Widows 2

Chapter Five

By the time they got to the station and put him in an interview room, Sonny had stopped panicking. During the journey in the patrol car he’d had time to think it through, and now he had it all straight in his head. Yes, the serial numbers tallied, but without the actual banknotes, and without Sonny giving them Murphy’s name, that’s all they had: a list of numbers.

Detective Chief Inspector Saunders joined Fuller and Reynolds to question him, really putting the pressure on, but Sonny stayed with his story: he had received a phone call from someone who refused to identify himself, the caller had given him the numbers and told him to contact the police. Sonny had agreed that if the numbers tallied with the underpass raid cash then they would split the £30,000 reward money fifty-fifty. That, Sonny insisted, was all he knew, and his partner, whoever he was, had not called him again.

The three policemen made him go over it all several times, trying to get him to contradict himself and trip himself up, but Sonny remained firm.

He knew they’d have got search warrants for his shop and his home while he was being questioned, hoping to find something that could help them break Sonny’s story, but he also knew there was nothing.

‘I’m a businessman,’ he told them. ‘Who’d turn their nose up at a bite of that reward money? But I run a legit business.’

It was 4:15 in the morning when they finally gave up. Sonny hadn’t even bothered to call his solicitor. They didn’t have enough to charge him, so he knew they’d have to let him go eventually.

‘Last time I try an’ help out the bleedin’ law,’ he muttered as he walked out of the interview room.

Fuller let himself into his flat. The place was in darkness; he tripped over something left in the hall.

‘Fuck.’

The bedroom light went on, then was turned off again.

Fuller went into the kitchen and switched on the light. Cold steak and kidney pie, mashed potatoes and peas stared up at him from a plate on the table. He sat down and started eating without taking his coat off. Sellotaped to the HP Sauce bottle was a note: Please don’t wake me up. Use the spare bedroom.

Fuller took his half-finished dinner to the sink and put the plate on the draining board. It was about the only thing out of place in the immaculate kitchen.

In the spare bedroom, Fuller made up the bed, tucking the ends of the sheets neatly under the mattress, just as he had been trained to do in the army. He loosened his tie and looked at his watch. It was now almost six in the morning, hardly worth even getting into bed. He got in anyway, without bothering to take off his clothes, and was asleep in seconds.

The following morning, Sadie Chizzel watched as the two officers went through the contents of the shop with a fine-toothed comb, examining items and checking the account books. She was sitting in a velvet chair, knitting contentedly. It didn’t bother her; she’d been through it all before on numerous occasions. They wouldn’t find anything out of place, anything not listed in the ledgers or the accounts. Sonny ran a good legitimate business; her father had taught him that.

Sadie saw the young red-haired officer glance over the books at her. She smiled and carried on knitting, thinking to herself that he didn’t look old enough to be in uniform, let alone plain clothes.

Reynolds sighed. They’d found nothing; every item in the shop had been listed meticulously, each purchase tagged, sale prices, everything.

He was just about to call it quits when he saw one officer bending over the counter. He came up with a small object wrapped in newspaper. Carefully, he unwrapped an ormolu clock.

Fuller woke to hear his wife Maureen banging round in the kitchen. He had a thudding headache. He threw off the bedclothes and got up. He had overslept. It was after ten. He examined his face in the mirror. He looked shattered.

Maureen was sitting with a cup of coffee, reading the Guardian. She didn’t even look up when Fuller walked in. He took a carton of fresh orange juice from the fridge and poured himself a glass.

‘Sorry if I woke you last night.’

She shrugged and turned the page, then flattened the paper and began to do the crossword. ‘There’s eggs, bacon, whatever you want,’ she said without taking her eyes off the puzzle.

Fuller ran the tap and rinsed out his fruit juice glass. ‘No time, overslept, better get off.’

He saw her pursing her lips. He put his hand on her shoulder.

‘Maybe tonight we could go out, eat someplace nice.’

Maureen sighed, shrugged off his hand, then turned. She didn’t seem angry, just resigned.

‘Do you want me to book the table?’

He bent down and kissed her cheek. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll get home early. We can dress up, make a night of it.’

She could tell he was eager to go, so she got up and walked with him to the front door. She opened it as he got into his raincoat. He looked beat, worn out.

He fished in his pocket and took out his wallet. ‘Why don’t you buy yourself something new?’

Maureen sighed and took the money. She had a wardrobe full of dresses she never wore, but she’d go out and buy something anyway. She’d try her best to have a nice evening, too, but the truth was she couldn’t take this much longer. It would be so much easier if they had kids; at least she would have something to occupy her time. She didn’t want a job; she’d only ever worked at the local estate agent’s as a receptionist and part-time secretary and she’d hated it. She was happy being a housewife; that was what she’d always wanted — a husband and kids. But how in the hell was she ever going to have any when she hardly saw him?

Fuller hovered a moment on the doorstep. She seemed to be deep in her own thoughts. Then she came back to herself.

‘Is it still this Harry Rawlins business?’

Fuller nodded. He didn’t want to go into details.

‘But we’re definitely going out, yes? I don’t want to get all dressed up and then you not turn up until the restaurant’s closed.’

‘Don’t you worry.’ He kissed her and walked to his car. He turned before getting in, but the door had already closed behind her.

Shirley tried another turn under the watchful gaze of Mrs. Hyde White. Along with ten other girls, she had enrolled in a two-week crash course at the Lucy Clayton model school. They were mostly debby types, who all seemed to know each other and giggled a lot. Mrs. Hyde White, an ex-model herself, paid them scant attention. But she seemed to think Shirley had potential, even if that meant directing more criticism at her.

Shirley crossed the large gym floor, trying to walk in time with the music. She didn’t mind being picked on and paid close attention to everything she was told. If she didn’t make a good turn, she went back and tried again — and kept going until she got it right.

Mrs. Hyde White took Shirley aside and made her walk alongside her, showing the spin turn on the base of the heel, making it look easy and natural. Shirley tried again, up and down, up and down.

‘Better. Now keep your head up! Stop looking at your feet!’

Mrs. Hyde White clapped her hands. ‘Now pay attention, girls.’ She began tossing out long drapes, and demonstrated how to tie them round their waists to act as trains. Then she switched tapes and heavy rock music started thundering through the studio. The girls huddled together and watched as Mrs. Hyde White moved across the room at an angle, tossing the train, spinning on her heels with head held high and a haughty expression.

A few giggles accompanied the hopeless attempts of the girls as they tripped over their trains, but Shirley quickly got the hang of it, beginning to swing her body from side to side, the way the catwalk girls did.

After dismissing the class, Mrs. Hyde White took Shirley to one side.

‘I’m quite pleased with the way you’re coming along. Have you thought very much about the future, what you want to do?’

‘Well, I already have an agent — Marion Gordon,’ Shirley replied rather self-consciously. ‘I really want to be a professional model.’

Mrs. Hyde White raised her carefully penciled eyebrows. ‘I see. Yes, well, Marion Gordon is certainly very... She has a very good eye for talent. I’m sure you’ll do very well.’

Shirley beamed. ‘Oh, thank you.’ She skipped back to the changing rooms.

Mrs. Hyde White watched her go. Marion Gordon. Well, you couldn’t deny she was very successful... but one did hear such dreadful stories.

Bella was lolling in the bath. She loved Shirley’s fancy bath oil. It almost smelt good enough to drink. She ducked her head under the soapy water, then came up to the surface, wondering if the oil was good for her hair. She heard the front door open and close below. If that was Dolly, she didn’t want her to catch her getting too relaxed. She stepped out of the bath and grabbed Shirley’s towel dressing gown.

Downstairs, Dolly was taking out her shopping and putting it on the kitchen table — rat poison, a torch and a loaf of bread. Bella popped her head round the door, her hair still dripping from the bath.

‘You know, as soon as Shirley gets back from her class, she’s off out again. She said as we hadn’t told her... It’s some fancy do; she’s got out all her frocks.’

Dolly shook her head, banging down a tin of corned beef.

‘Guess we’ll have to do it on our own, then.’

As he sat outside Shirley Miller’s house, his stomach rumbling, Vic Morgan could have kicked himself for not eating breakfast when he had the chance. The way things were going, he could be here for a while. He knew now that Shirley Miller was the widow of Terry Miller, killed in the underpass raid. And he had seen Dolly use her own key to enter the house — meaning the women were close friends. He sat up as a car pulled up outside the gate and an attractive blonde in a tracksuit got out.

Well, well, he thought. This had to be the one and only Shirley Miller.

Reynolds was beaming from ear to ear, his thin, freckled face aglow as he placed the ormolu clock on Fuller’s desk. He then laid a report in front of him.

‘Nicked three months ago from a house in Guildford, and valued at over £2000.’

Fuller looked at the clock and smiled. ‘You little beauty! Now we can pull Sonny in and charge him with handling stolen property. We’ll see if that loosens his tongue a little bit.’

Harry slipped into Arnie Fisher’s club and up the stairs to the offices. If any of the waiters preparing for the party saw him, they knew not to ask questions. They all had instructions that tonight was a private party, invited guests only, with ‘private’ being the key word. As the trays of titbits were brought out and the bottles and glasses set up, it looked as though quite a crowd was expected.

Arnie had been buzzing round like a bluebottle, making sure the waiters knew what they were doing, and checking the wine.

‘The good stuff when they arrive,’ he reminded them. ‘Then switch to the plunk. After a couple of glasses they won’t know the difference.’ With everything ready for the onslaught, he made his way up to his office.

Harry looked up from the desk and then back to studying a notebook. He didn’t seem pleased to see him. Arnie hovered for a moment.

‘All set, Harry. I’m going to go and get changed.’

‘You do that, Arnie,’ Harry said, still concentrating on the notebook.

Arnie waited for a ‘thank you’ or even just a ‘see you later’ but nothing more was forthcoming.

‘Bastard,’ he murmured as he turned to go.

Dolly and Bella had dressed up warm for the freezing lock-up. Dolly also had a flask, sandwiches, a torch and the rat poison. She wasn’t bothered about the rats herself, but Bella clearly was, and they couldn’t risk her screaming out. They were planning on staying all night if they had to, watching to see who came and went. Then — if the coast was clear — they would break into Harry’s to find more details of the raid. To tip off the police they needed to know where and when. All they knew at the moment was how. Dolly took a deep breath. This time nothing must go wrong.

