘What about his wife?’

Resnick smiled and nodded. ‘Oh, she’s a lovely lady.’

Fuller had had enough. ‘All right, George, have it your own way.’ He shook his head. ‘You always were a stubborn bastard.’ He carefully pushed the chair back against the bedside cabinet, then leaned against the bed. ‘Rawlins is alive, and I’m gonna damned well find him — with or without your help.’

He waited for some witty retort from Resnick, but it didn’t come. ‘You hear me, George? Rawlins is alive, and I’m gonna get him.’

Resnick nodded. ‘Well, I hope I live long enough to see it, sonny.’

He watched Fuller turn and walk stiffly off toward the doors. God, how he loathed him. He saw Fuller stop to charm the matron, saw her get all fluttery, before ushering Fuller out. He hadn’t wasted any time; by God, he’d risen fast. Detective Inspector — and he must be, what, thirty-three? Thirty-four? Smooth bastard.

Matron was steaming down the ward toward the bed.

‘Mr. Resnick, as you well know, visiting hours are between 2:30 and four. Please, in the future, do not entertain during rounds. It isn’t fair to me, the doctors, or the other patients. We’ve already had a complaint.’

Resnick frowned. ‘And I’ve got a complaint, too. There’s damned flies everywhere in this bloody ward!’

She opened Resnick’s bedside cabinet and brought out a bowl of moldy grapes. She turned and smiled sweetly at Resnick. ‘Are you intending to eat any of this rotten fruit?’

Resnick was about to give her a smart reply, when he buckled up in agony, gritting his teeth, his breath hissing.

Matron moved quickly to his side, then looked round the ward and beckoned for a nurse to join her. Leaning over Resnick, she said, ‘It’s all right, Mr. Resnick, just lie back. Everything’s going to be all right.’

He looked up into her face. Even gripped with pain, he managed to grin. ‘Is it, you reckon...? All gonna be all right?’

That was the moment when she realized, despite his bravado, just how scared Resnick was. Something had happened. He’d somehow lost a fight, way back, and he was afraid to get into the ring again for this final bout. She took his hand, feeling an unexpected surge of emotion. To her surprise, after all her years on the ward, this loud, blustering, rude and lonely man had got to her.

She didn’t really know why, but Shirley had expected Dolly or Bella to be sitting in the lounge, waiting for her, when she got back. But Bella was in the kitchen cooking, and when Shirley asked her where Dolly was, all she said was, ‘Upstairs.’

In the spare room, Dolly had a suitcase open on Linda’s bed and was filling it with clothes.

Shirley touched the case. ‘Are these all her things?’

‘I thought it was best to clear them away,’ Dolly answered. She held up a bright blue silk dress. ‘You don’t want this, do you? Knowing Linda, it’s probably yours anyway.’ She stopped, bit her lip and threw the dress into the case, then grabbed a whole bunch of clothes from the wardrobe, coat hangers and all, threw them in on top.

Shirley went to the door.

‘Where are you going?’

Shirley felt close to tears. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it.’

Dolly spoke to her firmly. ‘We’re gonna have to, love. Linda’s dead and we’re all gonna have to talk about it.’

Shirley twisted her hands together. ‘I know. I know.’ Then the tears started.

Bella suddenly barged into the room.

‘Put the kettle on, will you?’ Dolly asked her quickly. ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’

‘That’s all I ever seem to be doing,’ Bella complained. ‘Putting the kettle on, taking the bleedin’ thing off!’

Dolly gave Bella a hard look and jerked her head. She was starting to get a little bit too pushy, that one.

Shirley was sitting on the bed, still twisting her hands. Dolly didn’t quite know how to begin. She went back to packing, aware of Shirley watching her.

‘So you got yourself a job, did you?’ She tried to keep her voice light.

Shirley told Dolly all about her day and about everything that had happened at the studio — that there’d been times when she’d been able to forget, and then it would all come rushing back to her.

Dolly sat next to her on the bed and took hold of her hand.

‘Oh, what are we going to do, Dolly?’ Shirley asked in her little girl’s voice.

Bella reappeared at the door, then picked up a brush from the dressing table and began brushing her hair. ‘Well, first we’ve got to change the money.’

Shirley stood up. ‘I hate the money! I hate it, I hate it. I don’t want anything to do with it!’

Bella threw the brush down. ‘Is that right? Well, we’ve still got to change it.’ She turned to Dolly. ‘You got it worked out, then, Dolly? What we’re gonna do about the money?’

Dolly moved away from the bed and took another of Linda’s dresses from the wardrobe. She began folding it. She couldn’t look at Bella.

‘I can’t find the book,’ she almost whispered.

Bella just looked at her. ‘What?’

‘I said I can’t find the book.’

‘What book?’ Shirley asked.

‘The book with the list of names. The little black book. I put all the names down, the fences. I copied them down from Harry’s ledgers.’

‘What d’you mean you can’t find it?’ said Bella.

‘Well, I’ve lost it, that’s what!’ Dolly sat down on the bed, going over everything in her mind. She’d burned the ledgers, and when she’d come back from Rio she’d burned all the other paperwork in the bonfire at the house, just before she’d sold it. Maybe she’d burned the book then.

‘I might have... burned it.’

Bella shook her head in amazement. ‘You burned it? Is that what you’re tryin’ to tell us? You burned the book? I don’t believe it, Dolly. You knew we’d need it.’

Dolly rubbed her head. ‘I’m trying to remember when I last had it.’

Shirley looked as if she didn’t understand. ‘But you always had it, Dolly!’

‘But I haven’t got it now!’ Dolly snapped. She began walking up and down the bedroom, and then started miming putting a coat on, taking it off. She stopped abruptly and snapped her fingers. ‘It’s in the pocket of my raincoat!’

‘OK, Dolly,’ Bella began in a coaxing voice, as if talking to a five-year-old. ‘Where do you think the raincoat is? Can you remember?’

Dolly’s face brightened. ‘It’s behind the door.’

‘What door?’

‘At... the lock-up,’ Dolly said slowly. ‘It’s hanging behind the door at the lock-up.’

Murphy was strolling through Alfie’s Antique Market in Paddington, scanning the stalls. He was looking for stall 54A, Sonny Chizzel’s extra little bit of business — the stall he used to get rid of the smaller items, the little knick-knacks he acquired. Murphy had always loved the place, and he took his time wandering among the stalls, picking things up and checking them over. He liked to buy the odd little thing for his mother. She liked antiques, especially pictures. Eventually he arrived at stall 54A, only to find it bolted up. The woman on the next stall dealt in Art Deco masks. They were quite nice, and he wondered if maybe his mother would like one.

He pointed to a mask. ‘How much is that one?’

‘Well, it’s a Goldscheider,’ the woman replied in a posh voice, smiling sweetly. ‘It’s about two hundred and eighty, the little one, and four hundred and fifty the big one.’

Murphy had to hold on to the edge of the stall. ‘Right... er, I’m looking for Sonny, Sonny Chizzel. He has the place next door.’

The woman rolled her eyes, realizing he wasn’t a customer. ‘Oh, ’e’s in the coffee bar, love.’

Oh yeah, the coffee bar, Murphy thought to himself.

Sonny Chizzel was already on his second cup of coffee. He hated to be kept waiting, and he also hated to be carrying this amount of money.

He spotted Murphy coming his way, wandering casually through the market, picking up bits and pieces. Anyone who saw him for the first time would think he was harmless — just a typical punter. But Sonny knew better. He was a strange one, all right. He still lived with his mother — the only person he had ever seemed to care about. It was a well-known fact that Murphy wrote to her every single day when he was in prison, but his mother never wrote letters back; she used to send him tape recordings instead, and Murphy would sit in his cell and play them over and over. He said it was as if his mother was in the prison with him.

Sonny shuddered as Murphy approached the coffee bar. He quickly picked up his newspaper and from behind it watched him go to the counter and look down the menu.

‘I’ll have a coffee, milk and three sugars, and a toasted ham and cheese sandwich.’ Murphy scanned the people at the small tables. Then he took out his wallet and handed one pound to the boy at the counter. ‘Keep the change, son.’

