Widows 2

Chapter Six

When Dolly arrived at Shirley’s at 7:30 in the morning, she found her sitting in her dressing gown, sipping coffee and staring through the window at the drizzle outside.

‘Couldn’t sleep, Dolly,’ she said, her face pale and drawn.

Bella joined them, dressed in trousers and a sweater, like Dolly. They were ready to take up their position at the lock-up.

‘Come on, Dolly, we need to be there in good time. We can’t risk being seen,’ Bella said. She seemed agitated.

‘You’ll get the police there on time, won’t you?’ Shirley asked.

Dolly nodded. She patted Shirley’s shoulder. She could feel her shaking beneath the thin dressing gown.

‘’Course we will,’ Dolly answered. ‘Now you take care, love. Just do everything like you rehearsed, then we’ll see you back here. And don’t worry!’

Shirley managed a wobbly smile. Don’t worry! That was almost funny.

Bella and Dolly left, giving Shirley one final thumbs-up. As the front door closed behind them, Shirley raised the coffee cup to her lips. Her hand was shaking so much she was afraid she was going to drop it. She started to retch and ran to the sink, then stood there, heaving, waiting for the nausea to pass. She really didn’t know if she was going to make it through the day.

Harry looked round Micky’s kitchen. It was gleaming, neat, all wooden-fronted units, very modern. He touched it. Definitely real wood. He opened the fridge. It was well stocked. He took out eggs and bacon, some butter, then looked round for the pans. One of the cupboards was stacked with rows and rows of vitamins. Harry picked up a jar, read the label, then put it back. He’d never had time for that sort of crap. He moved to the stove and fiddled with a knob. It was one of those newfangled things, the hot plates just colored circles. He couldn’t work out which ring he’d turned on, so he held his hand out over all of them.

Bloody thing!

Micky was working out in his bedroom, sweating, grunting out press-ups. He could hear Harry moving round the kitchen. The rest of Micky’s small flat was like the kitchen, neat and tasteful, devoid of any frills. All very masculine and clean-cut. He had done it on the cheap, by himself, and he was quite proud of the result. His dad had been a carpenter and he knew what he was doing.

Micky could smell bacon cooking. That was usually enough to get him salivating. But this morning his stomach was knotted, his nerves on edge. He didn’t think he’d be able to face breakfast. He concentrated on his push-ups: forty-two... forty-three. He’d hit fifty and call it quits.

Harry yelled from the kitchen that breakfast was up. Micky picked up a towel and wiped himself down. As he walked from the bedroom, he saw Harry’s two cases all packed. Micky went back into the bedroom and picked up his own case, placing it beside Harry’s, then grabbed a dirty ashtray and emptied it, replacing it with a new one. He hated the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Then he walked into the kitchen. Harry was sitting on a stool at the small table, his plate piled high with eggs, bacon and fried bread. He looked up with his mouth full and indicated with his fork a plate of eggs for Micky.

Micky went over to the cupboard and took down several jars of vitamins, then got himself some fruit juice. He shook a handful of pills into his palm and washed them down with the juice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t want you rattling round this afternoon with that lot inside you.’

Micky replaced the jars, then took a cloth and wiped the grease spits from around the cooker. Then he saw the greasy frying pan and suddenly felt nauseous. He took a deep breath, got some honey from the cupboard and spooned it into his coffee, before sitting down opposite Harry.

Harry wiped his plate with his bread and pushed it away. He lit a cigarette.

Micky leaned back and wafted the smoke away with his hand.

‘Few last-minute details,’ Harry began. ‘You get the gear, move off on the bike with Brian, as arranged. Get a good distance away from the club, half-way to the lock-up, then give him some crap about having to pull up. You’ve got to dump him, fast, then turn tail and make it back here. I’ll be waiting. We’ve only got an hour to make that plane. There’s another one an hour after, but I’d like to get the first one.’

Micky didn’t think he was hearing right. He couldn’t make sense of what Harry was saying. He stared, open-mouthed.

Harry pushed Micky’s plate of eggs closer to him. ‘Something wrong with my cooking, Micky?’

‘I’m not with you. Dump him? What d’you mean?’

Harry got up and walked into the lounge, looking for an ashtray. Micky watched him through the open door.

‘Just get rid of him. You’ve got to get back here.’

Micky got up and went to the door. ‘What about the lads back at the lock-up? If we’re coming back here with the gear, who’s paying them off? They’re going back to the lock-up.’

Harry gave him a funny look. ‘You got fifty grand for any of them? Well? They’re coming steaming back to the lock-up, hands out for two hundred and fifty grand. You got it?’

Micky walked further into the room. Harry was now flicking through his passport, the forged one bought from Colin Soal. He seemed relaxed, businesslike. Micky felt the ground opening up under his feet.

‘But you can’t! You think they’ll all just take it? Pull a caper like this and then get shafted? They’ll come after us, every bleedin’ one of them. Jesus Christ, I wouldn’t blame them!’

Harry closed his briefcase and laughed. ‘They’ll have to find us first, won’t they?’

Micky just looked stunned.

‘Maybe we’ll send them somethin’ when we change the gems,’ Harry said with a chuckle.

Micky began shaking his head. A few last-minute details. Holy shit.

‘What about Jimmy, Jimmy Glazier back in Rio? I mean, he set the whole thing up, didn’t he?’

Harry whipped round. ‘I set it up, Micky. Me and no one else. You better remember that.’

Micky followed Harry into the kitchen, watching as he poured himself another coffee. His hands were steady as he picked up the honey pot and stirred in a spoonful.

‘I’ll try this for a change.’

Micky sat down. The initial shock had worn off and he was starting to think it through.

It was true, they didn’t have any cash left, if the sixty grand from the women was all there was. He’d assumed Harry had some more cash stashed away somewhere to bankroll the job. Micky could feel his heart pounding. And what about Rintle? Harry had agreed to give him cash up front, and there was no way they could pull off the job without him.

Then there was himself. Was he going to have to watch his own back now? How was it going to work between them once they’d got the gems?

Harry got up and patted him on the shoulder, as if he was reading his thoughts.

‘I did the cooking, Micky. You do the washing up.’

Ray walked into the kitchen and found Greg leering at the Page Three girl in the paper.

‘Right, put that away, son. You need to get cracking and pick up the Transit. You gotta be in position.’

Greg turned the page over. ‘No panic, Ray. There’s hours to go. I’m not even going to take the van ’til after two.’

Ray leaned over the table, his voice a harsh whisper. ‘You just get over to the garage and check the van’s OK. You gotta get into position in plenty of time, so you need to leave now.’

Greg picked up the paper and shoved it under his arm. ‘You gettin’ the wind up, are ya, Ray?’

Ray clipped him one, then shoved him toward the door, as a sleepy-looking Audrey appeared.

‘What you all doin’? You know the time? It’s Sunday, for crying out loud.’

Ray gave a half-hearted laugh, flicking Greg a warning look to get going. Greg walked to the back door.

Audrey looked at him. ‘Where you goin’?’

Ray patted Greg’s shoulder. ‘He’s got some cars to clean down the garage.’

‘See you later then, Ray,’ Greg said cheerily.

I bloody well hope so, Ray thought to himself.

Audrey waddled to the fridge and took out eggs and bacon. ‘You fancy a fry-up?’

Ray felt his stomach do a flip. ‘I’m fine, love.’

‘You all right, darlin’? You were up and down half the night, pacing round. You’d think you was having the kid, not me.’

The phone rang, and Ray almost jumped out of his skin. Audrey put her hand on his arm as he reached for it.

‘It’ll be the woman about the carrycot.’

Ray let out a breath, but his nerves were still jangling.

‘Make us some toast, would you, love?’ Audrey called, picking up the phone. Ray’s hand shook so much he could cut nothing better than a huge doorstep.

‘She wants fifty quid!’ Audrey yelled to him. ‘It’s a pram and carrycot combined. In mulberry!’ She came back into the kitchen. ‘She wants an answer now; got another woman after it. Sounds nice, Ray. Mulberry... What shall I tell her?’

Ray pulled out a wad of notes, then took out two twenties and a ten. Audrey blew him a kiss and went back to the phone. Moments later she came back in, beaming.

‘We can go over and pick it up this afternoon.’

Ray had to get out. ‘Sorry, love, better get over to the garage. Tell her we’ll pick it up tomorrow, all right?’

Audrey shrugged, went over to the toaster and looked at the slice of bread stuck halfway in. She shook her head. ‘I dunno — men can’t do a thing. Not even slice a bit of bread.’

Ray moved behind her, held her close and kissed her neck. She turned round in his arms.

‘I can really feel him moving. Put your hand on him.’

Ray felt like crying. He touched her belly, could feel nothing but a big lump, but he said he felt him, felt his son. Then he kissed Audrey, gripping her tight.

‘Gerroff, you soft bugger.’

He went to the door and gave her a little wave, before walking out.

Audrey stared after him. Funny feller. But one thing was for sure, he was going to make a great father, if the way he took care of her was anything to go by. She felt all warm and loving as she picked up the £50. At last she had a man that treated her right, who really loved her. She began singing, then had to sit down as she felt a sharp pain.

‘Oh, you’re a tough little bugger, aren’t you? Just like your dad.’

Dolly had parked her car a safe distance away and they walked warily to their lock-up before slipping inside. She and Bella moved along the wall into position and listened. Next door was empty, dark and silent.

Amanda’s nightclub, by contrast, was already a hive of activity. A bronze Security wagon was parked at the main entrance and two guards were carrying a small box up the steps to the main entrance. Standing watching was the club’s own chucker-out, Steve, wearing his smartest suit for the occasion. He eyed the guards as they passed him and headed across the reception area, then up the stairs toward the main club room and the offices. The club manager, Brian Shellskin, was also watching the proceedings. As the guards passed him he laid a hand on Steve’s muscular arm.

‘That’s the last.’

‘Yes, and those two will stay as added security.’

‘Good. Now, remember, absolutely no one is allowed to enter the club without a pass. Only the names on the clipboard list are to be admitted, and you must double-check the names and passes before allowing anyone up the stairs.’

Steve nodded. ‘I’ve got it. All the models are already checked in. They’re upstairs.’

Shellskin seemed satisfied. He fussed over a huge floral display at the entrance, picked up a dried leaf carried in on the shoes of one of the security guards and handed it to Steve before going upstairs to the club. Steve looked at the leaf, tossed it back onto the carpet and sat down. One of the security guards came down the stairs. He picked up the clipboard and flipped through the names. It was going to be a long old day.