Shirley was still soaking in the bath when Dolly tapped on the door and went in. Shirley had her hair in rollers, lying back, eyes closed.

‘We’ll just have a cup of coffee, then go. You want one?’

Shirley pulled herself up and leaned on the side of the tub.

‘I feel bad not going with you and Bella. You sure it’s OK? It’s just that I promised him, and it’s quite a big party — something to do with his work. I’ll be meeting his boss.’

Dolly shrugged. They’d already had this conversation, and she’d told Shirley that she needed to start pulling her weight, but despite saying how bad she felt about it, Shirley’s lack of interest was obvious. She hadn’t even shown much surprise when they’d told her what they’d found at the lock-up. Dolly could feel Shirley drawing away. Any time now, she was sure, Shirley would come right out and say that she didn’t want any part of it. But it wouldn’t make any difference: she was part of it — and that was that.

Dolly just smiled and turned to go.

‘Dolly...’ Shirley was holding up her precious bath oil. ‘Can you have a word with Bella? Just tell her if she wants some, then buy her own? It’s not cheap, this stuff.’

Bath oil, Dolly thought, resisting the urge to slap Shirley there and then. With everything going on, she’s worried about bleedin’ bath oil.

Micky doused himself with cologne and checked himself in the full-length mirror. He wished he’d bought that long white silk scarf, but he hadn’t had time; Harry had him running here, there and everywhere. He glanced at his watch. Harry was probably already at the club. Better get a move on and pick her up. He’d told Harry he was bringing the model girl for him to give her the once-over but all he’d got for his pains was a brief nod, before Harry had returned to his notepad. Always jotting down notes was Harry. It was like working with a bleeding reporter.

Dolly washed up the cups and placed them on the draining board. Time to go. Just as she picked up her bag, the doorbell rang. Bella was on her feet, but Dolly put a hand on her arm to stop her.

‘Best if he doesn’t see us,’ she said quietly. They moved toward the kitchen as Shirley came down the stairs in a short evening dress, with a wrap and handbag.

‘Don’t ask him in, just go,’ Dolly told her, as she shut the kitchen door.

Shirley frowned. Dolly and her damned orders! This was her house for God’s sake! She’d been planning on sharing a cocktail with Micky before they left. She made a face and opened the front door.

Through the kitchen door Bella and Dolly heard Shirley laughing, then the deeper tones of a man. As the front door closed, they raced out of the kitchen and into the lounge, leaving the lights off. They rushed to the window like two nosey old biddies. Bella flicked the curtains aside.

Micky was just closing Shirley’s passenger door. He walked round to the driver’s side and got in.

‘I didn’t get a proper look at his face,’ Bella said. ‘How about you?’

Dolly, leaning over Bella, shook her head.

‘What sort of car’s that?’ Bella asked.

‘Not sure, but it’s very flash. Tell you one thing: Shirley seems to be doing all right for herself.’ As Dolly made her way out of the darkened room, she banged into the coffee table and knocked over an ornament. She swore. Bella picked it up. The Balloon Seller was now minus a couple of balloons.

Bella laughed. ‘Always said you were a ball-breaker, Dolly.’

Micky helped Shirley into her safety belt, kissed her on the neck and ran his hand down her thigh.

‘I’ve missed you, darlin’.’

She giggled, feeling herself respond to him. She would have liked him to touch her some more, but he just gave her thigh one gentle squeeze then started the car. As they drove away, Shirley could smell his cologne, the scent even stronger than usual. Micky kept his eyes on the road; since Murphy had given him a ticking off, he’d taken more care with his driving. He could feel her looking at him and gave her a smile. When they stopped at traffic lights, he took his hand off the gear stick and stroked her leg again.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked, as the lights changed to green and they moved off again.

‘Arnie Fisher’s club. You know it?’

Shirley blinked. Arnie Fisher? She turned to look at Micky. He was still smiling; he clearly hadn’t registered her shocked expression.

‘You know the place? Little club up west?’

Shirley kept her voice calm and looked out of the window. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Never been, though.’ A warning bell was ringing in her head, and suddenly the smell of Micky’s cologne made her feel sick.

Dolly and Bella shut the front door behind them and walked to Dolly’s car.

Bella was shaking her head as Dolly put the car in gear and pulled out. ‘I can’t believe she said that about the bath oil!’

‘If I was her, I’d be more worried about all my crockery getting smashed.’ Dolly laughed.

‘Not to mention her ornaments!’ Bella added.

Neither woman noticed Vic Morgan’s car pull out after them.

Sonny Chizzel’s car, with Sadie driving, was just pulling out of their smart St. John’s Wood apartment block when Fuller and Reynolds arrived in the patrol car, blocking the exit. Fuller got out and peered through the driver’s window. He was surprised to see Sonny was wearing an evening suit, with Sadie also done up to the nines.

‘Going somewhere nice?’ he asked, tapping the window.

‘If you lot will get out of the way, yeah,’ Sonny replied testily.

Fuller frowned. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your evening, Sonny, but I’d like you to come down the station. I’ve got a few more questions for you.’

‘I’ve said everything I’m going to say. Unless you’ve got an arrest warrant, you can whistle.’

Fuller pulled out the warrant with a flourish. ‘This do, Sonny?’

Sonny paled visibly.

‘Get out of the car, Sonny. There’s a good lad.’

Chizzel bent over and kissed Sadie on the cheek, patting her shoulder. Fuller heard him say something about ‘sorting out these wankers.’ Fuller opened the door and yanked Sonny out of the car.

Colin Soal had been arguing with his wife all evening. First she’d complained that she hadn’t had enough warning — she would have liked to have gone to the hairdressers at least. Then she had taken her moth-eaten old wrap out of the wardrobe and complained she had nothing to wear. Along with the moth-eaten fur came all the old nagging.

Ten years ago he had cheated on her with a cocktail waitress, a leggy blonde with big tits. He was only away for the weekend, and he had come home with his tail between his legs after the waitress’s boyfriend had given him a thrashing. Muriel had bathed his cuts and bruises, swallowing his story about being mugged in Brighton on one of his business trips. Until someone had informed her otherwise, and then she went ballistic. Colin had never lived it down. Any argument always ended up revisiting that one miserable weekend in Brighton.

And now it was being thrown in his face yet again. If they ever had any money, she chided him that he would no doubt prefer to throw it at some cheap barmaid, rather than give his wife a decent thing to wear. The row continued all the way to Arnie’s club, his wife driving and the Mini rattling along to the sound of her droning voice. As they pulled up, Colin got straight out and took a breath of air.

‘Oh, thank you very much, yes, I can park it, no, I don’t need your help,’ she called out sarcastically.

Colin was about to get in again when she roared off in first gear.

Arnie stood at the club’s entrance. He looked as if he was sweating.

‘You seen Murphy? He hasn’t shown. Not that havin’ him on the door does me any favors. I’ve got my regular punters to think of. How’re they going to feel coming out for a good knees-up, and they can’t get into their own club? Some ape on the door telling you to piss off home?’

Colin thought what a wonderful couple his wife and Arnie would make, but then remembered Arnie’s preferences were on the other side. Now his wife came marching round the corner, mouth in a thin, tight line. She whipped off her stole and tossed it to Arnie.

‘Don’t bother with a ticket. I hope someone does nick it; the only way I’m gonna get myself togged out in somethin’ new is with the insurance money.’

Colin gave a sigh of resignation and followed his wife into the club, leaving Arnie holding what looked like a dead cat in his arms.

Taxis pulled up, dropped their passengers off and moved on. The club was filling up. Micky Tesco guided Shirley in by her elbow, a little too tightly for her liking. He seemed in a hurry to get into the club. Shirley stopped and pulled her arm away.

He looked at her. ‘What’s the matter now?’

‘No need to push me. I’ve got high heels on.’

‘Sorry. Big night, you know? Getting a bit edgy.’

They entered the club and joined a sea of people waiting at the coat check, men queuing one way, ladies the other. They pushed through into the main area, where waiters were waltzing round with trays of drinks and titbits while partygoers chatted animatedly. They were still trying to get their bearings when Micky was grabbed by an agitated-looking Arnie. Micky pushed Shirley gently in the direction of the ladies’ cloakroom, then turned back to Arnie.

‘Murphy’s not bleedin’ shown — I got no one at the door...’

Micky nodded, patted Arnie’s sleeve and said he’d take care of it. He was looking round at the faces; some he knew, but a lot he didn’t. He smiled greetings at everyone all the same.

‘Where’s the guv’nor?’

Arnie nodded to the stairs, then bustled back to the main entrance as yet more people entered. The club was becoming packed and there was a traffic jam building up round the cloakrooms.

One person who didn’t want to be relieved of her coat was Audrey. The mink coat Dolly had given her was not only luxurious, it also hid her pregnancy. Audrey had thought about flogging it on more than one occasion, but something always held her back, and now she was enjoying it in all its glory. In fact, Audrey felt wonderful, happier than she could remember, and it wasn’t just the coat. Ray was getting embarrassed, and was trying to shush her as she shouted and waved at old familiar faces, people she hadn’t seen for years. She spotted Muriel Soal over by the ladies’ room and yelled over.

Ray gave her a look. ‘Keep it down, can’t you? You’re making a spectacle of yourself, girl.’

Audrey seemed not to hear him. She waved at Muriel and Muriel gave her a little wave back. Muriel gave her husband a dig in the ribs, and Audrey saw her mouth the word ‘mink!’ several times.

Audrey smiled to herself. She was sweating under the coat, but she wasn’t going to take it off.

A nervous-looking Micky came up and pulled Ray aside.

‘Any word on where Murphy is?’

Ray shook his head. ‘Last time I spoke to him he was on his way home to get changed.’ They looked over at the door, where Arnie was doing his best to cope with the influx of guests while keeping an eye on everything that was going on.

Muriel made her way over to Audrey and they fell into each other’s arms, kissing each other’s cheeks daintily. Muriel surreptitiously felt Audrey’s coat. It definitely wasn’t fake. Audrey then let out another yell as Shirley came out of the cloakroom, earning another warning tap on the elbow from Ray.

Shirley pushed her way toward her mother, surprised by how pleased she was to see her. Micky seemed to have disappeared, so Audrey did the introductions.

‘Come on, Mum, you must be boiling with that coat on!’ Shirley exclaimed, helping her off with the mink. Muriel’s mouth gaped open when she saw Audrey’s bulging stomach.

‘Oh my God! You having a baby, Audrey?’