‘Er... it’s ninety-nine pence, sir.’

Murphy gave him such an icy glare that the boy went white.

He came over to Sonny’s table. ‘You mind if I sit ’ere?’

‘Help yourself.’ Sonny tried to look casual as he carefully folded the newspaper. The tables behind him were empty. He leaned toward Murphy.

‘Thirty grand, used notes, best I could do. Case under the table.’

The boy appeared at Murphy’s elbow with the coffee. ‘Sandwich’ll be two minutes, sir.’

Murphy slurped a mouthful of coffee. ‘That’s a very good price, Sonny, very good. My guv’nor’ll be well pleased with that.’

Sonny felt the briefcase with the £30,000 between his feet and pushed it toward Murphy. ‘You got it?’

Murphy made no effort to reach down. He spooned more sugar into the coffee, stirred, took another mouthful, heaped in yet more sugar.

Sonny got to his feet and busied himself putting on his jacket. He put a pound coin on the table. ‘I’m not doin’ any more business, understand me? Not that hot, anyway. You wanna see me, leave a message here, don’t come to the shop. I’ve given you a very good deal, Murphy.’

Murphy stared straight ahead, sipping his coffee as if Sonny didn’t exist. The boy brought the sandwich to the table. Murphy picked up the pound coin and put it in his hand.

‘Thanks very much, son.’

Shirley slid back in the bath and could feel the hot, soapy water relaxing her. Her little transistor radio was playing quiet, soothing music. It was so lovely, she could have gone to sleep. In fact, she was almost drifting off...

Dolly popped her head round the door. ‘We’re just off.’

Shirley jerked awake, sending water splashing over the side.

‘Oh, sorry, did I make you jump?’

‘No, it’s all right,’ Shirley said, taking a breath. ‘You don’t mind me not coming, do you, Dolly?’

‘It doesn’t take three of us to pick up a book, love. See you later.’ She gave her a private smile. ‘Have a nice time, darlin’.’

Shirley sunk low down into the suds again and closed her eyes. She waited to hear the front door shut, so she could finally be alone. She was sick and tired of the house.

The front door slammed and Shirley’s whole body relaxed.

She opened her eyes again. Linda was always here, though. Even though she was dead.

She tried to conjure up Micky Tesco’s face in her mind, some of his expressions. Funny, the soapsuds smelt like him; he smelt so clean, like a bar of Camay soap. She laughed at the thought of Micky Tesco sitting in the bath, washing himself with pink Camay. Then she saw Linda’s toothbrush. Only Linda would have a Mickey Mouse toothbrush. She saw a vision of her brushing her teeth with the silly thing, and all thoughts of Micky vanished.

Arnie Fisher was having a helluva day. He’d schlepped all the way to the prison to see his brother, but once he got there he’d had nothing but complaints from him about not having any visitors. Arnie had spoken to the governor; he suspected that Tony was having some kind of nervous breakdown. Life on the inside was tough.

But life was getting tough on the outside, too. The club was really going downhill, and business was lousy. Arnie was going to have the place done over, completely redecorated; try and get a better class of punter in. All these things were flashing through Arnie’s mind, so he didn’t catch the nervous looks between the waiters.

‘Oi,’ Arnie shouted, ‘any of you seen that ape, Murphy?’

He felt a looming presence behind him, and turned to see Murphy pushing his rimless glasses up his nose.

‘I’m right here, guv’nor.’

‘Well, I’m bloody glad you are,’ Arnie said quickly, recovering himself. ‘You’re supposed to be on the door. That’s what I’m payin’ you for. That’s what I’m payin’ all these useless idiots for. I just walked through the club an’ I could ’ave been anybody — any Tom, Dick or Harry! We’re not open yet, right? I don’t like people comin’ in an’ out!’ Arnie carried yattering on as he climbed the stairs. He undid his overcoat and tossed it over his shoulder to Murphy, who was following behind.

Arnie opened a door and bellowed into the room: ‘Gloria!’ He turned to Murphy. ‘You see what happens? I’m not here one half of a day, and what happens? The whole place falls apart!’ He opened the door to his office. ‘You see what I mean, Murphy?’ Then he froze.

Seated at his desk, lounging back in his chair, was Harry Rawlins. Arnie’s stomach churned and he thought he was going to be sick. He took a deep breath. Please not on the new carpets.

Standing close to Rawlins was a kid he’d never seen before. Good-looking boy, but Arnie still didn’t like the look of him.

Arnie took a step back and felt Gordon Murphy behind him. He turned, and Murphy pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose with a crooked smile. The double-crossing bastard!

He watched the blond boy almost skip round the desk, gesturing for him to sit in one of his own chairs.

Rawlins leaned on his elbows. He nodded to the blond boy. ‘Get him a drink. The man looks as if he’s seen a ghost.’

Arnie began sweating. He watched the blond boy go to the drinks cabinet.

‘I’m taking over the club,’ Rawlins said, deadpan.

Arnie’s mouth gaped open, his eyes wide, and Rawlins laughed. ‘Just for one night, Arnie! Just for one night!’

Arnie saw the boy filling a glass with his best brandy as if it was cheap whisky. Christ almighty! Then he realized it was just what he needed, and reached out to take the glass. Arnie’s hand was shaking as he swallowed half the brandy in one go, feeling the hot liquid burn its way down. He put the glass back on the desk, pleased to see his hand was steadier. But he didn’t feel any less anxious.

‘We’re throwing a little party, Arnie. You wanna come?’ Rawlins said without smiling.

He got up and came round the desk. For a moment, Arnie thought he was going to smash him in the face, but instead Rawlins put out his hand and said, ‘Is that a deal, Arnie? Let me take over the club for a night?’

Arnie swallowed and nodded, trying to make light of it. ‘I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?’

Rawlins leaned back against the desk. ‘No, Arnie, you don’t.’

Bella was uncharacteristically subdued as Dolly drove to the lock-up, just staring out of the window. Eventually Dolly broke the silence.

‘So who’s this bloke Shirley’s going out with?’

Bella shrugged. ‘Some friend of Shirley’s mother.’

‘You know she’s pregnant,’ said Dolly.

Bella whipped round. ‘What, Shirley? She never told me!’

Dolly shook her head. ‘No, her mother.’

‘Oh, right. That’s all Shirley really wants, deep down — getting married, having kids. I mean, she likes the money, the flash clothes, but basically she’s not like you and me, Dolly.’

Dolly wondered if she and Bella were as alike as she thought.

‘Don’t you want marriage and kids?’

Bella shook her head. ‘Me? Kids? Nah, that’s not for me.’ She was silent for a while, then quietly she said, ‘I reckon I lost my chance.’

Dolly knew she was talking about the man in Rio. Gently, she said, ‘Maybe you can go back to Rio and patch things up?’

She felt Bella tense.

‘It’s over, Dolly. Finished. But he was a good man, decent. Guess he just couldn’t really handle my kind.’

Dolly didn’t pick up on ‘my kind,’ just let it drop. They pulled in alongside the lock-up. Both of them looked at the old place, and it was Bella who said, ‘Well, I never thought I’d come back here.’

‘You and me both,’ said Dolly.

They got out of the car, and Dolly searched in her handbag for the keys. From where they were standing it was obvious that there had been some changes in the row of lock-ups. One, in particular, had been done up, with freshly painted doors and a large sign saying Mercury Stationery Depot. The lock-up sandwiched between this and Harry’s place looked defunct, but scrawled across its doors in white paint were the words, ‘Property of Mercury Depot.’

Dolly unlocked the door and they walked into Harry’s lock-up. For a moment they just stood and looked round. Nothing seemed to have changed; it was still cavernous, dark and dank, with water dripping from the ceiling. They heard a train rumbling overhead. They made their way to the annex at the back, and Dolly removed the padlock and slid the door aside. As soon as they were inside the familiar space, it all started flashing through their minds: the raid, all the time they had spent working here, respraying the van. It was all a long time ago, but it felt like yesterday.

Dolly suddenly wanted to find her coat and get out as fast as she could. She went to the small kitchenette and checked behind the door. No coat.