Dolly was up on the orange box, peering through the hole. Men crossed and recrossed her line of vision, getting into security guard uniforms.

‘Aren’t they getting ready a bit early?’ Dolly whispered to Bella.

‘You remember what they’re like,’ Bella whispered back. ‘They’ll be in and out of those uniforms ten times before they’re ready.’

Dolly chewed her lip and went back to staring through the hole. She saw Harry pass across, holding a security helmet in his hand. So he was going to be on the raid himself. She tried hard to get him into focus.

Harry carried the helmet over to Harvey Rintle and took him to one side. With a look over his shoulder to see if they were being watched, he picked up a small holdall and opened it. It was full of cash.

‘Just take it, put it where you want it, all right?’

Rintle took the holdall, had a look inside and zipped it up.

Harry let out a breath. If Rintle had dug down below the surface layer he would have found nothing but cut-up newspaper. Harry then walked over to Kevin White.

‘Make sure you keep your visor down at all times, yeah?’

Kevin nodded, buckled his belt and picked up his helmet.

Micky was over by the shotguns, checking them out, cocking them, packing them with small capsules of rice. They wouldn’t actually blow someone away, but they’d hear a bang and feel the impact — think they’d been hit.

Ray, wearing rubber gloves, was washing down the Transit van, cleaning all the prints off it.

Harry was now standing right under the wall by Dolly and Bella. They couldn’t see if he was wearing a uniform or not, but Dolly was going on the assumption that he was, since she’d seen him with the security helmet. Then she heard his voice, almost as if he was speaking to her.

‘We roll in fifteen minutes — everyone stand by.’

Dolly gasped. The men looked as if they were moving out. Shirley must have got it wrong; they were moving out now. She almost fell off the box, pushing Bella ahead of her.

‘They’re going. We need to get outta here fast!’

They made it out of the lock-up and sprinted across the road. As they ducked out of sight, the big door of Harry’s lock-up slid back. The Transit van moved out, with Ray Bates at the wheel. Sitting in the back of the van were Johnny Summers, Micky Tesco and Kevin White.

Harvey Rintle then walked out, wheeling his bike. He crossed over the road and put it into the back of a small van, along with the holdall. Standing at the door, Harry saw Jackie in the driver’s seat as the van drove off. Rintle then jumped into the Transit. Harry closed the doors behind him, banged once with his fist, and the van pulled away. Harry turned as Brian Fisk wheeled the motorbike out. Harry smiled, pulling the heavy door closed. Brian hopped onto the bike.

‘See you later, Mr. Rawlins.’

Harry looked at him. ‘Yeah, remember the van’s got to be in position before you take a look round the place.’

‘Don’t worry, Mr. Rawlins, I’ll be there in plenty of time on this baby.’

Harry patted him on the arm. ‘Take it easy, eh, Brian? We don’t want any aggro. Just take it nice and slow.’

Brian turned in the saddle, his boyish young face beaming. ‘You can trust me, Mr. Rawlins.’

Harry was already back in the lock-up by the time the bike sped off. He had to clear everything away, burn the plans and make sure there was not a scrap of evidence to lead anyone back to him.

Dolly made it to the car first, with Bella close on her heels. The car was already moving as Bella slammed her door closed, and Dolly put her foot down as they headed for the nearest phone booth. As they pulled up, Bella was already out, yanking open the booth door.

‘It’s dead! The bloody phone’s dead!’

Trudie was running out of money. She had paid the hotel bill, afraid that if she stayed any longer she would not be able to afford a ticket home. Her depression and her loneliness were making her drink too much, and she had started to find caring for the baby emotionally draining. Uppermost, though, was the fear that something terrible had happened to Harry and he wasn’t coming for her. She had even detected suspicious glances at the hotel reception as she continued asking if someone had tried to reach her. She called her sister, again not considering the time. Vera answered, having been woken.

‘Vera, it’s me, Trudie.’

‘Jesus Christ, do you know what time it is?’

Trudie started to cry. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just needed to tell you I’m coming home. But has anyone tried to call me?’

Vera had a coughing fit as she stood in the hallway in her night-dress, reaching for cigarettes. ‘Yeah, we did have someone bloody call here. Never left his name, but he was asking after you and where you were.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘What could I tell him? I don’t know where you are.’

‘It’s very important, Vera, that if he calls again you tell him I’m coming home and I’ll be at your place.’

‘He asked after the baby,’ Vera said, ‘but he wouldn’t give his name. Are you with Jimmy? That no good bloody husband of yours?’

Trudie hesitated and then lied, ‘Yeah, I’m with Jimmy, but I’m coming home, all right?’

She hung up. Vera lit a cigarette. She suspected Trudie was in trouble, she usually was. And that so-called failure of a racing driver that was her husband would probably be part of her problems. Vera was sick to death of always having to pick up the pieces for Trudie. It sounded like she’d have to put up with her living in her flat. She was not going to enjoy telling her partner when he came off night duty.

The main office was now the girls’ dressing room. Extra lights had been placed round the makeshift make-up tables and racks of dresses lined up. The dresser was carefully checking that the accessories to go with each garment were tagged and listed: belts, scarves, shoes — everything ready for the quick changes.

It was organized chaos. The girls were at various stages of dressing and undressing, while hairdressers teased and set hair, Carmen rollers everywhere, hairdryers blowing. Make-up artists were equally busy painting faces and bodies. From down in the club, music could be heard, the hubbub of voices, people rushing in and out.

Shirley had been made up and her hair was being backcombed into a high punk style, sprayed with golden highlights. Myra was having a fit over a dress that she screamed had been designed for a stuffed elephant.

Standing at the door with her clipboard was Mrs. Harper, the petite but fearsome-looking woman in charge of the jewel collection. She had to shout at the top of her voice to be heard over the babble as she began calling the order of the girls to accompany her to the main office for the jewels to be matched with the outfits.

Myra and Shirley were first.

‘Please get a move on, girls!’ she shouted. ‘The press have already started to arrive.’

All the noise had given Shirley a stabbing pain in one eye, while the girl was pulling at her hair mercilessly, molding it into shape.

Jukko screamed her name. She still wasn’t in her dress, and the dresser bustled over and started to shake out a delicate, shiny silk and chiffon gown.

Myra was now dressed and moving toward the door, yelling that she had asked to wear the chiffon, but they’d stuck her in a ghastly-looking old sack! She stormed out.

Inside the club it was a different kind of bedlam: the final drapes were being hammered round the catwalk, floral displays had been plonked on every available table, as the tables had not been dressed yet, and the rows and rows of gilt chairs sat tiered, ready to be placed round the catwalk. All the while the music belted out, while the constant comings and goings of dressers and models made the room seem like a bus station during rush hour.

A group of pressmen sat round a table drinking coffee, cigarette smoke creating a haze above their heads. They were checking cameras, complaining about being kept hanging round, while keeping a professional eye on all the half-naked women running in and out. Among them was Colin Soal, unshaven, relaxed, wearing a raincoat, and sporting his press card and pass. Twice he looked over to the fire exit doors, then got up and stretched.

‘Just going to see what’s the best angle to get the girls, eh?’ he said with a dirty laugh, before going on a casual wander round the club.

On instinct, the pressmen all looked up. One of the models, wearing only a long skirt, was yelling for Jukko. One of them managed to aim his camera, but the model had already run back into the dressing room.

Colin Soal held his camera to his eye while backing carefully toward the fire exit door. He quietly released the crossbar, all the time making out that he was just trying to get a good shot of the catwalk. Then he moved off to fire exit number two. He needn’t have worried about the two security guards standing on duty outside the manager’s office; their eyes were out on stalks as one half-naked woman after another rushed past. He released the bar on fire exit number two just as one of the guards was holding the office door open for Shirley.

At King’s Cross Station, Dolly was running from one phone booth to another, but they were all out of order. The only one that seemed to be working was occupied — a big man in a raincoat talking loudly on it. Bella stood outside and glared at him, but he just turned his back.

‘Emergency!’ Dolly shouted desperately, banging her fist on the side of the booth.

The man took one look at the wild-eyed woman outside and quickly put the phone in its cradle. Bella pushed past him into the booth and started dialing.

Shirley stood at the manager’s desk, which was draped with a large piece of black velvet on which the jewels were laid out, some tagged, matching earrings, necklaces and bracelets grouped together. Myra, adorned in emeralds, was moodily complaining about the weight pulling on her earlobes.

‘Emeralds, diamonds and gold cluster,’ noted Mrs. Harper.

‘I don’t give a fuck — they’re killing me!’ she moaned, but Mrs. Harper just shooed her away and motioned for Shirley to move closer. She studied her for a moment, then spoke to a small, immaculately dressed man seated at the desk.

‘The diamonds, I think, with this dress.’

The small man nodded, replying to Mrs. Harper in French. She laughed and placed the diamonds round Shirley’s neck.

Shirley could see what Myra was complaining about: they were heavy. Mrs. Harper added earrings, then slipped a bracelet on to Shirley’s wrist and stood back. Speaking in French to the dapper little man, she looked her up and down, gesturing for her to turn. Satisfied, she made a note on her board and sent Shirley to the catwalk.

As she reached the door, Mrs. Harper stopped her. ‘Oh, Shirley...’

Shirley felt her heart miss a beat.

‘As soon as they’ve photographed that set, come straight back — just security. Thank you, dear.’ She beckoned the next model in, a Chinese girl.

Shirley walked out and took her place at the far end of the catwalk. Myra was up ahead of her, posing for single shots, muttering all the time about the wankers clicking away below her. Shirley reckoned she must be wearing over a million pounds’ worth of diamonds and she could feel the watchful eyes of the two security guards behind her. The Chinese model was moving up behind her, covered in pearls.

As Myra finished her session and slouched back up the ramp, she goosed Shirley, snorting at the Chinese girl as she passed.

‘You dive down for all those pearls, darling? Your hair looks as if you did.’

The girl turned to give Myra a mouthful, but Myra was already being whisked into the office, her dresser standing by with her change of dress.

Shirley stood at the end of the ramp, turning, smiling, holding poses the way Myra did it. The cameras clicked away, while Mrs. Harper started giving detailed descriptions of the gems to the photographers.

Bella had almost reached screaming point. The police had put her through to various different stations, each one asking the caller’s name and what department she wanted.

Dolly snatched the phone. They were now through to Kensington Police Station. Dolly didn’t care which bloody department they were talking to, she just barked out names — Harry Rawlins being number one — and the details of the raid.