Audrey flushed, then roared with laughter. ‘I thought it was wind to begin with — until I realized it wasn’t going away with just a burp!’

Shirley looked round again for Micky, while Ray made his way toward the cloakrooms carrying Audrey’s coat.

‘You be careful with that, Ray!’ Audrey bellowed after him. ‘That’s ranch mink, that is.’

Muriel swallowed. God almighty, ranch mink! All she’d got was a bit of old moleskin her mother had left her.

‘Don’t you let any of the thieving so-and-sos in here swipe it!’ Audrey added for good measure.

Upstairs, Micky was standing to attention while Harry leaned back behind Arnie’s desk.

‘Right, Micky. You can start showing them up one at a time.’

‘I’ll try and make it quick,’ Micky joked. ‘The rate this crowd are knocking back the booze, we’ll have run out pretty soon.’

Harry gave him a thin smile. ‘And put in a call to Murphy while you’re at it. It’s unlike him to be late.’

Harry looked down the list of names again. There were a lot of old faces downstairs, enough to put a crack team together. He just had to let them know he was back, fighting fit, with cash in his wallet, and the promise of a big score.

The first man through the door was Geoffrey Barker: thin, cheap gray suit, crumpled tie — Barker had made no effort to dress for the occasion. But beneath the thin material of the suit you could tell that although Barker was well into his fifties, he still had the physique of a heavyweight boxer. Barker had been used by Harry on a number of gigs. He was a hammer man, a good front man; when he went in shouting and waving his hammer round, you didn’t want to mess with him. He was just what Harry needed.

Barker stared intently at Harry and walked over to the desk.

‘Have a drink, Geoffrey.’

‘All right. I’ll have a scotch.’

Barker sat down, watching Harry pour him a generous double from the tray of bottles and glasses on the desk, his face expressionless. Harry handed him the glass.

Barker looked Harry in the eye and said coldly, ‘To absent friends.’ Then he knocked back his scotch in one.

Harry was prepared for Barker’s attitude. He and Joe Pirelli had been like brothers. They’d even served time in the same cell. But he was confident he could talk him round. At the end of the day, money talks. And whatever happened... well, that was all in the past now.

Barker, however, didn’t give him a chance. He put the empty glass down, then turned and walked to the door without another word. Harry didn’t try to stop him.

Harry sat back in his chair, looked at his list and put a line through Barker’s name. He sighed. Maybe Colin Soal had been right: some people didn’t care how much money was on offer; they weren’t going to work for Harry Rawlins, not after what happened with the security van heist.

He poured himself a large vodka and took a sip. This could turn out to be a long night.

‘Receiving? Do me a favor, I run a legit business. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Sonny Chizzel then demanded the right to make a phone call, banging the desk, jabbing his finger at Fuller and telling him he’d have him for wrongful arrest.

Fuller just smiled, biding his time. He was actually quite enjoying seeing Sonny work himself up into a state. He looked up as Reynolds came in carrying a tray of tea.

‘Tell you what, Sonny,’ Fuller said pleasantly, ‘while we’re waiting for your brief, there’s something I’d like to show you. An antique. Perhaps you could give me a valuation?’

Sonny looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

‘Ah, here we are,’ Fuller said, nodding to the Chief, who’d just appeared at the door, cradling an object wrapped in newspaper. The Chief put the object down on the desk and carefully unwrapped the newspaper, revealing the ormolu clock.

Sonny squinted at it. ‘You want me to value this?’

‘Oh, I know how much it’s worth,’ Fuller said. ‘And so do you.’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t...’ Sonny began. Then it hit him.

That bloody clock. His stomach churned as he silently called himself all the fucking idiots in the world. That bleeding, blasted clock — and that friggin’ two-faced cunt that brought it in. He’d have her; he’d have the bitch. But deep down he knew the only person to blame was himself. They’d got him. They’d finally got him.

Then he threw up all over his evening suit.

Maureen sat by the phone, still wearing her new dress. She was done with waiting. And she was done with crying. Now she was just listening to the phone ringing at the other end and waiting for it to be picked up. She was surprisingly calm.

She thought it would be him, and was about to deliver the speech she had prepared, when she realized it was his sergeant, the little red-haired one.

‘Would you ask him to come to the phone? It’s important,’ she told him, her voice even, her tone polite.

‘He’s rather tied up, I’m afraid. Interviewing a suspect. Can I help at all?’

Fuller wiped his jacket sleeve, where some of Sonny Chizzel’s puke had splashed it, then rinsed out his handkerchief. His face in the washroom mirror looked drawn, but there was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

Reynolds pushed open the door, looking sheepish. ‘I’ve got a message for you, guv. From your wife.’

Reynolds saw the color drain from his boss’s face. He held the piece of paper out awkwardly. Fuller finished drying his hands, then took the note.

‘I don’t think she can be serious, guv,’ Reynolds said. ‘I mean, you know, cutting up all your clothes and chucking them into the street just because you’re missing dinner...’

Fuller read the note, then carefully tore it into pieces and dropped it in the bin. He pushed past Reynolds without looking at him.

‘She’s serious.’

Sonny took small sips from a glass of water. He no longer felt sick; just a terrible, hollow feeling inside.

At first, once the initial shock of seeing that damned clock had passed, he’d had a brief surge of hope. There was someone else who’d been in the shop when he’d bought it, who could testify that he hadn’t known the piece was stolen.

Gordon Murphy.

Then his little ray of hope had been extinguished. Gordon Murphy was the one person he couldn’t ask to help him. Not without revealing everything else. Sonny was caught in his own web. The problem was, he wasn’t the spider; he was the fly.

And all the time, the ormolu clock had been ticking away.

He knew if they did him for receiving stolen goods, he’d do time, and the thought of it terrified him. It was his recurring nightmare; he could smell the dankness of the cells, taste the awful food.

So in the end he grassed.

Saunders joined Fuller and Reynolds at the coffee machine. ‘So, Gordon Murphy. Never heard of him. You think Sonny’s still playing games with us?’

Fuller shrugged. ‘Could be.’

‘Better pick him up anyway, though.’

Fuller nodded to Reynolds, then looked at his watch. ‘On our way, sir.’

He wondered if Maureen would have started on his suits by the time he got home.

Gordon Murphy tried hard to remember the last time he had worn his evening suit. The problem was the bow tie, the clip-on velvet one. Always, always, when he took off his suit at the end of an evening, he’d slip the bow tie into the right-hand jacket pocket. Then he’d always know where it was.

Except that for some reason it wasn’t there, and now here he was, over an hour late, every drawer in the house and every pocket of every suit searched and still he couldn’t find it.

Murphy’s mum had tried to help, knowing her son was getting his temper up, but in the end she’d decided the best thing was to sit it out in the kitchen. She heard the drawers banging, the swearing. Twice the club had called to find out where he was. And she could see him getting closer and closer to violence. She hated it when he got like this. Not that he’d ever lash out at her — he’d never given his mother so much as a slap — but wardrobe doors often got his fist through them and he’d been known to make a nasty dent in a wall.

Murphy stomped into the kitchen, now sporting a small red clip-on bow tie. ‘I’ll have to wear this. I can’t find the other one. It must have been in the pocket when you had it cleaned. Those bastards have nicked it.’

‘It looks just fine,’ she soothed. She couldn’t understand why he was in such a state. ‘Plenty of people wear a colored tie with an evening suit these days.’ She saw his fist curl up in anger and busied herself looking at the Radio Times.

‘I’m late now,’ he grumbled. ‘You know how I hate that.’

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he squinted at himself in the mirror over the fireplace.

‘You sure I look all right? It’s a posh do and I have to look smart. What do you think?’

His mum just smiled up at him, nodding. ‘You better get goin’. If they call again I’ll tell ’em you’re on your way.’

‘Sorry for all the shouting an’ that.’ Murphy leaned down and kissed her cheek, then turned on the TV for her. He always felt guilty about upsetting her. She’d suffered so much with his dad. And then there were all his stretches — and she’d always been there waiting when he came out, with never a harsh word, never a reproach. Murphy plumped up her cushions and kissed her again on the forehead.

‘Love you, Ma. God bless.’

Murphy checked out his bow tie one more time before leaving. He was still angry, angry at himself. Harry had made a point of telling him to look smart, with all the faces coming to the club that night. He wanted to make a good impression, and now that was all up the spout.

Murphy fished in his pocket for his car keys, then bent down to open the driving door.

Fuller gave Reynolds the nod, and the two men got out of the patrol car. Reynolds moved behind Murphy and placed his hand on his shoulder before cautioning him. But he didn’t even have the time to open his mouth. Murphy pivoted round and with one swing of his fist smashed Reynolds’ nose. Reynolds collapsed, with his hands to his face, blood spurting through his fingers.

It was Fuller who got Murphy over the bonnet of the car, right arm twisted up behind him, pushing him forward from the small of his back. Reynolds got to his feet and had the cuffs out in seconds and they managed to bundle Murphy into the patrol car before he could do any more damage.

Fuller was amazed how calm Murphy was, once the cuffs were on and they’d settled him in the back of the car.

‘Thought I was being mugged, your pal coming at me from behind like that,’ he said to Fuller. He leaned over in the car and gave Reynolds a pat. ‘No hard feelings, eh?’

After that, he didn’t say another word, just sat staring impassively out of the window. He didn’t even ask why he had been arrested.

Harry had now been given the thumbs-down by eight different men. He still had his temper under control, but only just. A nervous Micky was walking on eggshells as he ushered in Harvey Rintle, a six-foot-four Jamaican, with shoulders almost as wide as the door. Rintle was relaxed, his manner easy, but his eyes were like a cat’s, sly and wary. Harry knew Rintle’s history, knew he always worked solo, but right now he needed the big man. Fortunately, Harry also knew that Rintle wasn’t particular about who he worked for, so long as he got paid.

Harry told him about the robbery, leaving out certain key details, but giving him the general idea. All the while he was speaking, Rintle just stared at his black suede shoes, not lifting his eyes until he was sure Harry had finished. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, a trace of accent softening the vowels.

‘How much?’

Shirley was getting embarrassed about her mother. Every time a waiter passed, she grabbed what he had to offer, whether it was food or drink. She was eating and drinking for two, all right, Shirley thought wryly, and now she was at least three sheets to the wind. All her life Shirley had seen her mother behave like this at parties. She remembered as a kid hearing the taxis pulling up at three or four o’clock in the morning and watching out of her bedroom window as Audrey crawled out onto the pavement.