‘You find it, Dolly?’

‘No.’

Bella started searching round, lifting up boxes. Dolly went further into the kitchenette. She remembered how they’d first come here, just after she’d been told that Harry was dead. Her stomach churned, and she remembered how she’d clung on to the kitchen sink to stop herself falling, trying not to weep. Now the memory just made her angry. She hated Harry even more, hated him for what he’d done to her.

She began searching the kitchen. There were the coffee mugs they’d used. She picked up a packet of biscuits. There was something wrong: the biscuits were fresh. She picked up a coffee mug. The dregs were still warm.

‘Bella,’ Dolly said quickly, ‘we’d better get out. Somebody’s using this lock-up.’

Shirley put on her underslip and sat at the dressing table. She brushed her hair, then plugged in the Carmen rollers and studied her face. She got out all her pots of make-up, then looked at her watch. Micky wasn’t due for more than an hour. Plenty of time to make herself look wonderful for him. She got up and switched on the radio. The disc jockey was saying, ‘Now, ladies and gentlemen, climbing up the charts we have the new single, “Widows’ Tears.”’

Shirley hummed along for a while. She looked at herself again in the dressing table mirror. It was true: widows’ tears didn’t last forever. There was a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘Micky, oh Micky...’ she whispered.

With Arnie Fisher onside and the venue set up, Harry’s next task was sorting out the guests. Back at his new pad, he began making a list.

Tesco remembered his date with Shirley and looked at his watch. ‘You still want me round, Harry?’

Harry nodded. ‘I’m gonna give you this list of names, and I want you to personally invite each of them. No mention of me; just say there might be a little bit of business going on, right?’

‘OK.’ Tesco cursed silently, went to the bedroom, shut the door and picked up the phone.

Harry was trying to remember everybody he’d ever worked with. He swore under his breath. If only he had the ledgers, it would make things a lot easier. All the names were in there. Now he sat back and tried to recall every job, all the faces and the names. Who would be the best men to use on the robbery, he wondered? He made careful notes, wondering what the hell Micky was doing in the bedroom. He poured himself a glass of wine from a bottle chilling in the fridge and gulped it down. He was beginning to feel good again, feeling like his old self. He went into the bathroom, turned the taps on, saw the Badedas and smiled. He squirted some into the water. Why not? he thought.

In the lounge, he picked up his list. Micky was standing there, looking anxious.

‘Those the men you want?’

‘Yeah, just check ’em over for me.’

Micky sighed. ‘What’re you gonna do, Harry?’

Harry was walking toward the bedroom. ‘I’m gonna take a bath — if that’s all right with you, Micky?’

Micky shrugged. Harry went into the bedroom and Micky checked the time. He was going to be late for Shirley. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he would make the date at all.

Dolly had searched every corner of the lock-up, and still no raincoat. Bella was rummaging in the old filing cabinet.

‘You sure it’s here, Dolly?’

Dolly shook her head. ‘I dunno where it is. Maybe I never left it here. It’s just that I could have sworn I did. You remember the way I used to hang it behind the door?’

Bella was now on her knees, searching the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet.

‘I think we should go, Bella. Somebody’s using this place and if they come in now we’re trapped back here.’

Another train rumbled overhead and Dolly shivered.

Bella held up a notebook. It was red. ‘Is this it, Dolly?’

‘No, it’s a black book, a little black book.’ She turned away. The drip, drip of the water, the damp and the cold were getting to her. ‘Bella, I want to get out of here, I can’t stand this place.’

Bella straightened up. She had a sheaf of papers in her hand. She spread them out on the orange boxes.

‘Dolly, look at this lot!’ She unfolded a large sheet — architect’s drawings.

‘For Christ’s sake, Bella!’ Dolly walked out of the annex — and suddenly caught sight of what looked like the sleeve of her raincoat poking out from under one of the trucks.

‘There it is, Bella, look! There’s the coat! Somebody must have chucked it under here.’ She pulled it out and searched in the pockets. ‘Got it! I’ve got the notebook!’

Bella was still poring over the papers, opening one after the other. ‘I think you’d better take a look at these, Dolly. What d’you think all this is?’

Dolly looked over Bella’s shoulder, holding on tightly to the notebook. Then she picked up a sheet of paper. ‘This is Harry’s writing.’ She studied the plans. ‘Do you know what this is? Vans, motorbikes... Good God, it’s a route! Security vans! Bella, he’s planning another raid!’

Micky could hear Harry whistling in the bedroom when the doorbell rang. About bloody time!

The blonde standing at the door wasn’t bad, but she was a bit older than he’d expected.

‘You Micky?’ she asked. ‘Micky Tesco?’

‘Yeah, that’s right, darlin’. Come in.’ He shut the door. ‘I want you to be very nice to a friend of mine.’

She smiled. ‘Oh, I can be very nice. You know what I charge, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, yeah, there’s no problem. He’s a very important man, so you make sure he has a good night, you understand me? What did you say your name was?’

‘Sharon,’ said the blonde.

‘Right, Sharon, let’s wheel you in, then, shall we?’

He guided the girl toward the bedroom door, tapped and pushed it open. Harry was in his dressing gown, combing his hair in front of the mirror.

‘What d’ya want?’

‘Got a little present for you, Harry.’ Micky grinned. ‘Something you might enjoy.’

Harry turned with a puzzled look and saw Sharon standing behind Micky. The blonde hair, the over-made-up face, the seductive smile. He turned back to the mirror.

‘Get her out of here.’

‘Hey, come on, Harry! She only wants to be nice to you! You wanna be nice to him, don’t you, Sharon?’

‘Get her out, Micky, just get her out!’

Micky hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do next. Sharon gave him a wink, and then went over and put her hands on Harry’s shoulders.

‘It’s up to you, darlin’.’ She slid her fingers gently down his back. ‘You want me to go, I’ll go.’

Harry heard the door close. He turned toward her and she took a step back, let him look at her.

‘Take your coat off.’

Sharon obliged. She had a good figure, nice legs. Maybe she’d do, after all. Besides, he was a bit tense. It’d been quite a while.

‘You want me to stay then, do you?’

Harry smiled. ‘Yeah... Yeah, I guess you can stay.’

Sharon turned her back to him and wriggled her shoulders as an invitation for him to unzip her dress. He touched her hair and ran his finger down her neck.

‘What’s your name again, darlin’?’

‘Sharon.’ She reached round and began to unzip her dress herself. ‘What’s your name, then?’

He didn’t answer, just pulled her roughly toward the bed.

Trudie was occupying quite a luxurious suite at the Hilton Hotel in Sydney. It had taken her a while to get over the jet lag, and the baby had been fretful on the lengthy flight. The experience of first class travel and the flow of free champagne had made her very unsteady when the plane had landed. She still blamed the jet lag for her being so tired, and not the minibar, which was kept replenished by the attentive hotel staff. She was constantly drinking and ordering room service. She had, by now, become agitated that after numerous calls to hotel reception asking if a Mr. Rawlins had left a message, there was still no contact. She was even concerned about leaving the hotel in case he tried to reach her. She was disappointed when she went out for some cigarettes and formula for the baby and returned to the hotel hoping to see the blinking light on her telephone alerting her to a new message. There never was.

Shirley was beginning to think that she’d been stood up. She felt a fool, dressed to kill, sitting with the wine chilling in the ice bucket, two glasses, candles lit — and no date. She took a gulp of wine and looked at the clock again. Micky was three-quarters of an hour late. She was just pouring herself another when the doorbell rang. She’d been ready for nearly an hour, but now he was here she ran round the room in a panic, straightening the cushions, checking her face in the mirror.

When she opened the door, Micky’s arms were full of roses.

‘Wow, you look beautiful!’ he said.

She didn’t know what to say. Part of her was angry with him; part of her thrilled he was finally here.

She began stuttering like a stupid schoolgirl. ‘You’d... You’d better come in, then...’

‘Sorry I’m late, darlin’.’ He handed her the roses.

‘D’you want to come through into the lounge? I’ve got some wine. D’you drink wine?’