‘Never mind my name, just bloody listen! There’s a raid, understand me, an armed raid on Amanda’s nightclub, and it’s happening right now!’

Dolly slammed down the phone and ran across the train station.

‘Come on! We’ve got to get to the club and warn Shirley to get out of there.’

Kevin White took only a few moments to spring open the local telephone control box and find what he was looking for. He knew exactly what he was doing, and started slicing through the wires that served the club and its surrounding area.

The men waiting inside the Transit van watched nervously. He was taking too long. Ray looked round, the sweat pouring down his face. He had the van moving as Kevin jumped aboard. Next stop: Amanda’s nightclub.

‘You sure it’s all cut?’ Rintle asked.

‘I know what I’m doing. You just take care of your own side of things,’ White snapped back.

Micky Tesco patted White’s knee to calm him down, and gave a warning look to Rintle to shut it. Johnny Summers, shotgun resting across his knee, stared calmly out of the window. At least the rain had eased off; that was something in their favor, making the fire escape run less hazardous.

Brian Fisk was the first to arrive at the club. He parked his bike on the street and walked casually into the club’s forecourt through the ‘In’ gate, where a few parked cars were scattered round the horseshoe pathway. He knew the guard at the front entrance was watching him but continued looking over the cars.

‘Know where the kitchens are, mate?’

The guard pointed round the back, watching as Brian, walking unhurriedly, moved round the horseshoe, past the ‘Out’ gate and down the small alley into the wide access area by the kitchens.

The building work was still only half-completed, but there was no one around. He looked at the closed-up garages, then wandered over to the trees, giving the whole area a careful once-over. Then he froze.

‘Oi, you! What you want?’

A guard was leaning on the basement stairs at the rear entrance of the kitchens.

‘Just looking for a toilet,’ Brian shouted.

‘Well, look somewhere else,’ the guard told him, waving him away.

Brian shrugged and walked off, back down the alley, into the forecourt and through the ‘Out’ area on to the street where the Transit van was in position, waiting. Fisk wandered back to his bike, giving a little ‘All clear’ signal as he passed the van. He sat astride his bike and waited, turning to watch a green Fiesta slowly driving past.

Dolly was hunched over the wheel as Bella scanned the front of the club.

‘Shit, Dolly, we’re too late. They’re already here!’

Dolly could feel the sweat running from her armpits as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. In the rear view mirror she could see the Transit van and the motorbike.

Dolly drove on, then took a left, aiming to go round the block and come back on to the road behind them.

‘Where in Christ’s name are the police?’ she cursed.

Jukko was standing on the stage, shouting down to the photographers and press below.

‘OK, now for the finale! Get ready for the spectacular lighting effects!’

The girls were grouped at the end of the ramp. Mrs. Harper was explaining to the press that the girls were now wearing all the gems, more than £8 million pounds’ worth of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Her voice droned on, explaining each piece’s history, which jewelers had loaned what...

It was time for Colin Soal to make a move. He began shaking his camera.

‘Shit!’ He shrugged. ‘Bleedin’ shutter’s frozen,’ he muttered and wandered off toward the exit, giving a couple of waves to his colleagues, who were more intent on getting into position for the big final display.

Colin passed the two watching guards standing by the manager’s office and out, past Steve, who stood up and stretched.

‘All over, is it?’

‘Not quite.’ Colin smiled. ‘But my camera’s packed in. It’s all right, though — I’ve got enough.’

He went down the front steps, even stopping to exchange a few words with a security guard, then he walked casually out of the ‘In’ gate and crossed the road.

The men waiting in the Transit were following his every move intently. They knew they were close now, very close.

‘Why doesn’t he get a bloody move on?’ Kevin White muttered nervously as they began pulling up their visors, checking their guns, their hands already beginning to sweat inside their gloves.

Colin jumped up into the van without a word and began pulling off his raincoat, revealing his security uniform underneath. Micky held out his helmet. Now it was Harvey Rintle’s turn...

Micky checked the radio one more time and gave him the signal. Rintle tapped his radio, the doors opened and he stepped down.

All the men now watched Rintle, with his visor up, move into the forecourt via the ‘Out’ gate, out of sight of the guard on duty at the main entrance, who was busy proffering a cigarette to Steve, the two men chatting easily as if their day was almost done.

Kensington Police Station was by now a hive of furious activity, with DI Frinton at the center of it, barking out orders left, right and center. The details of the raid were still sketchy, but all the names they’d been given by the anonymous caller had checked out. This was looking more and more like the real thing, and Frinton was urgently calling for backup from Notting Hill, Cromwell Road — anywhere that had spare bodies they could use. Lurking at the back of his mind was the fear that the whole thing was a hoax, and he was going to end up with egg on his face, but when they were unable to contact the club on the phone, the conviction hardened that they really were dealing with an armed robbery in progress. As every available car sped to the scene, Frinton gave strict orders that no one was to go in and try and be a hero — just seal off the area and await instructions.

As he left the station and got into his own waiting patrol car, Frinton’s gut tightened and he felt his heart racing. He knew full well if he messed this one up, his career would be over. On the other hand, if he was responsible for foiling an £8 million jewel heist, his name would be up in lights: no more soddin’ Kensington nick for him — he’d be playing with the big boys from now on.

As the car accelerated toward the club, he told himself to focus on the job in hand, not get ahead of himself. He quickly got on the radio.

‘Keep the pandas back. Let the unmarked cars go in first. Remember, we have every reason to believe this lot are armed and dangerous!’

A fresh-faced young officer in the back seat asked about the Chief — had anyone been able to contact him?

Frinton turned in the front seat. ‘If you fancy scouring the golf course you might find him, but right now we’ve got better things to do.’

Vic Morgan arrived at Shirley’s wearing his new jacket and carrying a big bunch of roses. He’d already tried Dolly’s flat, but she wasn’t there. As he pressed and held the doorbell for the fourth time with no response, he had to acknowledge she wasn’t here either. He turned back to the street, wondering what to do. Talk about being all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Then he had a thought: perhaps he’d go and pay a visit to old Resnick. He’d had so much else on his mind, he’d almost forgotten about him. He looked down at the roses. At least they’d make a change from sodding grapes.

‘What’s he bloody doing? Why doesn’t he get on with it?’ Kevin White muttered from inside the van as they watched Rintle, his visor down now, taking his time to move round to the side of the building, then along to the front steps of the club. The security guard stubbed out his cigarette, before returning to his position.

Rintle stepped out in front of him. ‘Got a problem with this,’ he said, holding the radio out.

The guard might not have seen Rintle before, but he was wearing the same uniform. He reached for his own radio, and Rintle brought his right knee up sharply between the guard’s legs, then as he doubled over with a grunt, swung an elbow into his temple. It connected with a sickening crack, and the guard slumped to the ground. Rintle quickly lifted the body up and heaved it over the side of the stairs. He turned, glancing quickly back at the van, and entered the club.

Steve was facing the stairs, listening to the rock music belting out. Rintle tapped him on the shoulder, and as the guard turned round, he dealt him such a flurry of fierce blows to the head and neck that he quickly collapsed in an unmoving heap. Rintle got his arms under Steve’s shoulders and heaved him up into a sitting position, so it looked as if he was just taking a break, then picked up his radio.

‘Time to roll, fellas.’

Dolly saw the van move through the ‘In’ gate into the forecourt. They were too late to warn Shirley. All they could do now was watch.

The Transit moved into the side alley. Micky was first out, followed by Kevin White with the shotgun. Micky strolled toward the kitchen. He looked through the railings, and there was the guard, standing in the basement by the door.

Micky called down. ‘I think we’ve got a problem out front.’

‘What are you on about?’ the guard grumbled, climbing the steps. As soon as he was within reach, Micky’s right hand shot out, grabbing the man’s windpipe and squeezing for all he was worth. The guard grabbed on to Micky’s arm and Micky could feel his grip weakening — then Kevin White slipped behind him and smashed the guard on the back of the neck with the shotgun barrel. Micky grabbed the guard’s radio and stomped it under his heel. Then, with the unconscious man held between them, they moved down the steps to the kitchens.

Micky got on to the radio to Rintle. ‘Hold your position.’ Then to the waiting van: ‘Go!’

The Transit van, with Ray behind the wheel, hurtled into the yard behind the club, and Terry Summers and Colin Soal leapt out. They legged it up the fire escape, each stopping to wait at his allotted door.

The kitchen staff turned to look as the body of the guard was pushed into the room. He fell heavily, his helmet crashing against a table leg. Micky swung the shotgun round.

‘On the floor — now!’

The four men and two girls didn’t need telling twice, throwing themselves to the ground.

The guard was coming round. Kevin White hauled him up, flung him across the table and pointed his shotgun between the man’s spreadeagled legs.

Micky kicked one of the kitchen staff in the ribs. ‘You lot stay down!’ he shouted. ‘Now put your hands out in front of you!’

‘I’ve got this lot covered. Go!’ White shouted, and Micky darted out through the door.

The girls were sashaying down the catwalk, most of the dressers and staff crowded round the ramp to watch the show. This was the climax, and the volume of the music went up a notch, helping to build the excitement as the lights blinked on and off, the spotlights picking out the pouting faces festooned with sparkling gems. Press cameras flashed crazily, the men yelling for the girls to come down the ramp again together. They moved back, then walked forward again, the music pounding all the while.

Rintle watched the two guards outside the office door, their attention focused on the catwalk. Where the hell was the rest of the team? Any minute now all the goddamn lights were going to come back on.

Then he heard the crash as Johnny Summers kicked open the doors, screaming at the top of his voice. At the same time Colin Soal barged through the second fire exit. Still yelling, Johnny fired two shots into the ceiling.

The whole place went mad.

Rintle caught the security guards on the blind side as they ran toward the ramp, hitting the first one with a vicious punch to the neck that sent him to the floor. The second guard checked his run and managed to grab Rintle from behind. Rintle dropped a knee, pivoted and swung him round, just as the first guard got to his feet. Rintle kicked out viciously, connecting with his groin, then put his hands round the second guard’s neck and twisted hard. As he flopped, doll-like, to the floor, he lashed out at the first guard’s head with a boot, making contact with a sickening crunch. He dragged the inert bodies toward the office door, just as it opened, revealing the open-jawed stare of a terrified little man. Rintle shoved the guards inside and locked the door.

Down below, the women were screaming like alley cats and most of the pressmen were instinctively lying face down. Colin Soal was pushing and shoving those still on their feet, shouting out orders, kicking the men’s legs from underneath them. Rintle joined him. They now had the room more or less covered.