Audrey was getting ready for a singsong now, looking round for a piano.

Oh no, Shirley thought.

Audrey grabbed Micky’s arm as he came past. ‘Where’s the old joanna, Micky?’

Micky smiled and whispered something in Audrey’s ear that made her roar with laughter. Shirley noticed that Micky never touched a drink. He was still immaculate, still perfectly groomed, while some of the other partygoers had begun to look distinctly worse for wear. She watched him guiding Audrey across to a table, telling her that she should take the weight off her feet, a woman in her condition. Shirley lit a cigarette. Micky seemed to be ignoring her. He left Audrey and started circulating round the room, chatting away, a friendly word for everyone, his smile showing his perfect teeth.

Shirley wanted to hit him. She wanted to hit him even more when she saw Micky putting his arm round an attractive, dark-haired woman. The woman stiffened, made to push him away, but he just laughed. Shirley remembered her coming in with the huge black guy. She wondered what the hell Micky was playing at, and began to thread her way through the crowd toward him.

Micky copped Shirley on the move and eased away. She was getting on his nerves, following him round. He glanced up the stairs. It looked like Rintle was in; he’d certainly been up there longer than all the others.

Up in the office, Harry had his arm round Rintle’s shoulders as he opened the office door for him.

Rintle turned. ‘One thing you should know, Harry, before some prick tells you. I’m with Jackie, Jackie Rawlins. Eddie’s old lady.’

For a moment Harry didn’t know who he was talking about. Eddie? Then it hit him: his cousin.

He shrugged. ‘That’s your business. She’s a lovely girl.’

Harry was smiling as he closed the door. But as soon as he was alone, it changed. His face became a mask of fury. He made a fist and was about to pound the desk with it when the door opened again. He looked up and Jackie Rawlins was standing there.

‘Well, well, so the bastard’s alive an’ well, is he? Wondered how long it’d take for you to surface.’

Harry took a deep breath. ‘Hello, Jackie. Long time no see.’

He poured Jackie a large vodka and tonic with ice and lemon, then handed it to her. Jackie’s eyes were dark, her face was angular, her nose a little too big, but somehow it looked right on her. She was a sensual woman; even after two kids her body was still firm and strong. He’d always wondered what she saw in Eddie: big, soft, stupid Eddie.

Jackie sat down and sipped her drink. Then she placed the glass on the desk and lit a cigarette. After a couple of deep drags, she stubbed it out, took a breath, stood up and let him have it with both barrels.

‘How could you fuckin’ do it, Harry? Your own fuckin’ cousin! You didn’t just walk out on him — you let him rot in prison.’

Jackie picked up her drink and took a gulp. Her eyes were filling up, but she didn’t want to cry; not until she’d said all she came to say.

‘They got him in the hospital now. He’s cracked up. He don’t even know me half the time. I hate you! You must have known what prison’d do to him — an’ he thought all along you’d see him right, but you never so much as sent him a tenner. He took the rap for you, Harry, an’ never mentioned your name. You owe him, you owe his kids. You’re his cousin, you bastard. Now he doesn’t even know who he is.’

Harry watched her, the way her nostrils flared when she was angry, the way she held her head high, tossing her thick, black, glossy hair away from her face, the gold chain swinging on her neck.

He waited until she was finished, then opened up his wallet and took out a thick bundle of notes. He walked round and pushed the roll down the front of her dress. She breathed in hard. Her heavy breasts felt warm to the touch.

She smiled, all her rage gone. ‘I know what all this is about, Harry. I’ve seen it all before: you putting a team together, are you?’ Jackie stroked his thigh, moving her hand up toward his groin. ‘Just leave Harvey out of it, for me, Harry. That’s all I ask. He’s a decent man. He’s looking after me an’ the kids.’

Harry pulled away.

‘I love him, Harry. I really love him.’

Harry shook his head, then laughed, grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. ‘You leave that big lump alone and you’ll get this every month.’

Jackie backed away from him. ‘Please, Harry, don’t get him involved in anything. He’s straight.’

Harry let her prattle on, bleating about her precious man. Straight! She had no idea that her precious lover belonged to the highest bidder. Suddenly he wanted Jackie out; she was beginning to bore him.

He took her by the elbow. ‘Whatever you say, darlin’. Just take care o’ the kids. There’s more coming your way, a lot more.’

Harry felt better about Eddie now. Not that his conscience had bothered him — but five grand should at least shut Jackie’s mouth. He opened the door.

‘Oh, one thing, Jackie. You’ve not heard or seen anything from Dolly?’

Jackie shook her head, then looked up into his face, his handsome, smiling, arrogant face. She’d often wondered why on earth he’d ever married Dolly. She had seemed so plain, so straight, compared to all the other women Harry had run round with. Jackie had never really thought about Dolly, what Harry must have put her through.

She looked up at him, touched him lightly on the cheek. ‘She always knew about us, Harry. She knew, but never said.’

Harry shrugged. He didn’t care about all that. ‘You haven’t seen her, then?’

‘No one’s seen her, Harry.’ Jackie almost smiled. She’d heard Dolly had cleaned Harry out, and in a way she was pleased: good on her, bitch that she was. When Dolly had somehow found out about Jackie and Harry, she had never allowed Jackie to set foot in her house again. The reason was never mentioned, but the invites stopped, and the Christmas presents — even for the kids. Dolly had totally cut them out of her life — as if what happened outside her beloved home couldn’t touch her.

Well, it had. In the end, Harry had cut her out of his life. He’d let her bury a stranger. Jackie shivered. For the first time, she felt truly sorry for Dolly — sorry because she was too damned stupid to see through the bastard she had lived with for twenty years. As Jackie was gently pushed out of the office, she wondered what Dolly Rawlins was feeling now.

If she were in Dolly’s place, she would want revenge.

Fuller could get nothing out of Gordon Murphy. He still refused to admit to his own name. Sitting there, eyes half-closed, chain-smoking — maybe when his cigarettes ran out he’d be easier to break. Fuller felt exhausted. He looked at his watch. Maureen was probably busy on his jackets by now.

Reynolds, with a plaster across his nose, was standing outside the interview room. He jerked his head toward the Chief’s office. Fuller sighed and walked down the corridor. He looked through the glass window and saw Saunders still talking to Sonny Chizzel. Chizzel now looked tired and deflated, a sad, pink-faced little man with all the air let out of him. Saunders saw Fuller through the window and joined him in the corridor.

‘Sonny’s chatting away like an old parrot,’ Saunders told him with a grin. ‘Not all of it of interest to us, of course, but one or two interesting things have come up. He had a call from a woman, for instance. He swears he doesn’t know who it was, but she had mentioned Harry Rawlins, said she had something of his. Another interesting titbit: there is a big bash, a private party down at Arnie Fisher’s place. Seems Sonny was on his way there. And now we’ve got Gordon Murphy wearing his DJ, so maybe he was on his way there, too.’

Fuller sighed. The last thing he fancied was a trip up west to a smoke-filled nightclub.

‘Keep a low profile, just take a look round. Be interesting to see the faces at this so-called private party.’ Saunders beamed, patted Fuller’s arm and went back to Sonny Chizzel.

Fuller beckoned Reynolds over. ‘Keep a low bleeding profile? What in Christ’s name does he think we’d do, swing on the chandeliers?’

Dolly hovered at the entrance to Harry’s lock-up, peeking from behind the door. The street was deserted, the rest of the lock-ups silent. Dolly closed the door and made her way to join Bella in the annex. She was going over the plans, making notes in Dolly’s black book. She looked up as Dolly joined her.

‘OK, now we know for sure how he’s gonna do it.’

‘Come on then, let’s get out of here.’ Dolly swore this would be the last time just the two of them came; it had to be three so they had a proper look-out and early warning if anyone was on their way.

Bella folded the plans just as they had found them and put them back into the filing cabinet.

‘Tell you one thing, Dolly: I wouldn’t want to try it.’

‘Good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it?’ Dolly replied.

Bella turned with a slight smile. She spoke almost in a whisper. ‘No, we’re not, are we?’

Harry hadn’t quite got over the finish line yet, but the list no longer had just crossed-out names. The team was slowly coming together. He yawned, stretched and rubbed his shoulders. He stood by the window, lifted the blinds and looked down to the street below. He stiffened as a patrol car pulled up and let the blind slip back into place.

Micky appeared at the door, muttering about Arnie drivin’ everyone nuts down in the club. Harry gestured for him to join him at the window.

‘Holy shit, it’s the law.’

Two men in plain clothes were entering the club.

‘That’s DI Fuller,’ Micky said. ‘What the bloody hell’s he doing here?’

Harry didn’t seem bothered. He thought for a moment.

‘Go down, treat him like a guest. Open a bottle of Arnie’s best champagne. Let everyone down there know that prick’s here by invitation.’

Harry began packing up his papers.

Micky stood, looking hesitant. ‘I don’t like it, Harry.’

Harry just laughed and shoved him out the door. ‘Tell him the champagne is with my compliments.’

All eyes were on Fuller and Reynolds as they threaded their way toward the bar. Fuller was enjoying himself, making a mental note of the faces as they turned away from him, suddenly looking intently into their drinks. The party seemed to be suspended for a moment — then groups gathered and the talk grew louder again.

A burly bruiser called Kevin White, who’d clearly had quite a few drinks, watched Fuller as he went past, spat on the floor and returned to telling his dirty joke — but with one eye still on the policeman. He had just agreed to go in on the job; last thing he was hoping to see was the Old Bill showing their faces.

Colin Soal looked for Muriel. With that cop here, the one who had been shoving his nose in everywhere, it was definitely time to go.

On the other side of the room, Muriel was deep in conversation with Audrey, discussing wallpaper for the baby’s room. Ray stood at the side of the table, looking bored — until he spotted Fuller and decided it was time to collect the mink and get out.

Shirley was still queuing for the ladies’. There had to be another one somewhere. As she turned to go into the main club, Micky went past her. She reached out to grab his arm, but he shrugged her off and pushed his way to the bar.

That was the last straw for Shirley; she was going. She’d see if Ray and Audrey could give her a lift, and then that was it: goodbye Micky. She wasn’t going to be treated like some pick-up for the night.

Micky slipped behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of Bollinger just as Fuller and Reynolds arrived. He had a fixed smile on his face, keenly aware that everyone in the club was watching him.

‘Glad you could make it.’