Micky followed her in. His eyes flitted round the room. It was quite nice, quite tasteful. There was more to this girl than he’d thought.

‘No, thanks, darlin’, I don’t drink. Nice place you’ve got here, Shirley.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’ She was holding the roses awkwardly in front of her.

‘Look, sorry about this, about bein’ late, but I had a bit of bother. Couple of property deals fallen through at the last minute. I don’t know how to say this, Shirley, but I’m not going to be able to stay. I wondered if... maybe we could do it another time?’

Shirley thought about all the trouble she’d gone to: the dress, make-up, hair, the wine. She bit her lip and said nothing.

Micky sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘So, you gonna tell me how it all went with Marion Gordon? The photographic session? Come on, come on, I wanna hear more!’

‘Well, you know, it went really well,’ she said in a quiet voice. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to stay.

‘And what about this job? I hear she’s got a big job lined up for you.’

She moved closer to him. ‘I was going to talk to you about that, Micky,’ she began nervously. ‘You see, it’s quite an important job she thinks I could do. It’s this big charity show at Amanda’s nightclub. Well, all the other girls are professional and, well, I’m gonna take some classes, but I wondered whether I wasn’t moving too fast.’

Micky took her hand. ‘What? How d’you mean?’

‘Well, I don’t want to blow it, you know what I mean? I think maybe I should take things slower. It wouldn’t be good if I blew it on my first job.’

Micky pulled her toward him. ‘Darlin’, you’re not gonna blow it. Marion’s a real pro — if she thinks you can do it, you can do it. What you gettin’ all jumpy for?’

‘Well, I just... I just don’t want to run before I can walk.’

‘Come on, Shirley...’ He tilted her head and kissed her neck. ‘You’re gonna be a star!’

‘Well, if you think I can do it...’

‘I don’t think, darlin’, I know it.’ He pulled her closer and kissed her mouth, very softly. He could feel her softening, moving toward him. He took the roses out of her hand and chucked them onto the sofa, then put his arms round her. He looked into her eyes. ‘You can do anything you want, Shirley. It’s been a long time since I’ve turned up at a girl’s door, arms full of roses like a big kid. It’s you, Shirley...’

Shirley could feel herself melting. He made her feel like a real woman, the way he touched her; he seemed to know exactly what to do. There was no fumbling, no schoolboyishness with Micky. She felt him slowly unzip her dress, felt it slip down to her waist. He kissed her shoulder very softly, and again she smelt that lovely cologne on him. Shirley bent and kissed his neck. She wanted him badly. She hadn’t felt like this for years, not even with Terry. She wanted him there and then, on the carpet. It excited her, almost frightened her.

What she didn’t see was Micky taking a swift look at his watch, wondering if he had the time to give her a quick one before he went and rounded up all those fellers that Harry wanted. The truth was, she was getting him excited, too.

Turns out she’s a right little goer. Just shows you, he thought, you never know what girls are like. He pulled away from her and smiled.

‘Who’s a naughty girl, then?’

Shirley laughed, then took Micky’s hand and led him up the stairs to her bedroom. She could hardly believe that she was doing this.

Micky quickly glanced at his wristwatch again. Yeah, he could still do it, if it was quick.

Dolly and Bella made sure they returned the plans to the drawer exactly as they had found them, and then double-checked that everything in the lock-up was exactly as it had been. Dolly’s heart was thudding inside her chest as she turned off the lights, terrified that Harry was about to walk in and find them. She was first out, running toward the car.

Dolly waited while Bella finished locking up, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. Then suddenly Bella veered off toward the Mercury depot.

‘Bella, come on!’ Dolly called out, but Bella just shook her head and gave her a wave. Dolly watched her knock on the small door within the big double doors and go inside. Dolly gave the steering wheel a bang with her fist, then got out of the car and followed her.

Unlike the lock-up, the depot was almost too bright, with strip lights hanging low on chains. Shelves lining the white walls were stacked with cartons of paper. Two printing machines hummed, while somewhere in the background they could hear the sound of Annie Lennox. Two young guys — one wearing a vivid sweater with a sheep bounding across the back, and the other in a torn T-shirt and jeans — were bent over a table, deep in conversation...

Bella was slightly taken aback by their public school accents.

She coughed. ‘You own the place next door?’

The boy with the sheep sweater looked up, nodded his head, then turned back to the table. For a moment Bella thought she’d lost her touch. Then the guy in the T-shirt turned and started giving her the once-over.

‘Are you using it?’ she asked, with her most seductive smile. ‘I’m from a film company. Maybe we could use it for a shoot, if it’s empty?’

Dolly stood in the doorway, wondering what Bella was up to.

‘What company?’ asked the sweater guy.

‘Feminist. You wouldn’t have heard of us.’ She jerked her thumb toward Dolly. ‘My assistant.’

The two men looked at each other. The T-shirt guy fiddled with the cassette player, putting on the other side of the Annie Lennox album.

Bella was starting to get frustrated with their laid-back attitude. She turned and looked at Dolly, who just shrugged, flummoxed by the whole procedure.

‘How long would you want it for?’ the sweater guy said eventually.

Bella pretended to show interest in the sheets of paper coming out of the printer. ‘Oh, just a couple of weeks. Depends...’

Dolly moved quickly to Bella’s side and gave her a slight push. They moved a little way off.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Dolly whispered. Behind them the T-shirt guy searched in a drawer, then brought over a set of keys.

‘It’s in a pretty bad state. We’ve only just finished renovating this one. We haven’t had a chance to do it up yet.’ He gave Bella a smirk. ‘I can show you round if you like.’

At that moment Harry drew up outside in the metallic gold Jag he was driving while the old one was being repaired. In the passenger seat was a tall man wearing a navy coat with a velvet collar. Colin Soal was a snappy dresser, but he needed to be in his line of business. He was basically a conman, someone who lived on his wits, and men like Harry Rawlins often used him when they needed a smooth-talking front man. It was Soal’s job to sort out a place; with his chat he could get in anywhere, mix with anyone, and with his photographic memory, he could have a building analyzed in minutes: entrances, exits, locks, windows, alarms, how many men would be required for a job — everything.

Soal’s heyday was in the past, however. Once upon a time he’d been the best in the business, but on closer inspection there was a certain seediness about him now, his shirt-sleeves slightly frayed, a touch of dandruff on his collar. Soal was hurting for cash and Harry smelt it the moment they met up. Even before Harry started telling him about the job, he knew he’d do it. He just hoped he still had what it takes.

The two men entered Harry’s lock-up.

Bella was negotiating with the print-shop boys. They had at first asked for two-fifty a week. Bella had laughed and offered a hundred, and they’d met in the middle: two weeks for one-fifty a week, cash up front.

Dolly got more and more tight-lipped as she listened to the bargaining, eventually stepping forward and telling the boys in a sarcastic tone that she’d like a word with her producer.

‘Just give me the money,’ Bella told her, holding her hand out.

Dolly counted it out while the guys watched, then turned and walked toward the door.

Bella slowly counted out the money into sweater guy’s palm. He smiled, maybe even coming on to her a tiny bit. Perhaps he’d realized she wasn’t just another of the hookers hanging round the area. Maybe she really did work for a film company. The older woman certainly seemed straight.

‘Sure you don’t want me to show you round?’

Bella smiled. ‘Thanks, but we’ll check it out ourselves.’

He handed over the keys with a shrug. Their hands touched, and she looked him in the eye. She ran a finger down his chest.

‘Nice.’

He looked confused for a moment, then reached for her hand. She pulled it away before he could grab her.

‘The sweater — very nice.’

He watched Bella saunter out, then turned to his pal and they both grinned. The woman might be a tease, but a hundred and fifty a week! Cash! And the boss would never know.

Bella was confronted with a furious Dolly, still wanting to know what Bella thought she was doing. Three hundred quid, for what? And why? They were arguing so intently, neither noticed the Jag — and the red E-type now parked behind the gold Jag.

‘He’s plannin’ a raid, right?’ Bella said as the door to the next-door lock-up creaked open. ‘You’re not the only one with ideas, Dolly. Come on.’