The models were darting this way and that like a flock of crazed birds, their brightly colored feathers flapping, jewels sparkling in the flashing strobe lights. Most of them huddled together in the center of the ramp, where they were confronted by Micky Tesco. He wore a bag at his side, already open for him to drop the jewels in. A hysterical Mrs. Harper made a lunge for him. He grabbed her by the hair and swung her over the side of the ramp. She fell badly, her head hitting the side of one of the gilt chairs. The floral displays were falling like ninepins, showering petals on the people scrambling round on the floor. Pressmen tried to save their cameras, as tables, flowers and chairs crashed around them.

Above it all, standing there calmly, Johnny Summers surveyed the room, then pointed up to the boy on the lights.

‘Get down here now!’ he screamed, barely audible above the blaring music, the vocalist bellowing out: ‘Let’s dance with the moonlight in our eyes...’

Then the tape ran out, and the music was replaced by a whining, crunching noise, as if the band were being put through a mincer.

Micky was snatching necklaces and bracelets off the models. They tried desperately to help, ridding themselves of the cursed gems with fumbling fingers. He had already torn one of the girls’ lobes as he ripped off the earrings. They were crying, desperate to save themselves, terrified of being hurt — all except Myra. With a scream she went straight for Micky, and just as it looked as if she was going to claw his eyes, he brought his hand up hard and punched her in the jaw, before viciously tearing at her earrings. Despite the pain, she tried to fight him off, screaming at him to let her take them out. But Micky didn’t have the time to mess around and continued pulling.

Shirley grabbed hold of Myra. ‘Don’t fight him!’ she pleaded, terrified that Micky was going to do her real harm.

Micky finally got what he was after, leaving Myra sobbing, with her hands to her ears.

Then it was Shirley’s turn. His eyes were glazed and he showed no sign that he recognized her; all he could think of was what was round her throat. Her skin was slashed by the diamonds as he tore them away and she screamed in pain. She already had her hands full with the ring, the bracelet and earrings, just wanting him to take them and leave her alone.

He grabbed the jewels, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her wrist as he started walking backward, using her as a shield. She fell over the side of the ramp and he hauled her back. She was sobbing now, stumbling over the long frock. He grabbed her hair and, like a caveman, dragged her back toward the kitchens.

Harvey Rintle did a slow move backward, ready to take off for the front exit. Now Johnny Summers did likewise, knocking over a chair as he backed toward his exit route. He turned to Colin Soal, who was also making slow, steady progress to the fire exit.

Micky half dragged, half pushed Shirley into the kitchens, his pouch bulging with jewels.

Kevin White turned. ‘Drop the fucking girl, Micky, and get the hell out!’ he shouted.

As the shotgun aimed away from him, the guard on the table saw his chance, slid off the table and made a grab for it. Still holding Shirley, Micky tried to pull a .38 revolver from his waistband. As Kevin swung back in front of him, with the guard desperately hanging on to the shotgun, Micky lost his balance, fell against Shirley, and the gun went off. Screams came from the kitchen staff, still face down on the floor. His head spinning, Micky just ran, almost knocking Kevin over in his desperation to get out and save his skin.

Outside, Ray Bates had done a slow U-turn round the big yard and was now waiting near the alley for the men to get into the van. The last one to be picked up would be Harvey Rintle, round at the front door.

Brian Fisk was in position right outside the kitchen exit, engine ticking over. All Micky had to do was jump aboard, then they’d be away.

Shirley slid in slow motion down the cold, tiled wall to the floor. As the two men ran from the kitchen, the chef raised his head from the floor, then gasped in horror. The front of Shirley’s dress was a deep red, the stain spreading slowly across the chiffon as he watched. He looked at the girl; from her expression she seemed to be asking him if it had really happened. She looked down at her blood-soaked dress, then back to him.

‘Dear God, he’s shot her!’

He got to his knees and crawled across to her. The girl put her hand out to him, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Dolly...’

As soon as she said the word, he knew he would never forget it. Was she pathetically asking for a child’s dolly in her last moments? He crawled nearer. She was like a doll herself, he thought, her head on one side, leaning against the white-tiled wall, her beautiful face calm, eyes wide open, the heavy make-up accentuating the toy-like appearance. The terrible red stain continued to spread, now on to the white kitchen floor.

Johnny Summers made it to the fire escape. He could see Colin Soal below him, already on the move, and way below him there was Kevin White, running from the kitchen. The bike roared as Micky Tesco shoveled the jewels into the saddlebag, then jumped on. The bike tilted for a moment, then slowly moved toward the Transit, still standing with its back doors open.

Dolly was standing by the side of the car when the first police car screeched through the ‘In’ gate of the club. Ray crashed through the gears, starting to move the van toward the ‘Out’ gate, but he was cut off by the patrol car just as Kevin White, Johnny Summers and Colin Soal threw themselves into the back of the Transit.

Seeing the hold-up in the alley, Rintle turned and made a run for it, but Frinton was quickly out of the car and right behind him, bringing him down in a crunching rugby tackle. But he couldn’t hold him. Rintle scrambled up, desperately looking for a way out, but before he could decide which way to go, another squad car pulled up and three policemen spilled out. He braced himself, but even he couldn’t beat those odds, and he was soon on his knees, the three coppers hanging on for dear life.

The men in the van saw what happened to Rintle and could hear the squeal of brakes as more police cars arrived. They knew they were done.

Micky was luckier. Brian squeezed the bike through the gap between the van and the wall, Micky’s leg scraping painfully against it, and then they were bouncing over the grass verge. They hit the curb hard, Brian made a sharp turn, almost losing his passenger before righting the bike, then opened the throttle and let rip.

Dolly and Bella watched helplessly as the bike screamed past them. Then they turned their attention to the scene of chaos outside the club. Frinton, holding a handkerchief to his bloody nose, was shouting instructions to the second group of officers, whose car was blocking the ‘Out’ gate, to move the Transit. The captured men were lying on their stomachs, with their arms and legs apart as they were searched and handcuffed, along with Rintle, who was still snorting and snarling like a raging bull.

Bella grabbed Dolly’s arm.

‘Get back in the car! We need to follow the bike!’

‘Harry, I can’t see Harry...’ Dolly was desperate, breathing in short, sharp gasps.

Bella grabbed her and shoved her into the car. ‘For Christ’s sake, they’re getting away!’

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Dolly started the car and took off after the bike.

As the patrol car was also turning to follow the bike, the chef ran into the alley, hysterically pleading for an ambulance. Seeing the men being led into the patrol cars, he suddenly made a grab for the handcuffed Kevin White and tried to land a punch, his face distorted with anger. A policeman held him off, but White ducked instinctively, hitting his head on the bonnet of the car.

Frinton approached the kitchens with two plain-clothed officers, picking their way through the discarded shotguns and helmets, the debris of a failed heist. They ran down into the basement. Immediately surrounded by hysterical kitchen staff and the traumatized security guard, it was a few moments before Frinton saw the crumpled figure, lying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Shoving the people away from around Shirley, Frinton got down on his knees. Even before he touched her, he knew the girl was dead, but he still felt for the pulse at the side of her neck, his hand shaking. At his touch, as if brought back to life, she started to slide sideways and he instinctively reached out to cradle her in his arms. He had seen his fair share of dead bodies, but it never got any easier; there was still that sudden twist inside him. She seemed weightless in his arms, almost childlike. He could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance, but there was nothing anyone could do.

Frinton turned away from the body as two ambulance men ran down the basement steps with a stretcher. As they approached Frinton, he shook his head.

‘She’s dead.’

Bella craned forward in the seat, eyes glued to the road. ‘I can’t see them!’

Dolly couldn’t see the bike either, but she crossed Park Lane, followed the traffic round and drove into the park from Marble Arch. Then she spotted them, already turning through the big curve, moving fast, weaving in and out of the traffic.

Bella grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, Dolly!’

Dolly put her foot down. They were already doing seventy and as the needle flicked upward, they began to overtake the rest of the traffic, almost overshooting the left-hand turn into the park before Lancaster Gate, as an oncoming car shot across in front of them and skidded into the roundabout. Dolly instinctively slowed but Bella practically shoved her foot back to the floor, and they carried on, picking up more speed, Dolly gripping the wheel, her knuckles white, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she tried to keep control of the car — just managing to avoid a head-on collision with a car coming the other way, horns blaring as people stopped and stared.

The bike raced through the park, across the Serpentine, and jumped the lights at Exhibition Road before racing away — with Dolly and Bella close behind. Dolly started slowing for the lights, then changed her mind before Bella could do it for her, narrowly missing a bus coming from their right as they veered after the bike.

‘I can still see it!’ Bella screamed.

Dolly was driving like a mad thing, all sense of danger gone. Eighty-five, ninety, tires screeching as they shot between two parking meters and back on to Exhibition Road.

Hearing the noise behind them, Micky looked back over his shoulder.

‘Turn right — into Cromwell Road!’ he shouted.

The bike had to pull to the left as roadworks forced the traffic into a single line.

‘Do a U-turn!’ Micky bellowed.

Brian maneuvered the bike alongside the curb, shot across the path of an oncoming car, then made a wide U-turn. He saw the coach out of the corner of his eye and opened up the throttle to weave past it, but skidded on the new gravel from the roadworks and, hampered by Micky not leaning into the turn, slid sideways. Brian kicked out with his leg to try and right the bike, Micky leaned over, and the next thing the bike was skidding directly toward the oncoming front wheels of the coach.

The coach driver slammed his brakes on hard, throwing his passengers forward in their seats, but the bike kept on coming, and he braced himself for the inevitable crunch of metal on metal.

Brian took the full weight of the impact, his upper body smashed against the huge wheels of the coach, while the bike buckled beneath him. Micky was thrown on to the side of the road, his helmet crashing into the raised curb. He felt the visor splintering, cutting into his face, while his left arm twisted out of its socket with a sickening snapping sound.

The coach driver jumped down, shaking, his face ashen, saying over and over that there was nothing he could do.

‘The boy drove right at me!’

Traffic began to build up as people ran from their cars to see if they could help. A driver ran to Micky Tesco, who lay moaning, one hand clutched to his helmet, the blood running down onto his chest.

Bella was out of the car and running toward the coach. As she pulled up she could see, between the legs of the onlookers, the open carrier on the side of the crushed bike. She began pushing her way through.

Micky was now sitting up, the helmet being eased off his head. He could hear voices desperately shouting: ‘Ambulance! For Chrissake get an ambulance!’