The cork popped and a little of the champagne splashed Fuller’s sleeve. Micky leaned over the bar and started dabbing Fuller’s jacket with a dishcloth, all the while laughing and chatting as if they were the best of pals.

Colin Soal watched curiously. Maybe Rawlins had these cops in his pocket. It certainly looked like it. Micky was definitely very familiar with them. He saw him fill two glasses, smiling broadly. Then Fuller gave him a friendly pat on the arm.

In fact, Fuller was telling Micky to piss off and keep his champagne. He turned to Reynolds.

‘Who is this prick, anyway?’

‘Micky Tesco. Small-time crook,’ Reynolds replied, eyeing the champagne greedily.

Fuller was about to give Micky another mouthful, when an attractive blonde shouldered her way to the bar. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to the face, and again turned to Reynolds, who had a glass of champagne halfway to his lips.

‘The blonde, you know her?’

Reynolds shook his head and turned to face the room. God almighty, half of London’s underworld was here! Suddenly feeling acutely self-conscious, he put the champagne glass down and turned back to the bar.

Micky gave Shirley a scowl. ‘Not now. Can’t you see I’m busy?’

Shirley stepped back, as if slapped, and bumped into Fuller.

Seeing her up close as she turned to face him, Fuller remembered her. ‘It’s Shirley, isn’t it? Shirley Miller?’

Shirley didn’t answer, just gave him a tight smile before backing away. She turned and made her way quickly to Audrey’s table, where Ray was trying to help Audrey into her coat. Just as Shirley joined them, Audrey fell back into her chair with a hoot of laughter, almost too pissed to stand. Ray hauled her up onto her feet and started guiding her toward the exit.

‘Oi! A woman in my condition don’t need to be pushed about,’ Audrey protested. ‘I need to go to the toilet.’

Fuller noticed the mass move toward the exit with a smile. Funny how everyone in the place suddenly needed to be somewhere else.

‘Two beers,’ he said to the barman.

Micky was still doing his act, repeating loud enough for anyone to hear how glad he was that Detective Inspector Fuller had granted them a visit.

Fuller gave him an icy stare, then caught Arnie Fisher’s arm as he hurried past, pulling him to one side. Arnie was shaken; he’d been so busy making sure the booze didn’t run out, he hadn’t seen Fuller and Reynolds making their entrance.

What a night, he thought: the bastards had drunk him dry and now the Old Bill was hanging about. That was all he needed, especially Fuller: he’d had his fill with him trying to get his license revoked a couple of months back.

‘What’s the party in aid of, Arnie?’ Fuller pressed his face close.

Arnie swallowed. He looked at Micky, who was topping up the untouched champagne glasses.

‘You deaf, Arnie? Who’s throwing the bash?’

‘Oh... you know... just a... a private party — nothing special,’ he stammered.

Audrey, leaning heavily on Ray, had made it to the bottom of the stairs by the main entrance.

‘Ooh, I’m desperate, Ray!’ she moaned, slumping down onto the stairs. Shirley began moving up the stairs, looking for another ladies’.

‘Just wait here, Mum.’

Harry had his coat on and was ready to move out. He’d already tidied up the desk and wiped it down. He let himself out of the office and walked toward the fire exit on the landing.

‘Excuse me, is there a ladies’ up here?’

Harry turned to see an attractive blonde at the top of the stairs. For a second there was a spark of recognition between them, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

‘Sorry, love.’ He pushed open the fire exit and walked through.

For a moment Shirley couldn’t move. She felt her mouth go dry and her knees almost gave way; then she turned and ran back down the stairs.

When she got to the bottom, Ray and Audrey had gone. Shirley didn’t wait for them. She wasn’t going to spend another second in this place.

Micky raised his glass and smiled over the rim. Fuller released Arnie’s arm and picked up his beer.

‘Don’t fancy a glass of bubbly, Inspector? Compliments of Harry Rawlins.’

Kevin White, leaning against the bar, looked over with a smile, lifted his hands in the air and started singing: ‘Why was he born so beautiful’ at the top of his voice. Others nearby picked it up, and soon a raucous chorus was echoing through the club.

Fuller put his beer down and pushed his way through the crowd of laughing faces.

‘Come on, Reynolds. It’s time we took a look upstairs.’

Shirley tried hailing two cabs but they drove straight past her. She was about to try for another when she saw a figure slip from the alley running alongside the club, collar turned up, carrying a briefcase. She stared, trying to make out his features in the dim street lighting. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe it wasn’t Harry after all.

The figure continued up the road and disappeared.

‘You want a cab, darlin’?’

Shirley got into the taxi, gave her address and sat back with her eyes closed. What an awful evening. First Micky, and then literally bumping into that dreadful policeman, the one who had searched her house. It brought it all back again — Terry, the robbery. And then that man at the top of the stairs...

It was all too much. She hoped Bella was in bed when she got home. She wasn’t sure she was up to talking to anyone. She just needed to be alone.

Dolly shone the torch round their lock-up. They had waited long enough; it didn’t look as if Harry was going to show. They’d come back in the morning.

Bella followed the beam of Dolly’s torch. Dolly had laid rat poison in every corner of the lock-up but there certainly wasn’t a single one to be seen now. Then Bella felt it, crawling over her foot. She gasped and pulled her foot away. Instead of scuttling away, the creature just lay there, twitching. Bella took one look at it and let out a shriek.

‘Let’s get out of here, Dolly.’

Vic Morgan couldn’t hold it any longer: he had to take a leak or he was going to wet himself. He was just doing up his zipper again when he heard the scream. It gave him such a shock he almost caught himself. He moved back into the shadows.

Dolly came out of the lock-up and followed Bella to her car. A few rats didn’t bother Dolly. She unlocked the car.

‘You got to control yourself, Bella,’ she chided her. ‘You could have brought half the neighborhood out.’

Bella just shivered, thinking about the rat crawling over her foot.

‘I’ll bring a hammer next time. A quick knock’ll finish them off,’ Dolly assured her. She shook her head. ‘Rats are nothing to be afraid of.’

Bella gave her a look. ‘Yeah, well, I guess you should know — you married one!’

As they drove away, Vic Morgan pulled out to follow them. He’d stopped being so cautious, keeping well behind them with at least one other car in between. He’d been on their tail all night and it didn’t look as if it had occurred to them that anyone would be on to them that fast.

‘Where are you staying?’ Bella asked.

Dolly reluctantly gave her the address. She felt safer with the girls not knowing her whereabouts.

‘It’s not much, just a rented place.’ At least now she’d given it a good clean, she thought.

Bella nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll call round and take a look at it.’

Dolly dropped Bella off at Shirley’s and drove home.

Vic Morgan followed her all the way, then took off to an all-night hamburger joint. He got his double-decker and crossed to a window seat, feeling conspicuous among all the punk kids. He sipped his chocolate milkshake and pondered his evening’s work. It seemed he’d put in a lot of hours without being able to piece together what in the hell’s name was going on. He hit the tomato ketchup hard. He’d better pay another visit to old Resnick, see if he could make any sense of it. One thing was sure, in all the time he had tailed Dolly, she had made no contact with her husband. Maybe she’d been telling the truth; maybe she didn’t know where he was.

Dolly slept like a log and woke up feeling much better. She brewed herself a pot of coffee and was just sitting down to it when the doorbell rang. She moved quickly to the door.

‘It’s me, Bella,’ came an urgent voice from the other side of the door.

Dolly sighed. She knew it had been a mistake to tell Bella where she was living, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

Dolly hadn’t even closed the door behind Bella before she started slagging off Shirley.

‘She wasn’t even at home when I got back. I waited up for her, but I was so tired I passed out — then when I wake up she’s already pissed off again.’

Bella chucked the note onto the table: Gone to rehearsals.

‘It’s all right for her, Dolly. She’s out all the time, doing her bleedin’ classes, going out with her fella — while I’m stuck here, just doing what you tell me. “Don’t go out. Keep a low profile.” It’s driving me nuts.’

Dolly put a mug of coffee in front of her.

‘I want my cash, Dolly. I reckon we’ve hung round long enough. All right, we’ll shop Harry — but I want my cash now. Soon as that’s done, I’m off.’

Dolly started to say something but Bella interrupted her.

‘Different for you, though, isn’t it? You already got more than enough. How much you got stashed away, then, Dolly? You don’t even need the money from the drill hall.’

Dolly bristled. ‘Whatever money I’ve got is my business.’

Bella wasn’t going to stop, though. She was on a roll.

‘It’s not about the money for you, is it? It’s just about getting Harry put away. You don’t care what happens to me and Shirley.’

Dolly had had enough. First Shirley was driving Bella mad. Then it was all Dolly’s fault. When would Bella ever take responsibility for her actions? She was about to give Bella what for when the doorbell rang.

They both froze. Then Bella got up.

‘That’ll be Shirley. I left her a note to meet us here.’

Vic Morgan was leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky grin. He quickly straightened up when Bella opened the door. Dolly pushed her out of the way.

Vic recovered himself. ‘You forgotten our lunch date?’

Dolly had indeed forgotten.

‘I’m double-parked so we ought to get a move on,’ Vic said, trying to get a second look behind Dolly at Bella.

Dolly eased him out. ‘Just give me a moment, will you?’ She shut the door and leaned against it. ‘Shit.’

‘What’s that all about?’

Dolly filled Bella in about Vic Morgan while she dressed, flinging clothes out of the wardrobe.

‘So what do I do all day then?’

‘I won’t be more than an hour. I’ll see you back at Shirley’s.’

Bella bit her lip. ‘Maybe I’ll go to the lock-up. See if anything’s going on.’

Dolly spun round furiously. ‘Don’t you bloody dare go there on your own! It’s too bloody dangerous. I thought you were supposed to be scared of the rats.’

‘Come on, your fancy man’s waiting,’ Bella said by way of an answer, pushing Dolly out of the door.

DI Fuller walked into his office with a bunch of M&S shirts tucked under his arm. He shoved the shirts into a desk drawer, then yanked his coat off.

He fingered his collar and realized he had left the cardboard in. He was pulling it out when Saunders appeared at his desk.

‘Gordon Murphy must have someone heavy behind him,’ Saunders told him with a frown. ‘He’s got the best brief money can buy, swearing blue murder and telling us to charge him with something or release him.’ He paused. ‘Which room’s Chizzel in?’

‘Can’t say, guv.’