The hinges were rusty, and the door was hard to close behind them. Inside, the place was even danker and darker than Harry’s lock-up, with pools of stinking water and duckboards squelching under their feet as the water rose over them.

Dolly looked down at her suede shoes and sighed. Bella picked her way round the wrecked cars, most without engines or wheels, their windscreens shattered. A train passing overhead seemed to shake the place to its foundations, and Dolly was afraid the roof was going to fall in. She stopped, with one soaked shoe caught between the boards.

‘I’m not going any further, Bella. Bella?’

Dolly could hear her moving about. She inched forward in the darkness, squinting. She could make out Bella’s silhouette as she lifted an orange box.

Then Bella’s voice, a hoarse whisper, ‘Dolly! Up here, come up here.’

Bella was now standing on the box, face pressed to the wall. The cement and bricks had been chipped away, and there was a chink of light coming through from Harry’s lock-up next door.

‘Somebody’s next door, listen!’

She helped Dolly up onto the box. Dolly leaned forward and peered through the crack.

Bella heard a scratching, rustling noise. She looked down — two rats nosed their way out of the box, which had obviously been their nesting place.

‘Oh my God, rats,’ she hissed, reaching out for Dolly.

Dolly swiped her hand away, hard, and pressed her face closer to the wall. Bella watched her, afraid to move.

Dolly could see him, almost directly in front of her. She could hardly believe it: Harry, smiling and drinking, just feet away. Her heart was pounding, and she felt like running, but she couldn’t look away.

A young blond man sat on an orange crate, with his back to the wall. An older man in a blue coat was taking plans from his briefcase and laying them out carefully on another crate. He stood back.

Harry nodded to the man in the coat, then pulled up another box and sat down. ‘The layout, gentlemen.’

DI Fuller stretched, yawned and looked at his watch. It had been a long and tedious afternoon, and now it was almost evening.

Reynolds put the last of the files in the ‘Out’ tray. They were all done; all up to date. The phone rang just as Fuller was about to reach for it to call his wife. He’d forgotten to let her know he’d be late, something he’d been guilty of several times recently, and she’d begun a campaign of silence in retaliation. He’d come home to find his dinner left on the table, cold, the place neatly laid for one. She’d have retired to bed early to watch their small color TV, giving him a frosty look and shrugging away from him when he attempted to apologize. She could make it last, too. They’d sit in bed and silently watch some trite late-night American series, and as soon as it was over she’d turn on her side, switch off the bedside lamp and shut her eyes. Fuller would lie there and sigh, feeling the tension build, knowing he wouldn’t sleep despite being dog-tired. What was she getting so bloody ratty about, just because he was late? It wasn’t as if they had kids and he was neglecting his parenting duties.

Night after night, when he had finally dropped off, it was into a fitful sleep, which left him with a headache in the morning. And then it was his turn not to speak, getting his own breakfast and slamming out of the house.

Fuller decided he wouldn’t pick up and reached for his overcoat instead.

Reynolds answered the phone and Fuller waited, dreading the familiar: ‘It’s your wife.’

Instead, Reynolds walked round the desk, his hand over the mouthpiece.

‘It’s that bloke again, wanting Resnick. Third time today.’

Fuller relaxed, relieved he didn’t have to go through the nagging with Reynolds listening.

‘What’s he want?’

Reynolds shrugged, and Fuller jerked the phone out of his hand. Reynolds could be annoyingly indecisive at times.

‘Yes? You want Resnick? Well, he’s retired, no longer here, you understand?’ Fuller listened, tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘My name? Detective Inspector Fuller... yes, Fuller.’

Fuller made to put the phone down, then suddenly clamped it to his ear and started scrambling for a pad and pen with his other hand.

‘What time? I’ll be there. Hang on, this friend of yours, does he have a name? Hello, hello?’

He slowly replaced the receiver and looked at what he’d written. Then he looked at Reynolds and grinned. ‘I told you that thirty thousand reward would bring somethin’ in, didn’t I? Well, it just did. Our friend—’ Fuller tapped the phone — ‘our friend thinks somebody just tried to palm him some of the money from the underpass raid.’

Reynolds felt a surge of adrenaline. ‘Did he give a name?’

Fuller shook his head. ‘Just a meet. But that’s all we need.’

‘You think Resnick would know who he is?’

‘Resnick’s not going to help us with anything.’ Fuller picked up his umbrella with a tight smile. ‘Well, screw him, then.’ And with that, he pushed through the swing doors and left.

Colin Soal spoke softly, his accent meandering from Old Etonian to Cockney. He spoke with authority, though, and Harry and Micky listened intently.

‘This is a tricky one, all right. You got no access from either of the toilets or the ground-floor windows — they’re all barred — so you got to come in through the kitchens, and they’re like a bleedin’ rabbit warren, lots of small rooms, very dodgy. Then your front entrance — again, two corridors, plus a cloakroom. Fire exits lead out of the building on three levels; that’s fine, get a man in on each level, move in from there, it’s the only way. Come in front, kitchens and fire escapes, doors are a baby’s turn, just need a jimmy, but I reckon you’ll be coping with at least six or seven security guards, two at the front, one at the back, two on the ballroom doors and two with the jewels.’

Soal dropped his gold pen, leaned back and looked at Harry, then at Micky. ‘Need at least seven men to do it right, or forget it.’

Harry had heard enough; how many men were required was his business. The meeting was over. With a nod to Micky to begin packing up the plans, he reached for his coat.

‘You’re invited to the do, of course, Colin.’

Dolly was stiff from trying not to move or make any noise, and Bella took over her position. After a few seconds she turned to Dolly and showed her four fingers for four men: another man had been sitting, unseen by Dolly, to one side. Then Bella pressed her face against the wall again.

Murphy helped Colin Soal into his overcoat. Harry caught Murphy’s eye and beckoned him over with a jerk of his head. Harry put his arm round Murphy’s shoulder and turned him round, so they had their backs to Colin and Micky.

‘Any problems with the money? Decent exchange?’

Murphy was happy Harry was being matey with him again; it made him feel the cock-up on the heath had been forgotten.

‘Yeah, it all went without a hitch. I used Sonny Chizzel.’

Rawlins breathed in sharply. ‘Keep an eye on him, he’s a bit... I wouldn’t trust him further than I could throw him.’ He gave Murphy a friendly pat on the shoulder, then turned back to Micky and Colin.

‘Nice job, very impressive,’ Micky was saying. ‘So how you gonna come and go on the day?’

Colin dusted the dandruff from his collar, then reached down for his briefcase. He didn’t like this blond boy; he was too young, too pushy, and far too good-looking. He never trusted the good-looking ones; they were usually the ones that shat in their pants when things got heavy.

Micky realized that Colin didn’t think he was worth talking to. He wasn’t about to let himself be humiliated in front of Harry. ‘Come on, Colin. How you gonna do it?’

Without looking up, Colin Soal used his poshest, smoothest voice. ‘Press photographer. I’ve snapped them all, all the top models, don’t you know?’

Micky raised his eyebrows. ‘You got cameras, all the gear, then?’

Colin Soal looked at Harry, just a flick of his eyebrows, but it said ‘get this kid off my back’ as clearly as if he’d said it out loud.

‘Good night, Micky,’ Harry said, and again Micky felt the brush-off.

One of these days he’d have it out with Harry, put the man straight. No more ‘do this, fetch me that.’ They were partners. Yeah, one of these days, Harry would find out what Micky was really all about.

He walked out, giving Colin a wink on the way.

Murphy picked up his faded coat and, with the air of a good butler, folded it over his arm, nodded in turn to Harry and Colin, then followed Micky out.

Colin jerked his head after the disappearing Murphy. ‘He’s not changed, has he? Doesn’t look any older. I’d watch that kid, though; pushy little sod.’

Harry didn’t reply, just opened the briefcase from Sonny Chizzel and took out £2000, closing it quickly, so Colin couldn’t see how much was in it. Good as Colin was, he wouldn’t trust him any more than Sonny Chizzel.

‘You still not interested in coming in on the action, Colin? Fifty G each, man, and that’s just for starters; there could be even more.’