He wiped the blood out of his eyes, his head beginning to clear. The pain in his shoulder was like a red-hot vice squeezing him. Then he saw the black girl — watched her reach down under the coach to where the bike had gone. No one seemed to see her do it — their eyes were riveted to the twisted metal and the crushed, lifeless body of Brian Fisk, everyone talking and gesticulating wildly.

A police siren wailed as a motorbike patrol rider arrived at the scene and began moving the traffic on, the jam now stretching almost to the park. Micky was up on his feet, shoving away the helping hands of the driver. He pushed through the pain as he staggered toward the girl.

Dolly was being waved on by the police officer. She could hear the siren of an approaching police car. Bella was now running back and Dolly inched the car forward. Bella jumped in and they slowly passed the policeman, the traffic ahead still moving at a snail’s pace.

‘I got ’em, I got ’em!’

Bella held out the jewel bag for Dolly to see, then felt the car door open beside her. Micky Tesco was jogging alongside her, hanging on to the door, his face covered in blood, eyes crazed. The traffic suddenly opened up and they were able to move faster. Tesco still ran alongside, screaming incoherently as the car picked up speed. He hung on for a moment, then fell, dragged along the ground for a few seconds before eventually releasing his hold.

Dolly and Bella were past Harrods now. Twisting round in her seat, Bella couldn’t make out what had happened to Micky through the cars crawling along behind them. All she could see was the flashing lights of an ambulance.

Bella held up a diamond necklace. She laughed, dangling it in front of Dolly’s face. ‘Look! We got them! We got them!’

Dolly’s voice was flat, expressionless. ‘Harry... they didn’t get him, I know it.’

The police motorbike was parked outside Harry’s lock-up, radio crackling. The doors opened and the officer walked out. He picked up the radio.

‘The place is empty.’

Greg was starting to get nervous. He’d started up the engine, even though there was no sight of the men. He had a feeling they weren’t coming and wondered what to do. Ray must have got it wrong. He had a moment of panic that he was in the wrong place, and although he’d checked it already five or six times, he took out the A — Z and checked yet again. While Greg was flicking through the pages, the unmarked police car pulled up directly behind him. The officer was at the driver’s door before Greg knew what was happening. He didn’t look much older than Greg.

‘Your friends aren’t coming, son. You might as well come on out. You’re nicked.’

Trudie caught a flight home from Sydney. This time was very different from her experience in first class. She was in economy with the baby on her knee and a very overweight man sitting next to her who had become intolerant as the child kicked and cried until Trudie was able to get a stewardess to heat up a bottle for him. Just the thought of the long flight ahead and the train journey to Devon filled her with trepidation. She had only £1,500 left.

It was a job no one liked to do — telling a parent or a relative about the death of a loved one. But why did they always have to give it to the female officer?

Janet Adam straightened her cap, walked up the path of Shirley Miller’s house and rang the bell. Behind her the officer in the car gave her a look of encouragement.

Thanks a lot, mate, she thought.

Dolly and Bella were about to pull up when they saw the car. Dolly took her foot off the brake and kept going, resisting the urge to watch the policewoman ringing Shirley’s doorbell. Dolly took the first left and stopped the car. For a moment neither woman could speak. Dolly was the first, her voice tight.

‘Maybe they’re just questioning her.’

Bella started panicking. ‘She’ll talk, Dolly, you know it. She couldn’t hold out, not Shirley.’

Dolly was clenching and unclenching her hands, trying desperately to think what their next move should be.

Bella was getting more and more hysterical by the second. ‘My clothes — everything — it’s all in the house. My bloody passport!’

Dolly went pale. ‘Is there anything there about me, where I’m staying, Bella? Bella, listen to me!’

Bella was crying now. ‘I can’t remember, Dolly.’

‘A bit of paper with my address?’

‘I don’t remember!’ A wrenching sob escaped her. ‘We’ve had it, Dolly. It’s over...’

Dolly took a deep breath, somehow finding the self-control to calm Bella down.

‘It’s going to be all right. We’ll go back to my flat and keep on calling Shirley until we get some kind of news — even call the police if we have to.’

‘They’ll pick us up, I know it, I know it.’

Dolly was exhausted. She couldn’t take any more. ‘Just shut up! We haven’t been caught yet and if you bloody pull yourself together we won’t be.’

She made a three-point turn and drove out of the side turning. The policewoman was standing by the patrol car now, leaning in. It looked ominously as if they were waiting for Bella and Dolly to return.

Micky Tesco had given the cab driver twenty-five quid — all he had on him.

‘I’ve been in a bike crash. Gotta get back to my place, call a doctor.’

The cabbie was worried about the blood still streaming from the cuts on Micky’s face.

‘You sure you don’t want to go to a hospital, mate? Looks like you need stitches on them cuts.’

Micky didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘Just take me home.’

He lay back in his seat, trying to fight off the waves of pain threatening to overwhelm him. He suddenly realized it would be crazy to let this cab driver take him to his own door; much better to get out before the flat. As he leaned forward, he could feel the dried blood sticking to his neck. He rapped on the glass.

‘Just drop me at the next corner, OK?’

The cab driver was just relieved to get the boy out of his cab. With the twenty-five quid in his hand, he inspected the back seat. It was covered in blood.

‘Shit.’

Micky limped off, keeping to the back streets as he threaded his way toward his flat. He didn’t think he was going to make it past the porter and up in the lift. His head was throbbing and his vision began to blur. The white-hot pain in his left arm was making him feel sick. He kept on seeing the girl, the black girl. He knew her, he was sure of it. His mind churned as he staggered down into the underground car park — then it came to him: it was the girl from the airport when he’d first met Harry Rawlins, the black girl at the airport. Harry Rawlins, Harry Rawlins — the name banged like a hammer in his brain. If the car was gone, he would know that Harry had cheated him, just like he had cheated everyone else.

Micky began sobbing. ‘Bastard, bastard, son of a bitch, bastard.’

But the Jaguar was still in the parking bay. Micky leaned against it and tried to get his breathing under control.

There was still time.

Harry couldn’t wait any longer. If Micky wasn’t here by now, he wasn’t coming. Something must have gone wrong. Time to cut his losses. He checked he had his passport, then picked up his suitcases, and with one look at Micky’s solitary case, he walked out.

Bella had the jewels laid out on the coffee table. She couldn’t stop touching them, and it was getting on Dolly’s nerves. She put in yet another call to Shirley’s, the ringing echoing on and on like a dirge. Where the hell was she? Surely if she’d been picked up, they’d have let her go by now?

Bella held up a diamond necklace. ‘At least we got these.’

Dolly ripped it out of her hand and threw it onto the table. ‘I never wanted those fucking things in the first place!’

If she thought that was going to shut Bella up, it had the opposite effect. One moment she was sitting looking at the diamonds, the next she was screaming at the top of her voice, jabbing a finger at Dolly.

‘If anything’s happened to Shirley, it’s your fault... it’s all your fault!’

Dolly slapped her hard across the face, and Bella instantly collapsed into a sobbing heap, like a puppet with its strings cut. At least Dolly knew now that if they were ever questioned by the police, Bella wouldn’t be able to hold out; she actually had more faith in Shirley.

She suddenly had a thought. ‘That girl, the one you rented your flat to?’

Bella couldn’t understand where Dolly’s mind was going. ‘What girl?’

Dolly walked into the bedroom, explaining it all to her as Bella followed her into the room. ‘You get her passport, then you get on a plane, get out of the country.’

‘Oh yeah? How am I gonna do that? What about my money? What about all your promises, Dolly?’

Dolly opened the case on the bed and began taking out bundles of banknotes. Bella stared at the cash in disbelief.

‘I’ll stick to my part of the bargain. It’s all legitimate cash, Bella. I’m paying you with my own money, you just get out of the country.’

Seeing the money, hearing Dolly’s voice, calm and in control, brought Bella round. She knew Dolly was right. Soon she was stacking the money in a holdall. All she wanted now was to be gone.

Frinton was still buzzing, despite his exhaustion. The statements at the club had taken up most of the afternoon, and now he was questioning each man in turn. He’d got little joy out of Colin Soal, Harvey Rintle or Johnny Summers — all old lags, all prepared to keep shtum. But with Kevin White he had an added lever: the girl, the dead girl, Shirley Miller.

Kevin White had asked for aspirins for his head; he’d almost knocked himself out when that crazy chef had gone for him. He was out of cigarettes and hadn’t been given the phone call he knew he had a right to. He was beginning to get bolshie, giving the officer on duty an earful. The officer stood impassively at the door, without looking at him, letting the stream of abuse flow over him.

‘And what about these bleedin’ handcuffs?’ White said finally, holding up his hands, showing the red weals round his wrists.

The officer looked through the small observation window. Standing outside were Detective Inspector Frinton and a CID officer.

Frinton gave the officer a wink and gestured for him to move away from the door. Then he walked into the interview room and before White could open his mouth, he was leaning over him, eyes glinting. White shrank back in the chair.

‘I’m going to say one fucking word to you, Kevin: murder.’

Frinton was so close, White could smell the cigarettes on his breath.

‘What do you—’

‘The girl’s dead, Kevin, an’ I got a witness who says you shot her. You’re goin’ down this time, and you’re never coming up again.’

Kevin started to panic. ‘I never shot anyone. It wasn’t me, honest!’

That was all Frinton needed. ‘So who was it, Kevin?’

Harry entered the underground garage and walked smartly over to the Jaguar. He opened up the boot, put his cases inside and slammed the lid down. Then he saw the blood. He stepped back from the car. The trail of blood led to the driver’s side door.

Micky Tesco, his face swollen and bloody, stared back at Harry. He held the revolver in his right hand, and it was shaking as he pointed it at Harry. His eyes were mad, staring, and when he spoke, his lips were so swollen that his voice was distorted.

‘Get in the car, Harry.’

Harry wavered. Then he saw Micky lean forward, the gun shaking. He put up his hands in a gesture of compliance, opened the passenger door and sat down.

‘Son of a bitch, you set me up.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘She’s got the jewels.’

Harry saw the arm hanging limply at Tesco’s side. He inched his hands along the seat.

‘Don’t move!’

Harry lifted his hands away from the seat and held them in the air. ‘What happened?’

Micky didn’t seem able to focus. The gun wavered and he closed his eyes for a moment.

‘You need a doctor. Your face... What you done to your arm?’

Micky started crying like a little boy. ‘My arm...’

Harry waited, his hands at the ready.

‘I trusted you... You were with her.’

Harry had difficulty making out what Micky was saying. Micky coughed, the hand holding the gun dropped onto the seat, and Harry quickly grabbed hold of Micky’s wrist.