Saunders placed a clock on the desk, similar to the one taken from Chizzel’s shop. ‘I just want him to take a look at this. An aunt left it to me. Never thought much about it, but that ormolu one was worth — what?’

Reynolds joined them, sporting a fresh plaster across his nose. ‘Two grand, guv.’

Saunders held up his own clock and whistled. It looked almost identical. Fuller gave Reynolds a look.

Saunders caught it. ‘Right, Fuller. You’ve got work to do. Looks like you had Rawlins right under your nose an’ you let him walk away. You were made a right idiot of. ’Bout time you got it together on this one, Alex. It looks like you’ve taken your eye off the ball.’

Fuller was too tired to come up with a response. Which was probably just as well, he thought. He’d been on duty almost round the clock, and the last thing he needed was his Chief yelling at him.

Saunders strode off, clutching his aunt’s clock.

‘Jesus,’ Fuller muttered. ‘What does he think this place is, the Antiques bloody Roadshow?’

Shirley had expected Amanda’s nightclub to be a lot more glamorous. After reading about it in Vogue and Harper’s she’d been dying to actually see it. But now that she was here, an hour early for her rehearsal, it just smelt of stale cigarettes and booze, like all the other clubs. In the harsh daylight, the dainty tables and chairs seemed rather scruffy, the plush carpet covered in cigarette burns.

Shirley asked where the models were supposed to go, but nobody seemed to know anything about it. So she sat watching the ramp being built up in the center of the main club room, while lights, drapes and masses of floral displays were being carried in. The sound of hammering and banging almost deafened her.

Shirley watched a girl wearing a beautiful fox fur jacket and dark glasses walk into the club and knew immediately that she was a model. She chucked the coat over a chair. Underneath she was wearing a dirty old tracksuit and plimsolls. In her smart high heels and posh dress Shirley felt overdressed. The girl yelled out a few abusive remarks to the workmen, opened up a newspaper and began reading.

Two more models wandered in, shouting, ‘Hi, Myra.’ They were also casually dressed, wearing work clothes and no make-up, and they all seemed to know each other. But Myra was clearly the queen bee.

Two more models waltzed in, there was a lot of shrieking, and someone shouted for coffee. Shirley sat to one side, feeling very much an outsider. The girls nattered on about this job and that model, discussing agents. Shirley heard Marion Gordon’s name being mentioned. Then an assistant brought in take-out coffee and handed it round. Shirley still made no move to join them, just sat there with her holdall, feeling embarrassed, her stomach churning. They all looked so confident, lounging round together. She just hoped she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself.

A dapper little Japanese boy arrived wearing a bomber jacket and tight black leather trousers. He screamed excitedly at the girls, and they kissed and petted him. When the excitement had died down, he took a clipboard out and looked over.

‘You Shirley?’ he asked in a rasping Cockney accent.

She nodded and he waved her to come over. She was acutely aware of the girls watching her as she tried to walk with her head up, like a real model.

Jukko, the choreographer, pulled out a chair. He started introducing Shirley to everyone but halfway through someone started talking about a job they had been on and Shirley was forgotten. Jukko got up and kissed Myra on the forehead, making her promise to behave herself and not cause him any aggro. She gave him a kick with one long leg.

‘Me? Aggro? Do me a favor.’

Jukko asked the sound man to play the music, and heavy metal started booming out.

The girls hooted at the lyrics, smoked and drank their coffee. Jukko went over to find out how long it would be before the ramp was finished so he could rehearse the girls. Meanwhile, the hammering and banging continued, the rock music belted out, and the floral sprays and the stacks of chairs were carried backward and forward. Shirley couldn’t help a small, satisfied grin; she was loving it, doing something she had dreamt about. She couldn’t believe she was here; it was really happening.

‘You got a fag?’

Shirley couldn’t open her cigarettes quick enough. Myra’s catlike eyes looked her up and down.

‘I’ve not seen you on the catwalk before. Where did you spring from?’

Dolly looked at the signpost as they went round the roundabout leading to Teddington Lock. She’d been getting more and more frustrated as they drove.

‘Where the hell are you taking me, Vic?’

Morgan just grinned.

‘For God’s sake, just pull over and let me out! I’ll get a taxi back.’

‘We’re almost there, Dolly. Just a few more minutes.’

‘Almost where?’

His grin widened. ‘My boat.’

Before Dolly could decide whether he really had gone nuts, Morgan pulled up alongside Teddington Lock.

At first she refused to get out.

‘Come on, Dolly,’ he coaxed. ‘I was up first thing this morning refueling her and making us a nice lunch. Champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches.’

Dolly followed him reluctantly along the wharf, feeling conspicuous in her high heels and tight skirt, until he stopped at a little ramp leading on to a tatty-looking cabin cruiser.

Dolly gripped her handbag tightly. ‘Well, now I’ve seen it, wonderful. But I’ve got to go back — my dentist’s appointment, you know.’

Morgan took no notice. He stood on the ramp and held out his hand. She hesitated, and he took her hand and guided her up the narrow plank. She teetered at one point, and he put his arm round her waist. She couldn’t push him away or she would have fallen into the water.

‘Come along into the cabin. Lunch is served.’

Dolly maneuvered herself into the cramped cabin. The champagne looked cut-price and the sandwiches were already curling at the edges. She was thinking about turning round and getting off the boat when she felt the engines turning over and suddenly the boat was moving. The swell almost knocked Dolly over as she scrambled to the front of the boat, where Morgan was steering them out into the river.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she shrieked. ‘Take me back, do you hear?’

Morgan just grinned and put a hand to his ear, pretending to be deaf.

This was turning into a complete nightmare. Dolly closed her eyes. If she really had gone to the dentist, it couldn’t have been nearly as painful as this.

Jukko was shouting instructions: ‘Three, two... now four, four...’

The girls grouped and regrouped as they moved down the ramp to the thudding rock music. They had been at it for nearly an hour and were showing signs of tiredness, but Jukko kept pushing them up and down the ramp, up and down. And they didn’t glide along the way Shirley had been taught by Mrs. Hyde White: they stormed it — rolling their shoulders, grinding their hips, pouting sexily like an army of Amazons. But Shirley quickly picked up how to do it, and soon she was swaggering aggressively to the beat like the best of them. Yukko never stopped yelling at them, but Shirley found it exciting, her adrenaline flowing so strongly she felt she could go on forever.

It was Myra who eventually yelled for a break. ‘Fuckin’ ’ell, Yukko — I’m knackered!’

As Yukko called a halt, he gave Shirley a little nod.

Yes! I’ve made it, she thought to herself.

Bella let herself into their lock-up. She’d had to travel by Tube, which she hated, and now she was here in this filthy hole, terrified of the dead or dying rats. She sat down on a box and wondered why the hell she’d come. The truth was, she just didn’t want to be at Shirley’s on her own. Plus, she quite liked the fact that Dolly had ordered her not to. And if she did find out something useful... well, that would teach Dolly not to be so high and mighty.

The noise of Harry’s lock-up being opened startled her out of her thoughts. She stood up, listening to the heavy door being drawn across, then stepped up on the crate.

On the other side of the wall, Micky Tesco was filling the kettle, while Ray Bates dumped a pile of uniforms on the floor. Harry Rawlins followed Ray in, along with Kevin White. The men were relaxed and chatty, Harry standing immediately below Bella’s peephole.

If only they knew, she thought.

‘You sorted out a double-up Transit van for the getaway?’ she heard Harry ask Ray.

‘All sorted. Extra van plus driver.’

‘Fine,’ Harry said, nodding. ‘Five hundred for the driver — that sound fair?’

‘Sure, Harry.’

Standing on the crate, Bella could hear them as clearly as if they were all sitting together in Shirley’s kitchen. She just hoped they couldn’t hear the booming of her heart.

Dolly sat in the boat, trying her best not to have a good time. But it was hard, with the wind blowing in her hair, the sun glinting on the water and the gentle up and down motion of the boat rocking her. She felt herself beginning to doze off when a speedboat zipped past, towing a water-skier behind it. The man waved to Morgan as he weaved dangerously close to the boat, sending a plume of spray into the air. Dolly was transfixed — how graceful and effortless it looked! Until the wind blew the spray all over her. Morgan quickly put the boat on automatic, then took off his jacket and offered it to her. She swiped his hand away in a fury and his jacket sailed over the side and into the water.

Morgan gaped. ‘That’s my—’

Dolly tried not to laugh at the expression on his face. It was obviously an expensive jacket and he’d worn it to impress her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.’

Dolly had no idea why she thought it was so funny, but she just couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was all the tension of the last few days suddenly coming out. He was leaning over the side, shouting for her to get hold of his belt, reaching over toward the jacket, which was gently floating away out of his reach.

‘Get the boat hook!’

Dolly spotted it on the deck. She bent down to pick it up and then almost did a Buster Keaton as she turned round, nearly taking Morgan’s head off as he reached for it.

‘Oops, sorry!’

He yanked the pole out of her hand, and for some reason his furious expression started the laughter again.

‘Come on! Grab hold of my belt again,’ he shouted, leaning over the side of the boat and reaching out with the pole. Dolly grabbed hold and hung on for dear life as he finally managed to snag the coat and start dragging it toward him. But even with Dolly holding on to him, he was leaning too far over to keep his balance, and just as it seemed he was about to pull the coat out of the water, his head dipped under. Dolly pulled as hard as she could, thinking that the boat itself was about to tip over, and with an almighty heave he managed to raise himself out of the water, still clutching his precious jacket.

Dolly sat down on the deck and tried to get her breath while he rummaged in the pockets of the sodden jacket, eventually pulling out his wallet.

‘Thank Christ for that,’ he said, closing his eyes.

She looked at him, at his big, dopey face, with water dripping down it, and started to laugh again. She gave in to it, hysterical laughing, unable to stop.

He looked at her and shook his head. ‘What a funny woman you are, Mrs. Rawlins.’ He came and sat beside her, and put his arms round her, holding her gently.

She turned to him and smiled, brushing a piece of weed from his forehead. ‘Thank you, Vic. Thank you so much.’

He looked puzzled. ‘For what?’

‘For making me laugh,’ Dolly said.

Bella was starting to shiver and she was getting cramp in her calves. But she didn’t dare move. The men were trying on their uniforms and once each of them had found a uniform that fitted, and had taken them off again, Harry called them over and the men began to group round the orange boxes to listen to the guv’nor.