Harry saw Colin thinking it over, then shake his head. Colin might be short of cash — but he wasn’t that short. Still, plenty of time to work on him, Harry thought, and he was definitely tempted.

Harry handed him the cash, and with no show of embarrassment Colin counted it, then tucked it into his wallet.

‘I’m gettin’ a bit long in the tooth to be wielding the old shooters, Harry, but I’ll complete the layout as agreed, get it all sewn up for you. There won’t be a door in that place you don’t know about — that and the tip-off. But I want to be clean away before the aggro starts, agreed?’

‘Sure, Colin.’

‘To be honest, Harry, I don’t fancy your chances of pulling it off. You’re gonna need the best there is on this one.’ Colin hesitated, and Harry frowned. What was he hedging about?

Colin picked up his briefcase, then put it down again. ‘Word is out on you, Harry. Plenty of people won’t touch you; they reckon you ditched those men, let them burn alive. Joe Pirelli and Terry Miller were good blokes, well liked.’

Harry just wanted Colin out now. Stupid prick with his fancy voice and holes in his shoes.

‘There’s a new DI,’ Colin continued, oblivious. ‘Took over from that old bloke Resnick. Name’s Fuller, and I hear he’s a right bastard, pulls in anyone just to feel the material on their suits. He’s straight, and he’s got the finger on everyone. You gotta be careful, Harry.’

Harry guided Colin to the door, resisting the urge to give him a kick in the arse to send him on his way. ‘You know what, Colin? There’s never been a copper, sitting behind a fancy desk or walking the beat, that couldn’t be bought. All you need is the right amount of cash.’

Bella didn’t move a muscle until the lights went out and she heard the door clang shut behind Harry, then she let out a deep breath. She looked at Dolly, standing hugging herself, her knuckles white.

‘We’ve got him this time, Dolly. My God, we know enough to pull it ourselves.’

Dolly didn’t answer, just walked back to the door, sloshing through the water without noticing it now.

Bella hurried to catch her up. ‘Come on, it was a joke! Just a joke, Dolly.’

Still Dolly kept walking. When they reached the door she fumbled for the keys.

‘But we can get him this time, Dolly. We can really set him up this time.’

Dolly shivered, her teeth chattering. She felt frozen to the bone. All she wanted to do was get out, get away from this place, away from Bella. The vision of Harry’s smiling face wouldn’t go away. What had really scared her, made her sick to her stomach, was that even after all this time, she wanted to cry out to him, call his name. Those twenty years couldn’t be blanked out; twenty years she had loved him and no one else. Even now she clung to a pitiful dream that Harry was really only waiting for her to contact him, and then they would be together again, just as it had always been. But it was a dream; the house had gone, the home they had built up, all gone. She had all the money, but it didn’t mean anything to her, not without him, and it was this she couldn’t face — that everything was gone, ruined, destroyed, except her love. Even now Dolly couldn’t stop herself loving him, a man who was not worth—

‘Dolly! Dolly, you all right?’

She came to as if out of a drugged sleep. For a moment she didn’t know who she was, then it swept over her, like a dark cloud blocking out the sky. There was no way out for her, she just had to keep going — but to what end?

Trudie had been presented with an invoice from the hotel that scared her as she’d had no concept of the cost of her room, or of how much the constant supply of room service would be.

There had still been no contact from Harry, and she began to worry that the money would run out. Harry had only sent her a one-way flight and she had no way of discovering whether or not he was coming to join her, or where he was as he hadn’t left her any contact details.

She rang her sister Vera and, in typical Trudie fashion, had not thought about the time difference. Vera was woken in the middle of the night in her home in Devon by Trudie asking if anyone had called for her. Vera hadn’t heard from Trudie for months.

‘Why would anyone call here for you?’ Vera said sleepily.

‘Are you sure there’s been nobody asking where I am?’ Trudie had to make sure she didn’t make any reference to Harry Rawlins, as she knew he was wanted by the police.

‘Do you know what time it is? Where on earth are you?’

‘I can’t tell you.’ Trudie could feel the panic rising as she said that she would call again and asked if it would be possible for her to stay in Devon. She also asked that if someone should call for her, just to say that she was still at the hotel.

Micky was driving fast, and Murphy hated fast drivers. His mother had almost been killed by an idiot like Micky. He glanced at the speedo: eighty-five. Eighty-five miles an hour down the bleeding Euston Road. He looked at Micky.

‘You in a hurry to get someplace? Take it a bit slower, son.’

In answer, Micky put his foot down and they hit ninety through the underpass, shooting the lights at Marylebone Road.

Murphy grabbed Micky’s arm. ‘If you don’t slow down, I’m going to put the bleedin’ handbrake on.’

Micky grinned, taking his foot off the gas a little. ‘Can’t take it, Murphy?’

‘I’ll take anything you want to dish out, any time, any place, son,’ Murphy assured him. ‘But getting picked up for speeding just before a blag is fuckin’ idiotic.’

Micky slowed to forty and drove on in silence for a while. Then he started to tell Murphy about the whore he’d given Harry for a present, something to loosen up the tension.

Murphy looked out of the window; he hated tarts.

Micky prattled on, gave Murphy a sideways look and chuckled. ‘Next morning, she was sitting there waiting for me in her rabbit fur coat, in a right old state.’

Murphy pricked up his ears, interested now.

‘I paid her off, and then she says I should get my friend some vitamins or something — turns out Harry couldn’t get it up. It wasn’t for want of trying, neither; said she’d tried every trick in the book, but nothing doing.’

Micky was laughing as they pulled up outside Murphy’s council house. He was about to open the door when Murphy put a hand on his arm.

‘You need to get a few things straight, son,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘First off: loyalty. I don’t like hearing filthy gossip, you understand? You’re lucky enough to be working with one of the best, so you treat him with the respect he’s due. If that filthy slag is puttin’ round stories about the guv’nor, then you better give me her name.’ Murphy pushed his tinted glasses up his nose. ‘She’ll never be able to open her legs again, and the same goes for your mouth if you’re not careful. So learn to keep it shut.’

Then Murphy was out of the car, the door slamming behind him.

Micky slammed the steering wheel. ‘Prick.’

Murphy had made him feel like a ten-year-old kid. He thought about going round to see Shirley, then thought better of it. He’d given her a right old seeing-to; she might not even be up and walking yet. He roared off down the road, grinning.

Murphy opened his front door and closed it quietly behind him. He took off his shoes and crept into his mother’s room. Her bedside lamp was still on but she was fast asleep, her mouth open and her teeth in a glass by the bed. He tucked the bedclothes in, checked the electric blanket was off and took away the teapot and cup to wash. He left the light on, in case she woke up in the night.

In the kitchen, he made sure everything was spotless and in the right place, his breakfast dishes laid out ready for the morning. He had never got out of the habit of leaving his cup face down on the saucer, spoon at the side. In prison, some things you never forget.

Bella watched Dolly drive off. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the lock-up, and the drive back to the house had been made in uncomfortable silence.

Sometimes Dolly unnerved Bella, the way you couldn’t tell what she was thinking, what was going on in her head. Not like Shirley — or Linda. Bella bit her lip. Linda... poor Linda. She wasn’t coming home again, not now, not ever. And they’d let her be buried without so much as a single flower. Dolly had given them strict orders: no one was to contact the morgue or the Pirelli family. Linda would be laid to rest with Joe. Well, that was one thing, at least: the Pirelli family might have hated Linda, but in the end they had to let her be buried with him.

Bella slipped into the house. The hall light was on. She popped her head into the lounge and saw Shirley’s dress on the sofa. She turned the lights off and went quietly up the stairs. The landing was dark, and Bella pushed open Shirley’s bedroom door. She could see a vase of roses on each side of the bed, and Shirley sprawled out between them, with just a sheet over her, deeply asleep. Bella closed the door. It was strange, Shirley didn’t seem to have been affected by Linda’s death; she’d cried at first, but just as quickly it was over.

Bella undressed, tossing her clothes onto the spare bed — Linda’s old bed. She pulled back the covers and climbed in, not bothering to wash or clean her teeth.