Micky started wailing, a high-pitched screech. ‘I’m gonna kill you!’

Harry put his left hand over Micky’s mouth to shut him up, and Micky sank his teeth into the flesh between Harry’s thumb and first finger. Harry felt a searing flash of pain. He tried to rip his hand away, but Micky just sank his teeth in deeper. And now he was pulling his gun hand away...

The first shot cracked open the windscreen — then there was another, a dull, thudding boom inside the car. Harry’s body twisted and slumped against the seat.

Fuller was driving home from a squash match. He’d lost, but that was the least of his worries. Maureen had packed up and gone. In her note, she said that when he had the time to talk to her — really talk — she would see him.

Fuller hadn’t had the time. Well, maybe he had; it was just that he couldn’t bring himself to drive round to his mother-in-law’s for a scene. It would be too painful.

The newsflash on the radio interrupted his thoughts, making him almost drive into the back of an ice cream van.

Reynolds was waiting for him when he arrived at the office, still in his tracksuit. Reynolds had got a few details — as much as he could get from Kensington — but the gist of it seemed to be that DI Frinton had made the coup of all time, and his nick was bursting at the seams. Fuller slumped in his chair, head in hands.

‘Tip-off came from a woman — said that Harry Rawlins was on the raid. She had all the details — was right about most things. Except one.’

Fuller looked up. ‘Have they got him?’

Reynolds shook his head. ‘Two men escaped on a motorbike with £8 million in gems.’

Fuller was on his feet. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get in on the act.

At first Bella had tried to persuade Dolly to come with her. ‘If Shirley spills the beans, you’re better off out of it, too.’

Dolly had shaken her head. ‘She’ll need a lawyer if they’ve got her. She’ll need money. I’m staying.’

Dolly could have added that she had more faith in Shirley than Bella did, but there was no point getting into that.

‘You go, Bella. At least one of us will be safe. Take the twenty-five grand. I’ll get more to you as soon as I can.’

Now here they were at Victoria. Bella got out of the car, gave Dolly a wan smile, then walked into the station. From there she would catch a train to Gatwick, and then... Dolly didn’t know where she was going to go; the important thing was she was gone.

Dolly heaved a sigh of relief as she got back into the car. As she started the engine, she saw the jewel pouch, sticking out from under the passenger seat. She tucked it away and drove off.

Kevin White had finally broken. It had taken a lot longer than Frinton had anticipated, but now he finally had two more names: Brian Fisk and Micky Tesco. Harry Rawlins was still missing, but he’d have to wait. Kevin White had told him who had shot the girl. The first thing was to get a warrant for the arrest of Micky Tesco on a murder charge.

Frinton was feeling buoyant, even when he spotted DI Fuller lurking.

‘Sorry.’ Frinton smiled. ‘I’m a bit busy right now. Perhaps you could talk to a junior officer?’

‘Of course,’ Fuller replied stiffly.

It was a slap in the face, but Fuller took it, desperate for so much as a crumb. Frinton almost felt sorry for him, but he knew if things had been the other way round, Fuller wouldn’t have given him the time of day. This was Frinton’s baby now, and he didn’t want anyone else getting in on the act. It was still Sunday; come Monday he’d have the Chief all over it, with the possibility of the Yard taking over. He knew he had to move fast. He could almost see the headlines: Detective Inspector Frinton single-handedly nets the biggest team of villains since the Great Train Robbery...

He just needed to pick up Tesco and hit him with a murder charge. Then it would only be a matter of time before they picked up Rawlins, the elusive dead man, himself.

Vic Morgan sat by Resnick’s bedside, beginning to wish he hadn’t come. He’d thought, on first seeing the pathetic scarecrow in the bed, that Resnick wouldn’t have the strength to talk to him. What little hair Resnick had left after the chemotherapy stuck to his skull in pathetic wisps. His face was gaunt, and his pajamas seemed four or five sizes too big. To put it simply, he looked as if he was dying.

But now here he was, fighting to push himself up in the bed, his face almost puce with anger, as he jabbed a bony finger at Morgan’s chest.

‘So she bought you a bleedin’ jacket, and you think she’s God’s gift? I’m telling you, she’s been with him all along, you stupid son of a bitch. I told you, warned you to keep your eye on ’er. Any chance we had of that reward money’s gone out of the bloody window now.’

Moans of ‘shut up’ came from some of the other beds in the ward.

Morgan sighed, still desperately hanging on to the small thread of hope that Dolly wasn’t involved.

The night nurse appeared beside the bed.

‘You’re really going to have to go, I’m afraid. If Matron finds out you were here, I’ll more than likely get the sack.’

Morgan nodded. ‘I’ll come back soon,’ he assured Resnick. ‘As soon as I have anything.’

He wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d turned up feeling quite pleased with himself, but now he was leaving with his tail between his legs.

‘You stick to her like I told you to,’ Resnick added. ‘Don’t for a minute think she’s straight. She’s as bent as my crippled hand.’

Morgan stood to go.

‘And take your soddin’ roses with you. They give me hay fever.’

As Reynolds drove them to Tesco’s place, Fuller tried to piece it together. Micky Tesco had last been seen at Arnie Fisher’s club with Shirley Miller. And Rawlins had been there, too. Then, when Shirley was shot, she apparently called out ‘Dolly.’

Fuller sat back and closed his eyes. Dolly was Harry Rawlins’ wife. Could she have been working with Rawlins all along? Fuller remembered Dolly’s face when she asked for the watch, the gold watch that had identified her husband. If she had been acting then, she was National Theatre material. Had she also been acting when they told her her husband was dead? He shook his head, seeing her face again, the eyes wide, staring, her body taut. She had been unable to speak. If Dolly Rawlins was in cahoots with her husband, then by God they were one hell of a team.

Audrey had wheeled her new pram and carrycot combined into the tower block. She pressed the button for the lift. Nothing happened. She waited, then tried the second one. The graffiti was hacked into the chrome: ‘FUCK off cunts.’

Audrey muttered that they all were, then pushed the pram toward the stairs, hauling it up awkwardly, knowing she had three floors to go and wishing she had waited for Ray. She managed the pram up the first flight, and was wheeling it round to begin the next flight when a female police officer appeared.

Audrey was glad of the assistance. The WPC called for her male colleague, and together they carried the pram up to Audrey’s flat.

‘It’s the first time I’ve needed you lot.’ Audrey caught the look between the two and felt a moment of panic. ‘You’re not coming to see me, are you?’

They helped her wheel her pram into the hallway, then both stood by the door.

‘It’s Greg, isn’t it? What’s he done this time? I’ve told ’im and told ’im. He’s not been thieving again, ’as he?’

The WPC followed Audrey into the kitchen. Audrey was wheeling the pram through to put it out on the fire escape.

‘You’d better sit down, love. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.’

Audrey looked at her, her hands tightening on the handle of the pram. The male officer pulled out a chair and Audrey sat, still holding on to the pram.

‘Is it Greg? An accident...? Has there been an accident?’

‘No, it’s not Greg. It’s your daughter, Shirley.’

Fuller pulled up at the block of flats, behind the patrol car stationed outside. An officer was standing on duty outside the entrance to the underground car park and walked over. Fuller showed his badge and the officer stepped aside.

Blue and white tape had been hung round the Jaguar, and DI Frinton was in the middle of politely but firmly explaining to a tenant that no he could not remove his car, and that, yes, he needed to leave the car park now.

Frinton turned to see Fuller’s car heading down the ramp. ‘What’s he bloody doing here?’ he muttered.

Fuller got out of the car and walked toward the Jag. Face down on the concrete, with one leg still in the car, was a body.

Frinton stormed over. ‘What do you think you’re doing? This is a crime scene.’

Fuller looked at the sprawled body, then back to Frinton. ‘I can see that.’

‘My crime scene,’ Frinton added.

Fuller ignored him. ‘Who is it?’

An ambulance came down the ramp and stopped behind Fuller’s car.

Fuller looked up. ‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’ He stepped over the red tape and bent over the body. One arm was bent upward, partially obscuring the face, but Fuller knew it was Tesco. It was the hair, even matted with dried blood — that blond hair.

Frinton had had it. ‘All right, you’ve seen enough. Now get the fuck out of it.’

Fuller stood to one side as a pair of medics approached.

‘Don’t worry, Frinton,’ he said with a sour smile. ‘He’s all yours.’

Dozing in the TV room, Resnick almost fell out of his wheelchair when he heard the newsflash. He’d missed half of it, and it was over before he got the facts straight. He felt trapped, helpless, with no one to scream at. As if on cue, the nurse opened the door, carrying a beaker of tepid tea. Vic Morgan followed in behind her.

‘You can have ten minutes, but, really, that’s all.’ The nurse wheeled out one of the sleeping wheelchair patients.

Morgan sat down. ‘Don’t know where to begin — all hell’s been let loose.’

Resnick pointed to the TV. ‘What the hell ’ave you been soddin’ doin’? I told you, what did I tell you—’

Morgan held up a hand. ‘Let me give you what I know, all right?’

Resnick’s face was bursting with fury. He swore that Morgan didn’t know anything, hadn’t from the beginning — that’s why he was out of the force. He was wet, more occupied with getting his leg over with that bitch Dolly Rawlins.

Morgan let him have his tirade, then quietly began to tell him what he had gathered so far from his contacts about the raid on Amanda’s nightclub, the bottom line being that they were still looking for Micky Tesco and Harry Rawlins. Also missing was £8 million pounds’ worth of gems.

Resnick looked at him with barely concealed contempt. ‘You bloody idiot.’

Morgan sighed. ‘Wait. There’s something else. The only reason the police were able to prevent the raid from succeeding was because they got a tip-off — one hell of a tip-off, as it happened, giving all the names, the details of the getaway, the lot. And the tipster had been a woman; a woman who seemed desperate to have the raiders caught, but one in particular — the one name she repeated over and over again: Harry Rawlins.’

Resnick was quieted. He thought for a moment, then looked at Morgan. ‘But was he on the raid? And where are the jewels?’

Dolly finished cleaning her flat, then started on the packing. That done, she took out a packet of envelopes. She remembered the way Vic had laughed at her, always paying his account in cash placed neatly inside an envelope with his name printed on it. Had she bought a job lot, he asked? But she didn’t have time to think about him, not now. She began placing the jewels, neatly wrapped in tissue, into the stack of envelopes, and then Sellotaped them all into a toiletry bag, securing them with yet more tape.