Harry was brisk and businesslike. The men were mostly silent, listening intently, no one interrupting. Harry assigned them their roles in the raid — who was to carry the shotguns or hammers — and carefully explained the timing. The men nodded in silence. Only when Harry had finished delegating their tasks did they ask any questions.

Bella noticed that the men didn’t seem to like the only black man among them. He didn’t say much, and nor did the small, younger-looking man. The handsome blond guy, on the other hand, was very much in evidence, laughing and joking confidently. Less confident was a white-haired, rather elegant man with horn-rimmed glasses, who seemed constantly to be looking to Harry for approval. She wondered about him.

One by one the men left. The white-haired man handed Harry a brand-new passport before going, saying something about DI Fuller that Bella couldn’t quite follow, while Harry counted out his payment in cash.

‘Tomorrow, then,’ Harry said, shaking his hand.

Then Harry and the handsome blond boy were alone. They both seemed so relaxed it was hard to believe they’d just been going over the details of an £8 million jewel raid. She heard Harry call the other man Micky, and she made a mental note of the name.

‘What about your model, then?’ Harry asked.

Micky laughed. ‘I got her in the palm of me hand, Harry.’

‘Make sure you get all the info out of her, Micky. Everything, yeah?’ Harry gave Micky a playful cuff round the ear.

Moments later the lights went off, leaving Bella blinking into the darkness. But she didn’t relax until she heard Harry finally driving away. She gave it another couple of minutes before slipping out, then Bella opened Harry’s lock-up and went in.

The girls were gliding up and down the ramp in formation, moving like tigers.

‘In the midst of all this madness, let’s dance, come on an’ dance.’

Jukko screamed for the lights — now they were strobing, swirling round the girls’ heads, then... blackout.

The next second the girls’ heads and shoulders were picked out by spotlights, each girl lit to show off the final display of the jewels. At this precise moment they were wearing, in all, over eight million pounds’ worth of gems.

The lights came back on and the girls fell down in exhausted heaps. Jukko clapped his hands and declared a break. Amid cheers they crawled down the ramp. Shirley jumped down, laughing, and Myra grabbed hold of her.

‘Babe, why do we let them do this to us?’

Shirley loved the fact that the other girls included her naturally in the discussion about where to go to eat. But the truth was, she would have been happy eating a sandwich in the middle of a roundabout, she was so excited. As they all streamed out of the club, Shirley saw Micky standing on the corner, leaning against his E-type. Myra nudged her, making kissing sounds. Shirley would have preferred to go and eat with the girls, but Micky waved her over.

Myra walked off, yelling over her shoulder that Shirley had ‘just an hour,’ and to be a good girl!

Shirley was feeling so good she’d almost forgotten how angry with Micky she’d been the previous night. He opened the door for her, tucked in her coat, and as he got in he took hold of her hand.

‘First, I want you to tell me you’re not angry about the other night. I’ve not been able to sleep. On my life, it was just one of those things, a heavy time all round.’

Shirley listened to him giving her the flannel, not really paying any attention. He was good with the chat, but that’s all it was, and she’d realized that not only didn’t she trust him, she didn’t really like him much, either. For the moment, though, she was happy to go along for the ride.

The flannel finally stopped, and then he started up the car, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and drove off.

‘Nice little place, grab you a quick bite to eat, want to hear all about it...’

Shirley kept her eyes on his face as she asked him if he knew Harry Rawlins. She noticed a slight twitch at the side of his mouth, then he looked her directly in the eyes.

‘Harry who?’

Shirley shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Micky drove on, keeping up with the chatter, trying not to show she’d rattled him. He felt for her thigh, then hitched up her skirt. Her flesh was soft and warm. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. He fancied taking her back and giving her a good seeing-to, but he doubted they had the time.

They pulled up outside a small Italian restaurant. On the pavement, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a long, deep kiss. He felt her respond, her arms tightening round him — then he released her.

Micky knew the proprietor and a table was quickly laid for them in a cozy alcove, even though it was way past lunchtime and the place was almost deserted. Micky tossed the menus aside and ordered two fettuccinis and a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. Then he tilted Shirley’s chin and kissed her gently.

‘Right, my little beauty, tell me everything. I want to know all about it.’

As Shirley started talking, the waiter came and opened the wine, while Micky was given a bottle of San Pellegrino without even asking. Shirley would have rather been telling someone else about her day — someone who she thought really cared about her — but right now there wasn’t anyone else, and Micky was so attentive, and seemed so interested, that she soon forgot about it.

‘You ended with a blackout?’ he said incredulously. ‘Like in the war?’

‘No, silly,’ she laughed. ‘It’s when the lights go out at the end of the show for the finale, when we walk down the ramp. We’ve got all the jewels on, and then the lights go out except for spotlights on your head and neck to show off the jewels.’

Micky smiled. ‘Well, just shows you — you learn something new every day, don’t you?’

Dolly lay in the bath and gently soaped her whole body. Funny, really, every morning she took a bath, and yet this one felt different. Special. She was suddenly aware of her body, not just something to wash, dry and put clothes on top of, but something that somebody else might want to touch.

Dolly studied her red toenails. She had nice feet, elegant. But then she’d always taken care of her feet, since shoes were one of her passions. Some women went for hats; Dolly went for shoes. Maybe it stemmed from her childhood, her feet being shoved into the cheapest ones available. Dolly remembered her mother’s feet, with her bunions and corns, the heel worn into a bulge at the back. She looked at her own smooth, hairless legs and smiled. She began to think of Vic Morgan, saying his name to herself.

She sat up. This was getting stupid. But she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She knew he felt the same way. But then, what way was that exactly? She shook her head. Why was she putting herself through this torture? For what?

Then a heavy cloud came sweeping over her... Harry. Morgan was dismissed from her mind — just a bungling, heavyweight man, who for one moment had made her laugh. But it had proved something: she was still capable of enjoying herself, and still capable of attracting someone else. Her mood shifted and Dolly got out of the bath. She caught her reflection in the mirror and decided she should have her hair cut.

Bella made herself a sandwich and ate it watching the telly. Where the hell was Dolly? She kicked herself for not having taken her phone number. She had so much to tell her.

She looked round Shirley’s lounge. What was it she hated about it so much? There was nothing really ugly; nothing out of place. The sofa, the chairs, the carpet — they all matched.

That was it. Nothing stood out. There was nothing surprising. It was as if it had all been ordered from the same magazine. Bella began to think of Rio, the villa, José. It all seemed so far away, as if it had never happened. She wondered if this was her life now, watching stupid TV programs in an empty house.

The lounge lights were still on as Shirley parked the car. She knew she’d be in for a grilling from Bella — and she probably had it coming. She’d been gone all day and hadn’t even bothered to call in. Truth was, she hadn’t really expected the rehearsal to go on for so long, but as Jukko pointed out, they rolled the following night — Sunday. They had to know exactly what they were doing.

Vic Morgan was standing shaving, with a towel wrapped round him, when the doorbell rang, almost making him nick himself. He wandered through to the hall and peered through the spyhole. Curious, he opened the door and the delivery boy shoved a parcel into his arms and asked him to sign for it. As he scribbled his name, Morgan noticed the boy had terrible BO.

He carried the parcel to the table and ripped off the outer layer of packaging. Inside was a box with Italian writing. What on earth...? But as he opened the box it all fell into place. It was a jacket. Not exactly the same as his old one, but very similar. He carefully took it out of the box and put it on. He looked a bit odd in the mirror, wearing a towel round his waist and a jacket on top, but the jacket looked so elegant, the material hung so perfectly, the color was so rich and deep, that even wearing a towel, he looked decidedly elegant and stylish. He felt the soft material between his fingers. Must have cost a fortune, he thought. He turned this way and that in the mirror, grinning inanely. No one had ever, in his whole life, bought him a gift like this. He was touched. More than touched: he was so taken aback that he sat on his bed for a while wondering what his next move should be.

Shirley turned off the telly and Bella woke up with a start.

‘Do you want a cup of tea? I’m just putting the kettle on.’

Bella stretched, then followed Shirley into the kitchen. ‘You have a good time last night, then?’

Shirley filled the kettle. ‘It was OK.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just there was...’

Bella came closer. ‘What?’

Shirley put the kettle down. ‘I saw someone. I mean, I think I saw someone.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Bella demanded, beginning to lose patience.

Shirley turned and faced her. ‘Harry. I think I saw Harry.’

Bella couldn’t believe it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Tell Dolly?’

‘It might not have been him, Bella.’

‘But you think it was.’

Shirley shrugged.

‘So where’ve you been all day an’ half the night?’ Bella asked.

Shirley opened the fridge. It was empty, not even a bottle of milk left. She slammed the door shut. ‘At the club, rehearsing.’

Bella perked up. ‘What club?’

Shirley pushed past her. ‘I’ve told you, it’s this big charity show, tomorrow night.’

Bella grabbed her sleeve. ‘What club?’ she repeated urgently.

Shirley looked at her. ‘Amanda’s.’

Dolly knew it was Morgan before she even picked up the phone. How he got her number she didn’t ask; she was just pleased he’d called. Morgan thanked her for the jacket, saying she really shouldn’t have given him such an expensive present. The conversation was easy, and Dolly was so enjoying their chat that she ignored the doorbell when it rang. But when it kept on and on, with no sign of stopping, she had to cut the phone call short, promising that, yes, she would see him again very soon.

When she finally opened the door, Dolly was almost flattened as Bella burst in, pushing Shirley in front of her. Bella marched Shirley into the front room, where she stood, red-eyed and sobbing, clutching a sodden tissue. Bella stood by the door, hands on hips, eyes blazing.

‘Tell her, then. Go on, tell her!’

‘I...’ Shirley began.

Bella didn’t give her a chance to finish. She turned to Dolly. ‘We know exactly when they’re going to pull that raid, Dolly, down to the last sodding minute!’ She whirled on Shirley. ‘Don’t we?’

‘Oh, leave me alone!’ Shirley wailed.

Dolly was losing patience. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘She’s only one of the models, isn’t she!’ Bella shouted.

Dolly looked at Shirley incredulously.

Shirley swallowed. ‘All right, yes! I’m one of the models, at the club. I’ll be wearing the jewels.’

Dolly had to sit down. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. But she knew by their faces that it was.

Harry made Micky repeat what Shirley had told him one more time: that at the end of the show, the finale when all the jewels would be worn, there would be a blackout. He shook his head wonderingly. It was almost as if they wanted to be robbed.