Sleep wouldn’t come. She lay there, staring at the empty bed beside her, going over what had happened that night: the lock-up, Harry, the plans. Then she turned and whispered to the empty bed: ‘We’ll get him this time, Linda. This time we will.’

Dolly was exhausted. All she wanted was sleep, but like Bella, everything that had happened was churning over in her mind. Her feet were like lead as she turned the bend in the stairs up to her flat and saw Vic Morgan.

Her face fell. This was all she needed.

She opened her bag, not meeting his eyes, and searched for the keys. Morgan was holding a bunch of wilting flowers. He gave her a grin.

‘I’d just about given up on you.’

Dolly dropped the keys and he bent down to pick them up, glancing at her filthy shoes. It hadn’t been raining, and he wondered where she’d been. He fitted the key into the lock and opened the door.

‘Please leave me alone, Mr. Morgan. I’m very tired.’

Morgan tried to hand her the flowers but she wouldn’t take them. She just stood there, holding the door, frowning.

‘I wondered if we could have dinner one evening... or lunch? OK, cup of tea then? I’m not fussy.’

‘Oh, just take your flowers and get out, will you?’ she snapped angrily, turning to close the door.

He put his foot inside, not too forcefully, but she couldn’t shut the door.

‘D’you want me to start screaming the place down?’

Morgan knew she meant it. Her expression was cold and hard. She was hardly recognizable as the woman who had spent the night at his place. He slowly removed his foot and looked down at the flowers still in his hand.

‘Blimey, these look about as wilted as I am. I’ll get some fresh ones next time.’ He made no move to go.

‘All right, I’ll meet you for lunch,’ Dolly said, just wanting him to go away. ‘Next Saturday.’ It was far enough off that she didn’t have to think about it.

He grinned. ‘OK, good. Saturday. Lunch it is.’

The door slammed shut.

‘I’ll just leave these on the mat... if you want them,’ he called through the door. He laid the flowers down gently and started down the stairs. Halfway he stopped, hearing her door open. He crept back up to see Dolly reach down and pick up the flowers. She held them close to her, almost burying her face in the wilting heads, then she shut the door.

As Morgan turned back down the stairs, he could hear her sobbing.

The rain was pelting down and Fuller was in one of his moods as the patrol car turned through the gates of Regent’s Park. He’d had yet another silent breakfast, and now he had indigestion. He popped a tablet out of the packet in his pocket and put it in his mouth.

They were cruising slowly down the lane toward the cricket pavilion. ‘How close do you want, guv’nor?’ the driver asked.

Fuller tapped the driver’s shoulder. ‘Here will do.’ He turned to Reynolds. ‘You see him?’

Reynolds leaned forward and they both scanned the park, squinting to see through the rain.

‘There he is, sir.’

Sonny Chizzel was standing under a large golfing umbrella, facing the boating pond, throwing soggy bread to the ducks.

Fuller watched for a few moments, then hitched up his collar and got out. ‘Shit.’ He’d forgotten his umbrella. He began to walk briskly toward the boat house.

Reynolds leaned back, watching. ‘Right old mood he’s in this morning, isn’t ’e? Trouble at home, I reckon.’

The driver turned round, holding out a packet of cigarettes. Reynolds shook his head.

‘You’re probably right. He does his nut if he smells smoke in the car — starts spraying deodorizer all over the place.’ The driver put the cigarettes back in his pocket without lighting up.

They could see Fuller talking to the man with the umbrella, but both men were still facing away from them, toward the water. Fuller was gesticulating animatedly, shaking his head. Reynolds laughed as a goose went up behind Fuller and started nipping at his trousers. Fuller turned and shooed the bird away, then continued his discussion. Eventually the man with the umbrella moved off, and Fuller, with shoulders hunched, walked to a nearby bin and started rummaging through the refuse before he found what looked like an old Mother’s Pride wrapper. He jogged back to the patrol car and yanked open the door.

As Fuller dried himself off with his handkerchief, Reynolds opened the bag and found a slip of paper inside.

‘This is it?’ It was just a list of numbers.

‘I bloody well hope so. Should be serial numbers.’

Reynolds nodded. ‘Who was it?’

‘The Jewish Chronicle himself, Sonny Chizzel. Says a bloke wants to launder some cash, and it might tally with the missing dough from the underpass raid. He’s very cagey. We got something on him?’

Reynolds nodded and looked down the list of scrawled numbers. It should be easy enough to check them with the security firm.

Fuller prodded the driver’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get bloody going. I’m soaked to the skin.’ He took the list of serial numbers from Reynolds. ‘Sixty thousand quid. Reckon he’s been tapped, and he thinks he’ll make more from the reward. If these numbers are notes from the underpass raid, we’ll haul the little prick in.’

‘Did you offer him a deal?’ Reynolds asked.

‘Look, I could have offered him the Crown jewels — doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna come across. And definitely not with a bastard who won’t even let me under his brolly.’ Fuller blew his nose loudly. ‘First thing we do back at the office, we take another look at all those files Resnick hoarded and see if Mr. Chizzel’s in there somewhere...’

As they drove on toward the station, a radio message came though confirming that Sonny’s tail was in position.

Fuller rubbed his hands. ‘Good. I told them to make it obvious. Let him know we mean business.’

Bella opened up the door. She’d had a rotten night’s sleep, only finally getting into a nice dream just before the doorbell had woken her up, and there was Dolly, fresh as a daisy, giving her a ticking off for keeping her waiting for the whole world to see. Bella picked up the milk from the doorstep, peeled off the gold top and drank.

‘Don’t do that, it’s a filthy habit.’

Inside the kitchen, Dolly put her shopping bag on the table, then picked it up again and went to the sink for a wet cloth to wipe the table down.

‘Where’s Shirley?’

Bella, still drinking from the milk bottle, took the note that had been stuck to the fridge and handed it to her. Dolly read: ‘...dance class... modeling class.’ She ripped it up and dropped the pieces in the bin. ‘What did she say — about last night?’

Bella dropped a slice of bread in the toaster and pressed the switch down. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell her. She was dead to the world when I came in. And by the look on her face I’d say she got her rocks off well and good.’

Dolly made a sour face.

‘You get out of bed on the wrong side, huh?’

Dolly turned on her. ‘I came back here to work out how we’re going to exchange the money, now that we’ve found the book, but Shirley’s not even bloody here — she’s off dancing or modeling or Christ knows what, while we’re sat here twiddling our thumbs.’

Bella’s toast began to burn, and she fished it out of the toaster with a fork, then opened the fridge for butter.

‘Well, as soon as Sleepin’ Beauty gets back, we’ll sort it.’

Dolly sat down. ‘D’you have to treat everything as a joke?’

Bella slammed the butter dish down and let fly. ‘A joke? Do I think it’s a joke Linda’s dead? Do I think it’s a joke that I’ve lost the only decent thing I ever had in my life back in Rio? No, Dolly, I don’t think it’s a fucking joke.’ She glared at her and went back to furiously buttering her toast.

Dolly sighed, seeming to sag in her chair. ‘I’m sorry, Bella. It’s just I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking about whether it’s really going to work, watching the lock-up and then tipping off the law about the job, without Harry getting on to us. I just don’t know...’

Bella jabbed the air with her knife. ‘Don’t you worry about us, and don’t you treat us like idiots. It’s you he’s after, and you think we don’t know why? You wiped him out, Dolly — sent his girlfriend off to Australia. It’s you he’s after, not me, not Shirley... but it was Linda he killed.’

Dolly swallowed, then got up and put the kettle on. She leaned against the sink.

‘I underestimated you.’

Bella laughed. ‘If things had been different, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day, would you? Turnin’ tricks for a living’s not your style, is it, Mrs. Rawlins?’

Dolly blushed and turned away.

‘I got a tough hide, Dolly. And little Shirley’s not as sweet as she seems, neither. Next thing we do, we do it together, the three of us. No more ordering us about. What I want is Harry caught, and put away. Linda deserves that at least. And we can do it. We just have to hold our bloody nerve.’