Reynolds and Fuller sat in a quiet corner of the cafe, going over everything they knew. The conclusion was obvious: if they could find Dolly Rawlins, then they would have her husband.

The night nurse almost hit the roof when they arrived, but Fuller was insistent, saying it was a police matter.

‘That’s what they all say,’ she muttered to herself, leading Fuller and Reynolds to the TV room.

Fuller was surprised to see Resnick and Vic Morgan sitting and chatting together at almost ten o’clock at night. He was even more taken aback by Resnick’s shrunken body and wasted features.

‘Evening, gents.’ Fuller brought out a bottle of malt whisky from under his coat, along with a packet of plastic cups.

‘Don’t mind if I do, Alex.’

Resnick took in Fuller’s appearance as he poured a generous measure into three cups. He was unshaven and wearing a tracksuit under his coat. Gone was the cockiness: he looked as if he had had the stuffing knocked out of him. Resnick also noted that for a so-called non-drinker, Fuller knocked back his scotch remarkably quickly.

Resnick felt the whisky hit him hard, making him flush. He held out his cup for a refill with his left hand, his right hand curled in his lap. He felt better than he had felt for weeks. He liked them coming to him; it made him feel needed, made him believe he would be back with the lads as soon as he got himself fixed up.

‘Shirley Miller, Terry Miller’s widow, was shot in the raid — died almost instantly. The last word she uttered was “Dolly.”’

Resnick glanced at Morgan, who looked stunned.

‘They got Tesco,’ Fuller added. ‘Hell of a mess. Found him shot dead in his car park.’

Fuller poured another round of drinks. They sipped in silence, then Fuller placed his cup carefully on the table.

‘Rawlins is still on the loose. I’ve tried to track down his wife, but it looks like wherever he is, she is too. I need anything you’ve got, and I swear if you have anything that can help me, help me in any way at all, I’ll see you clear to getting a slice of that reward.’

Morgan stayed silent, his head bowed, looking into his drink. Resnick looked at him. Now was his chance. He couldn’t do it on his own. He was a fool to keep shtum.

‘You’d better cough up, Vic.’ He looked at Fuller. ‘He knows where she is.’

Morgan picked up his jacket, the one Dolly had given him, and walked to the door. As he opened it, his voice was heavy with emotion.

‘I’ll take you to her.’ Then he walked out.

Fuller couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face. Reynolds just grinned, as if Christmas had come early. Fuller patted Resnick’s shoulder.

‘Thanks, George. I won’t forget this — that’s a promise.’

Resnick knew Morgan was hurting. ‘Take care of him. He’s a great soft bastard, but he’s a good man.’

Fuller nodded, then followed Morgan out, with Reynolds at his heels.

Resnick drained his cup and reached for the bottle. Shame to let good whisky go to waste. He leaned forward, stretching, then felt a terrible pain in his bad arm and fell forward, crashing into the table, before sliding, helpless, to the floor. He lay there, unable to move, watching the bottle rolling slowly across the floor.

He knew in that moment that he was never going to be back with the lads. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was his life now — what was left of it. And it was all Rawlins’ fault. He was to blame for everything.

‘You bastard, Rawlins!’ he cried in agony. ‘You filthy bastard!’

It was now 11:15, and Audrey was sitting in the kitchen. She wouldn’t take her coat off, and she wouldn’t drink the tea they’d made her. In one afternoon she had lost her daughter, the father of her unborn son, and even her Greg had been picked up. She stared ahead, gently rocking the pram backward and forward.

‘You’re sure you don’t want a doctor?’

Audrey shook her head.

It was unnerving the way she kept on slowly rocking the pram, backward and forward.

Suddenly Audrey turned and smiled, a sweet, innocent smile.

‘I’m going to have a boy. I know it’s a boy ’cos of my age, you see, and he’s all right. They said he’s all right.’

The door opened and the WPC stood up. Her heart went out to Audrey, but there was nothing more she could do.

Greg was led into the kitchen by a uniformed officer. At least they’d let her son out on bail so she had someone to look after her. He looked sheepish, still in shock about Shirley, the arrest, all of it. He hadn’t been able to take it all in, and seeing his mother sitting there, her hands gripping an empty pram, made him want to run to her and cry like a baby himself. Like he’d done when he was told his dad had run off. Like he’d done whenever he’d needed her.

But now he knew she needed him.

‘Ray not with you?’

He shook his head. Ray wouldn’t be coming home for a long time. But he couldn’t tell her that; he couldn’t find the words to tell her anything. He walked to her side and sat down. He laid his hand on top of Audrey’s, let it rock with the motion of the pram. He could feel the tears trickle down his cheeks, but still he could say nothing. He looked to the WPC for help and she mimed a hug. Greg had to ease Audrey’s hands from the pram bar, then he put them round his neck. He could feel Audrey’s belly with her unborn baby pressing against his stomach. He stopped crying, feeling more of a man than he had ever felt before. Gently, he wrapped his arms round his mother, rocking her as if she was a baby, and at long last Audrey began to weep, deep, heartbreaking sobs, her head buried in her young son’s neck.

The WPC could feel tears welling up, while the male officer looked away. Now they could go.

As they let themselves out, the WPC couldn’t help but notice the large black and white photograph of Shirley Miller, standing with Miss Paddington, and wearing a ‘runner-up’ sash on her white swimsuit. The girl was blonde, beautiful and, with her smiling face, she looked as if she knew she had the whole world in front of her. The photo had scrawled across it: To the best mum in the world, love Shirley.

Dolly was sitting in her car, numb. She had heard the news about the diamond robbery on the radio, reporting that a model, identified as Shirley Miller, had been shot dead. Dolly had the jewels in a carrier bag and was contemplating what she should do.

She saw Greg leaving his mother’s house and although she was shocked to the core, time was against her and there was nobody else she could trust. She waited a further fifteen minutes before she picked up the carrier bag and walked into the estate toward Audrey’s front door. She was still unsure about what she should do, but in reality she had run out of options. Her hand shook as she rang the doorbell.

As soon as Greg had left the house to go to the pub, Audrey got out of bed. She needed a drink as much as her son, and had already had half a tumbler of gin when the doorbell rang. She was certain it was Greg coming back to check up on her, and he certainly wouldn’t approve of her inebriated state. The last person she expected it to be, or ever believed she would see again, was Dolly Rawlins.

Audrey stepped back from the open door to let Dolly in.

‘I had no one else to turn to, Audrey... I need to talk to you.’

Audrey could not even bring herself to speak.

Dolly continued. ‘Can we go into the kitchen? I don’t have long...’

Audrey was dumbfounded at the audaciousness of this woman who she so despised, but she led the way to the kitchen.

Dolly put the carrier bag down on the kitchen table, not looking at Audrey. Her voice was hoarse.

‘I’ve just heard about Shirley...’

Again Audrey remained speechless.

Dolly bowed her head and, barely audible, whispered, ‘I am so sorry... I am so sorry...’

It was so unexpected when Dolly reached out with both arms and drew Audrey close to her, hugging her tightly.

‘I didn’t know where else to go.’

Audrey was tight-lipped, her hands clenched into fists as Dolly stepped away from her.

‘I need you to do something, Audrey... But it’s up to you. I want you to take this bag to a man I know I can trust, Jimmy Donaldson.’ Dolly pulled out a note from her coat pocket. ‘This is his address. You want to instruct him to keep this bag safe for me. He is not to open it, and must find a good hiding place. He’ll do whatever you ask because Harry controlled him, and he still does — so he’ll be too afraid not to go along with it. I could get him put away for life.’

Dolly looked at Audrey.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly.

Audrey spat her reply. ‘Am I all right, you two-faced bitch! How dare you show your face here! I’ve got a good mind to call the cops! I’d like to take a carving knife to you myself...’

Dolly took her by the shoulders and gripped her tightly. ‘Listen to me, Audrey: I don’t know the facts about what happened.’

Audrey pushed her away. ‘What happened is you got my daughter killed, you two-faced bitch!’ she shrieked.

Dolly took a few deep breaths before she replied. ‘Audrey, I can walk out of here now if you want me to. But if you do what I ask you to, I’ll get you a cut of the diamonds and you’ll be secure for the rest of your life.’

It was only then that Audrey realized the carrier bag contained the stolen diamonds.

Years later, she would be unable to recall the rest of their conversation. In the space of one night she had lost her daughter and the father of her unborn child was going to prison, probably for the rest of his life. She hadn’t agreed to Dolly’s request straight away, and would never forget the fact that Dolly’s icy blue eyes were brimming with tears.

After Dolly left, Audrey had another half tumbler of gin and opened the carrier bag. She put the note with Jimmy Donaldson’s address in her handbag, and then carried the bag up to her bedroom and hid it under her mattress.

Mixed emotions flooded through her, but the words ‘you’ll be secure for the rest of your life’ made her wonder just how great that security would be.

Vera had made up the sofa bed in their lounge. Trudie had arrived exhausted and had done nothing but cry and was refusing to tell Vera what on earth was going on. She just asked Vera if she would look after the baby as she needed to get some sleep and she would explain everything once she had had a rest. Vera sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea and a cigarette, pushing the baby in a stroller up and down with her foot. She had seen the luggage tag on Trudie’s suitcase. Bloody Australia, that’s where she’s been. Vera was determined that she was going to interrogate Trudie when she woke up. She had become quite hysterical when told the man had called again but had left no number. It definitely wasn’t her husband, and whoever it was made Trudie repeat, ‘Thank God, thank God.’

Vera would be thanking God when Trudie left as she had two children of her own and her husband was not happy with this arrangement. It was only a small, overcrowded council flat, after all.

Morgan watched as Fuller and Reynolds went over Dolly’s flat. A few clothes still hung in the closet, some sweaters and underwear in the chest of drawers. There was also a suitcase on top of the wardrobe. It didn’t look as if she had gone, but there was no sign of Rawlins, no men’s clothes, nothing. If she had been working with him, he hadn’t been living with her.

A withered bunch of flowers, dead, their petals stiff and dried, were in a small cracked vase. He remembered when he’d given them to her.

‘Maybe we’ll hang around for a while, see what turns up,’ Fuller said.

Morgan wanted to get out. He watched Fuller sifting through the waste bin. He felt uneasy, as if he had betrayed a confidence. Still he refused to believe that Dolly would have lied to him.

‘You mind if I push off?’

Fuller shrugged. ‘Just be sure you call me if she gets in contact.’

Dolly had driven away from the house, unsure if she had been right to rely on Audrey. She still couldn’t believe that Shirley was really dead and wondered whether perhaps the news report she had heard on the radio was inaccurate. Now she was making her way to the only other person she needed.