It was Colin Soal who added the next piece of the jigsaw. Unable to resist the money, Soal was now going to take part in the robbery. With his press card, he would have genuine access to the club. Along with all the other press photographers, he had been invited to take photographs during the dress rehearsal. And that’s when the hit would take place. The models would be wearing the jewels, but the place wouldn’t be full of punters getting in the way... All Soal had to do was give them the signal just before the blackout, and they could move in unobstructed.

Harry summoned the team and laid it out. Rintle wasn’t convinced.

‘It’s one thing pulling a robbery at night. It’s a different kettle of fish doing it in the middle of the afternoon. You ain’t got the cover of darkness.’

Harry looked round at the rest of the men. ‘Anyone else?’

There were no other dissenting voices.

‘Daylight robbery it is, then,’ Harry said with a chuckle.

‘Just one question,’ Colin Soal piped up. ‘About the pay-off...’

Always the money, Harry thought sourly. Let’s get the sodding jewels first.

‘Just wondering where it was going to be,’ Soal continued. ‘Where you’ll be.’

Without a flicker, Harry looked round at the men. ‘I’ll be there at the lock-up with fifty grand for each of you.’ Except for Rintle, he thought with a trace of annoyance. The big man had insisted on being paid up front.

As the men filed out, Rintle hung back. Harry smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘The money will all be taken care of,’ he assured him.

‘It better be,’ Rintle answered, ‘’cos after the job, I’m not coming back here. I’m straight on my bike.’

Harry smiled again. ‘Sure, sure. It’s all in hand. How’s Jackie, by the way?’

Rintle gave him a long look. ‘Jackie’s fine, just fine,’ he said quietly.

As the outer door clanged shut behind Rintle, Micky and Harry were left alone. Micky rubbed his hands together.

‘So, Harry, it’s three-fifteen tomorrow, then?’

Harry was deep in thought, acutely aware of his shortage of cash. This cocky young so-and-so had no bloody idea what it took to pull off a big job like this, no idea how it was really going to go down.

Harry was the only one who knew, and that was the way he had always worked — well, up to a point. There’d been Dolly, of course. Harry sighed. He hadn’t given much thought to Dolly of late. But in time he would take care of her. He sat down and rubbed his head.

Micky began picking up the used coffee mugs. It was hard talking to Harry when he was in one of his moods. Normally he couldn’t stop — giving Micky orders, have you done this, do that. But when he was like this, just sitting, staring into space, you couldn’t get a word out of him, unless it was ‘piss off!.’

‘Murphy sorted, is he?’

Micky didn’t hear. Harry got up and walked into the kitchen. ‘Murphy sorted, is he?’ he repeated.

Micky turned the tap off. ‘Sure, Harry. Got a top brief working on it.’

Harry nodded thoughtfully. ‘You contacted his mother?’

‘Er, not yet, Harry.’ Micky tried to change the subject. ‘We should do something about that fucking Sonny Chizzel — get someone to break his legs for him.’

Harry ignored Micky’s outburst. ‘I’ll go talk to her then,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘I’ll be round your place later.’

When he was gone, Micky threw one of the mugs in the sink, where it shattered noisily. Then another. Every time he thought he had got close to Harry, he just got slapped down. They were in this together, but the way he acted, it was as if Micky was of no more importance than the kid they had hired to ride the motorbike.

Micky walked over to the big motorbike and checked the saddlebag. This was where the jewels would end up. Micky got astride the bike and stroked the gleaming metalwork — it looked like Fisk had cleaned it. He kick-started the bike and it roared into life, the engine growling. Little Brian certainly knew his bikes. He’d even won a couple of track races. That was why he was on the raid: to bankroll his entrance on to the race circuit. Well, after tomorrow he’d have enough to buy a whole fleet of bikes. But he still wouldn’t have as much as Micky. He felt a warm glow at the thought of eight million quids’ worth of jewels. Him and Harry could live like kings...

From the outside, Gordon Murphy’s council house looked like a tip. Graffiti defaced the walls, and the garden was littered with used beer bottles and empty Coke cans. The curtains were drawn. Harry rang the doorbell and waited, then rang again, before lifting up the letterbox flap. He was about to shout through when he heard someone shuffling to the door. It opened a crack, and he smiled through it.

‘Hello, Ma, it’s Harry, old friend of Gordon’s.’

Mrs. Murphy took an age to unlock the door, then without looking at Harry, she turned her walking aid round and began to shuffle back to the kitchen. Harry closed the door and watched her ease her body into the chair. She had aged a lot since he last saw her, but then it had been a long time.

She peered over at him as Harry placed a solid wad of twenties on the table. He got down on his haunches beside her, looking up into her face.

‘Gordon won’t be back for a while. Just a couple of days. Spot of trouble...’

‘Yeah, I know. Filth’s been in an’ out all day. All right, is he?’

‘Fine, Ma. We got a top brief working to get him out. He just needs a little while to sort it out, but they can’t hold him.’

She smiled, chuckled, then gazed into the fire. ‘They got nothin’ on him. He wasn’t even outside when them raids was done. They should check their bleedin’ records — he was in the Scrubs.’

Harry patted her hand. She was still a game old bird. He straightened up, handed her the money and told her to tuck it away safe.

‘Have to put it up me drawers, round here. The break-ins... If they know my Gordon’s not here, they’ll try it.’

Harry saw on the mantelshelf the faded picture of himself and Gordon, no more than sixteen, seventeen years of age. It had pride of place, the two boys clutching their cheap fishing rods and smiling into the camera.

‘How’s that wife o’ yours?’

‘Fine,’ Harry muttered.

She sucked in her breath, looking at him. ‘Wish my Gordon could find a good ’un, settle down. Never mind me, it’s a wife he wants.’

Harry patted her hand, kissed the top of her head and told her not to bother showing him out. As he reached the door, he said, ‘When you see him, tell him he’ll be all right, understand? I’ll send his wages on, right?’

‘That’s good of you, son. You’ve always been a good’un.’

Harry gave her a warm smile. ‘Do you mind if I make a call from your phone in the hall before I go?’

‘No, love, you go ahead.’

Harry closed the door quietly and crossed to an old beige colored telephone on a small hall table. He scrunched his eyes. He had always had a phenomenal memory, ever since he was a boy. He could remember the number, but not the code. So he dialed the operator and asked what numbers he should call for Devon. The operator asked if he would like to be put through. Quick as a flash he was able to give Vera Stanley’s phone number. He had to wait as it rang numerous times before it was picked up.

‘Yes?’

‘Is this Vera Stanley?’ Harry asked.

‘Yes, it is.’ Vera didn’t recognize the voice, she wondered if it was the landlord as they were behind on rent, but then it didn’t sound like him.

‘Who is this?’ she asked.

‘I’m a close friend of your sister, Trudie,’ Harry said.

‘She’s not here. I don’t know where she is. Who’s speaking?’

‘Just an old friend wondering if she and the baby are all right.’

‘She called not long ago.’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘No, I don’t. She woke us up in the middle of the night.’

Harry hesitated. ‘Sorry to trouble you.’ He hung up.

Late as it was, there were two little kids, no more than four or five years old, playing on the curb when he got to his car.

One looked up. ‘Eh, give us a fag, mister?’

Harry laughed at him, at his dirty little face, lips turned down, a scowling pug.

‘Fuck you, then...’

Dolly had finally calmed Bella down. She sat with the now dry-eyed Shirley on the sofa. Shirley had seemed more upset by the fact that Micky Tesco had used her and she had been stupid enough to let him than by the fact that she was going to be smack bang in the middle of a robbery.

Dolly had grilled Shirley about the party at Arnie Fisher’s club. It looked like Harry was still working in the same old way. She perked up when Shirley mentioned she’d seen Jackie Rawlins there: very interesting. She’d forgotten all about Jackie. Shirley couldn’t really remember who else she’d met, so they moved from the party on to the raid, and the biggest question of all: whether Shirley should still take part in the fashion show.

‘If I don’t, it’ll look suspicious. I’ve got to do it.’

They mulled it over. Dolly even wondered whether Marion Gordon had been paid off by Micky. Shirley could feel the tears coming again. Oh, God, was that all set up too? Had he even arranged that? She started to cry, mostly for her own foolishness. Well, if Marion had been paid by Micky then she didn’t want anything to do with her. Her dreams of a professional modeling career were crumbling to dust in front of her eyes. Right from the beginning she had just been the girl on the inside. Even making love to her had been part of the scheme.

‘You make damned sure you get the police on to them, Dolly. I hate him.’ The tears had stopped and now anger had given her a harder edge. She seemed to gather strength as she went over all the information Micky had pumped out of her. ‘The finale — that’s the only point when we have all the gems on, every single one of them. And then there’s a blackout.’ She paused, remembering how Micky had made her go over the blackout sequence, apparently fascinated by exactly what they were doing.

She straightened. ‘I reckon that’s when they’ll do it, Dolly, right at the end of the show, about 10:15.’

Dolly nodded. It all made sense. So now they began to formulate their own plan of action. If Harry and his team weren’t going to pull the raid until ten or 10:15, that gave them time to keep a watch on them at the lock-up, and as soon as they moved out, they could put in a call to the police.

Bella was now on her feet. ‘We give them the names we’ve got so far, the registration numbers of the vans, the bike, everything. But they’ve got to be picked up when they’re just about to do it. If we tip off the cops too soon, they might blow it. But we must give them enough time to stake out the club.’ She turned to Shirley. ‘Are you going to be able to cope? You know, rehearsing, dressing, acting normal, knowing what’s about to happen?’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Shirley assured her, her face set. ‘Just make sure you and Dolly do your bit. We can’t make any mistakes this time.’

The three women sat at the table, and Dolly explained everything they’d gleaned from the plans in the lock-up. The most important thing was the bike rider, whose passenger would actually take the jewels from round the girls’ necks, put them into the saddlebag, then return with the driver to the lock-up.

‘What part is Harry playing? What’s he doing?’ Shirley asked.

Bella and Dolly looked at each other. That was the one thing they didn’t know yet.

Shirley put her head in her hands, sighing. ‘Once he’s caught, though, then it’ll be all over, won’t it?’

‘And then your money will get sorted,’ Dolly assured her. ‘Listen, I’ve got enough cash of my own to cover it. I’ll be your fence. I give you my word, on Monday we’ll be finished with Harry, you’ll have straight money and you can do whatever you want.’