Sonny Chizzel stood behind the door of his shop and peeked through the blind. The patrol car was still there. Bastards. What had they put a bleeding car on him for? Sonny shook out his wet raincoat and put his umbrella in the holder. The whole world and his mother would know something was going up, sitting directly outside like that, the sons of bitches.

Sonny went through into the back and put the kettle on, picked up his accounts and began checking the figures. Business was bad; the bottom seemed to have fallen out of the Louis Quatorze period and he hadn’t shifted half the stuff he’d been buying of late. Bloody fads, he thought, they come and they go, and he was left with a shop full of legit pieces that he couldn’t shift. It was then that he remembered the small ormolu clock under the counter. Sonny bustled back into the shop. There was thunder now, booming right over his head. He bent down to unwrap the clock, and the doorbell pinged. A customer. He scuttled to the door and opened it, but it was just some student, wanting to know if the magazine shop next door opened on Saturday. Sonny told him to piss off, and again he saw the police car sitting like a squat frog opposite. He was going to have to tread very carefully. If the cash Murphy had brought round was from the underpass raid he’d make a nice bundle, thirty grand. He could put the finger on Murphy, and that would get him off his back. The last thing he wanted was bastards like Murphy coming round with more cash and coming on heavy to make him change it. He was through with that; it wasn’t worth the risk anymore. And besides, his wife Sadie had made him promise to go on the straight and narrow.

Sonny decided to give her a call and tell her what he fancied for dinner. The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

‘Oh, it’s you. Hold on, I’m covered in flour. Let me get cleaned up.’

He waited for a minute, then she started speaking again, but her voice was muffled by the sound of running water. He just managed to catch the end of what she was saying. ‘...put on weight. I’m going to have to get your suit let out.’

‘What? What are you talking about, woman?’

‘Arnie Fisher’s club, I’m telling you. There’s a big do on — everyone’s invited. He said DJ so I’m going to need a new dress...’

‘Who said? A do at Arnie Fisher’s club? Why the hell would he invite us? I can’t stand the man, and he knows it. Ever since he tried to knock me down on that desk—’

‘Sonny, listen to what I’m saying,’ his wife interrupted. ‘It was a Mr. Murphy that rang, said his guv’nor wanted to meet you, and that you’d understand. Now, if I wear the red...’

Sonny put the phone down without hearing any more. Why was Murphy ringing up, and at his home? He didn’t like that. ‘His guv’nor’ — did he mean Arnie? Sonny paced up and down, his brain ticking over, trying to make sense of it.

Shirley was exhausted. She’d had a two-hour dance class, then worked out at Lucy Clayton’s, and on top of it practically killing her, it had cost her an arm and a leg. Still, the photos had turned out well, not that Marion deigned to see her when she’d turned up at the office; in fact, the girl on reception had seemed a little bit frosty.

‘You listenin’?’

Shirley snapped out of her reverie as Bella gave her a prod.

‘Yeah, of course I am.’

‘OK, we’re gonna go through each name in turn, see who offers us the best deal, right?’

Shirley thought they’d already agreed on it. Bella kept going on and on about all three agreeing, all three working together. Shirley wondered what the hell she thought they’d been doing up to now. Bella spoke to Shirley as if she was a retard.

‘The one that offers us the best deal we’ll go with, OK?’

Shirley sighed. Well, they wouldn’t go with the one that offered them the worst deal, for God’s sake. Surely all you had to do was ring the numbers and get on with it.

The phone rang and Dolly and Bella jumped. What are they so edgy about? Shirley wondered as she picked up the phone.

She put her hand over the receiver and mouthed ‘my mum,’ then listened while Audrey told her all about her visit to the clinic, how she’d had a scan, then had a test done, and the baby was normal, and it was a he — she was going to have a baby boy.

Shirley listened, rolling her eyes, while Dolly and Bella paced up and down, glaring at her.

‘Look, Mum, I’ve got to go.’ Then the pips started, but Audrey shouted that she had another ten pence, if she could just hold on...

‘Sorry, Mum.’ Shirley put the phone down.

Audrey sat with the coin in her hand, listening to the dialing tone at the other end of the phone. She sighed and put the receiver back in its cradle.

At the bus stop, she recognized a girl who’d been at the clinic.

She patted her stomach and smiled. ‘Well, I’ve had the test, and it looks like everything’s all right.’

The young girl just looked at her, then looked away.

‘And guess what? I’m going to have a boy,’ Audrey continued. ‘How about you?’

The girl scowled. ‘Me?’

She wanted to tell Audrey that, yes, her test had been positive, but that she’d been told she’d have to wait another three or four weeks for an abortion, and that was going to be shit because now she’d have to go through all the lies and the dramas and the Britsh Pregnancy Advisory Service, the concerned faces asking if she was sure, sure she didn’t want it, on and on.

But she didn’t say any of that. Instead she just turned her face away.

When the bus pulled up, the conductor shouted that there was only room for one.

The bus moved off, and the girl was left standing alone at the bus stop.

Sonny didn’t recognize the voice of the woman on the other end of the phone. She seemed nervous, asking twice if she was speaking to Sonny, Sonny Chizzel. He had a lot like her, usually flogging something they shouldn’t be.

‘Yes, this is Sonny. Now what can I do for you? I didn’t catch the name, darlin’?’

He listened while she told him what she was proposing.

‘Rawlins... You’re calling on behalf of Harry Rawlins?’

His hand was clammy as he put the phone down. His mind started racing. What if — dear God, pray that it wasn’t — but what if Murphy’s guv’nor turned out to be none other than Harry Rawlins? Sonny paced up and down. Rumor had it that he was alive. What if he was, and what if it had been his sixty grand? Sonny got more and more agitated. If Rawlins was behind the sixty grand that Murphy had brought to him, then he had just grassed him up.

Sonny went to the door and checked the police car was still there, his brain working overtime. Think, Sonny! Think! OK, it was still possible he could wriggle out of it. He’d never said a name, all they had were some of the serial numbers. He could feel his lunch coming up. Never a good idea to get involved with the likes of Rawlins. He had done once before and Harry had squeezed him dry. Now if Harry knew he’d grassed him up, then he was in real danger — or Sadie, or his—

Sonny had to run to the sink. He stood there retching, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The thought of anyone harming a hair of his daughter’s head, his lovely Dinah, was too awful even to think about. He had to get home, get away from that damned patrol car, get away and think, and work out what to do.

Fuller ran to the patrol car, with Reynolds trailing behind. Reynolds had never seen him so hyped up. The serial numbers Sonny Chizzel had given them matched some from the £60,000 stolen in the underpass raid. At last they had a solid link. Sonny Chizzel would be in line for the thirty grand reward money — but he’d have to cough up a lot more than a list of numbers before that.

As soon as they arrived at the shop, Fuller’s patrol car pulled in alongside the surveillance vehicle. Reynolds jumped out and ran to the shop door. The lights were on and Sonny’s raincoat and brolly were hanging on a coat-stand. Reynolds hammered on the door.

‘Round the back!’ shouted Fuller, jumping into the car.

His driver put the car in gear and screeched off round the corner. Reynolds took a couple of steps back, then put his shoulder into the door with a crash.

Sonny slipped out the back door without bothering to lock it and scuttled down the back alley, coming to a sudden halt when the patrol car appeared, blocking his exit. Fuller let the door swing open.

‘Hello, Sonny. In a hurry to get somewhere?’

Sonny turned to run back into the shop. Then he saw Reynolds walking calmly toward him. Too late. It was all too late. He held out his hands to indicate that he wasn’t going to make any more trouble, then walked to the patrol car and got in the back. Fuller moved over to make room for him.

‘Numbers match, Sonny,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘That money’s definitely from the underpass raid.’

Sonny’s head was pounding and he felt sick again. The passenger door slammed shut and Reynolds got into the front seat. Sonny tried to hide the fact that he was shaking.

‘Look, there’s n-n-no deal,’ he stammered. ‘The guy... he never called back.’

Fuller’s mouth tightened. He tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

As the car moved off, Fuller wound down his window. He could smell Sonny’s fear.

Somebody’s got to him, he thought.