Dolly rang and rang Morgan’s doorbell, then peered through the letterbox. Where could he be? She rang again, and was just about to turn and go back down the stairs when she heard footsteps, slow and heavy. He rounded the bend in the stairway and stopped.

‘You said if I ever needed you...’ Dolly began.

Morgan smiled. He took out his keys, noticing that she had no luggage, just her handbag. He pushed the door open.

‘You’d better come in then, hadn’t you?’

Dolly followed him into his flat.

‘You hungry?’

Dolly hadn’t realized it until now. She hadn’t eaten all day.

‘Yes.’

Morgan slipped off his jacket, walked ahead of her into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

‘Omelette OK?’

Dolly nodded. She felt a real warmth toward him, but she still didn’t really know how far she could trust him. How far she could go. She made an effort to relax, following him round the kitchen as he busied himself whisking the eggs.

‘I do need you to do something for me, actually,’ she said finally. She took a deep breath. ‘There was a robbery this afternoon. It was me that gave the tip-off, and... there was a girl. Shirley, Shirley Miller. I need to know if she’s been arrested. She had nothing to do with it, she just happened to be there, and...’

Morgan listened to her talk as he heated butter in the pan, trying not to show any reaction.

‘Would you know where she is? Could you find out for me?’

Morgan stood over the stove, the omelette mixture in a bowl.

‘I know where they’ve taken her, yes.’

Dolly moved closer. Her hands were twitching, and it was obvious to him she was trying desperately not to show how tense she really was.

‘Where?’

Morgan wanted to shock her, to see her reaction. He poured the omelette mixture into the pan, where it started sizzling. Then, shaking the pan, he said just one word: ‘Morgue.’

Dolly said nothing. Then she began to retch, heaving uncontrollably, her whole body shaking.

Jackie Rawlins was still waiting for Harvey Rintle to call her. She had put his bike and holdall in his apartment as instructed, and he’d promised to ring her at five. Now it was gone midnight. The kids had really been giving her a hard time. She had let them watch a video of Werewolf of London, then they wanted to see another. Her youngest had cheekily said that as the werewolf had been so frightening, he had to watch something funny or he wouldn’t be able to sleep. They’d sat through some weird comedy about a talking VW car that Jackie couldn’t make head nor tail of. Then, at long last, they had gone to bed. She was just about to follow when the back door opened. She guessed it was Harvey — he often slipped in that way. She turned, smiling.

Harry Rawlins closed the door behind him, locked it, then turned to her with a smile.

‘Didn’t have the change to ring, sweetheart, so thought I’d come in person.’

Jackie, hands on hips, looked at him coldly. ‘Thought you might appear eventually.’

He gave her a puzzled look.

‘Dolly’s called here twice asking for you. Said she’d keep on trying, but I told her you...’ Jackie stopped mid-sentence when she caught sight of Harry’s right hand. It was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.

‘Called here? Dolly?’

Jackie realized he hadn’t been expecting a call from Dolly, and almost chuckled. Harry began to unwrap his hand.

‘What you done?’

He held it out. She could see the deep teeth marks.

‘Mad dog went for me. You got some Dettol?’

Jackie noticed there was more blood on Harry’s jacket. He was taking it off, making himself at home.

‘I don’t want you here, Harry. I got kids. I don’t want any trouble.’

Harry ignored her and began to take off his shirt. He took a passport and wallet out of his jacket pocket and put them on the table.

‘Just need to get cleaned up, Jackie, then I’m off. You got any cash about?’

Jackie laughed. ‘If you’re after what you gave Harvey, you’ve got another think coming.’ She found a bowl, and then fetched some Dettol and a bandage.

Harry now had his shirt off. He put his hand in the water. ‘Christ almighty!’ He winced.

‘You’ve been bleedin’ like a pig. It’s all over you.’

Harry said nothing. He wasn’t about to tell her whose blood it was.

‘I won’t be staying long. I just need a change of clothes. And I need your car. Then I’m going to catch a plane.’

‘I don’t believe it! She’s going with you, is she? Dolly? After what you done to her, I don’t believe it.’

Harry studied his hand, the blood still flowing from the punctures. They would stay with him for life, in memory of Micky Tesco. Harry remembered something that Micky had said. Could Dolly and the black girl somehow have got their hands on the jewels? Surely not. But what Dolly did have was money, and a lot of it. Perhaps Jackie’s idea wasn’t completely mad. If Dolly called again... The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Jackie went upstairs to get some of Harry’s cousin Eddie’s clothes. She knew they’d fit. Most of poor Eddie’s stuff had been Harry’s cast-offs in the first place.

‘You got Eddie’s shavin’ gear handy?’

Jackie threw the clothes at him and walked out. She wasn’t about to let him upstairs. As Jackie passed the boys’ bedroom on the way to the bathroom, she looked in. They were sprawled on the bunk bed, the duvets hanging off. She gently covered them. The youngest, cheeky as he was during the day, looked like an innocent little cherub at night, clutching an old toy submarine. She eased it out of his hands and tucked them under the duvet. She wouldn’t let Harry anywhere near her kids, especially this one, Jason. She’d often wondered if Eddie had spotted it, but he hadn’t. But then Eddie couldn’t see anything right under his nose. But as Jason grew older, it became more obvious to her: he was Harry’s double, right down to his dark, brooding eyes. It almost amused her, gave her at least something over the bastard; she’d got the thing he’d most wanted. Poor old Dolly had tried to give him a son and lost four, all boys — lost them at four months. Perhaps that was why she’d loved that wretched little dog so much — a child substitute. It was Jackie’s secret, but there, sleeping, was Harry Rawlins’ son, ten years old now, and one hell of a handful.

Jackie went downstairs and handed over Eddie’s shaving gear. The brush looked as if it had been used to clean the floor; it more than likely had, by that little bugger Jason.

‘Bit peckish,’ he said. ‘You think you could fix me somethin’ to eat?’

Jackie sighed. ‘You go right after, yeah? I’ll feed you and clothe you, but that’s it.’

As she went into the kitchen, she glanced back. He was staring at his face in the mirror. He caught her watching him and gave her a wink. Shivers went up and down her. His expression at that moment was identical to her son’s.

She opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got a quiche Lorraine and some salad. You want some quiche?’

Morgan had listened without interrupting as Dolly had told him everything, right from the moment they had begun watching Harry’s lock-up. She left out any mention of their part in the aftermath, and made no mention of the jewels. But she didn’t lie.

Morgan sighed. He wanted more than anything to believe her, and she did sound as if she was telling the truth. When he asked why she hadn’t gone to the police, she smiled sarcastically.

‘I gave them the times and the name of every man I knew on it, and they still didn’t catch him. That’s why.’

‘Do you know where he is?’ he asked.

She bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure, but there’s one place he might go, one place...’

Then somehow it all came tumbling out. How Jackie and her husband had had an affair eleven years ago. She’d known about it but ignored it, like she’d ignored a lot of things, lots of ‘bits’ he’d had on the side. Although she’d never said anything, Jackie and Eddie had never been invited to her home after that, and everybody except poor old Eddie had sussed out why; Eddie just thought that Dolly didn’t like him. Harry had never mentioned Jackie’s name in front of Dolly again. But maybe if he needed a place to lie low... just maybe he would go to Jackie.

‘I’ve tried calling her,’ she said.

Morgan got up and handed her the phone. ‘Why not try again?’

Dolly stalled for time. She hadn’t worked it all out yet. What she didn’t want was the police brought in — not yet. He could slip through the net again.

‘My husband’s very clever. How many men do you know, living like he did, who’ve never been sent down — not once. Only for six weeks when he was a kid. Harry is careful and he’d smell a set-up. The thing is... I have the money, and right now he must need it.’ She looked at him. ‘He’ll come to me.’

Harry finished the quiche and pushed his plate aside. He had shaved, but was still wearing only his boxers. He got up and began to put on one of Eddie’s shirts. The phone rang. It was now 2:15 in the morning. Jackie looked to him for instructions. He gave her a nod and she picked up the phone.

Harry kept his eyes on her. She didn’t even speak, just listened and then covered the mouthpiece.

‘She’s asking for you.’

Harry took the phone. He glanced at the closed door.

‘Kid’s crying.’

Jackie gave him a look and left the kitchen.

Harry spoke in his gentlest voice, almost caressing. ‘Hello, Doll. So... you got the jewels, then?’

Morgan was standing right behind her. Dolly nodded to him, whispered, ‘He’s there,’ then, turning her back, she spoke.

‘Hello, Harry...’

After she hung up, Dolly was still shaking like a leaf. Morgan put his big hands on her shoulders and gave her some time to compose herself.

‘So?’

Dolly let out a breath. ‘I said let’s meet up west somewhere, but he wasn’t having any of it.’

‘Where then?’

‘Kenwood House, on Hampstead Heath, by the old footbridge.’

Morgan nodded to himself. ‘Smart. Plenty of cover. Hard for anyone to run him to ground. OK, what time?’

‘Four o’clock,’ Dolly said.

Morgan smiled. ‘Well, at least that gives us plenty of time to set something up. What we’ll—’

‘No,’ Dolly interrupted. ‘Four in the morning. Today. Now.’

‘Crikey. Right. I’d better get on it then. Dolly, you stay here in the flat and don’t move until I’ve arranged things. My God, they’ll have to move fast. And don’t worry, I’ll cover for you — do a deal if I can. After all, you gave them the tip-off in the first place. Call me at the Yard.’ He paused and held her face in his hands. ‘I can trust you, can’t I? Because it’s me on the line too.’

In answer, Dolly kissed him, a gentle kiss on his lips.

‘We’ll go on, Dolly, you and me — that’s a promise.’

Dolly touched the big man’s cheek and smiled up into his face. ‘We can only go on with Harry caught.’

She brushed the shoulders of Morgan’s jacket, just like his wife used to do before he went off for an important meeting. Then, at long last, the door closed behind him, and Dolly leaned against it, her eyes closed.

She knew that Harry had chosen that specific place because it was where he had proposed marriage to her, all those years ago. He’d taken her there on a picnic and they had walked round the house together. She’d been surprised, not thinking that tearaway Harry Rawlins would even know about such a place. There had been a concert playing in the outdoor theater — classical music. She had liked it, and from then on they’d begun to listen to classical music together.

She pulled herself together. It was now 3:15. She didn’t have very long to get to Kenwood House.

Harry knew Jackie was upstairs and made sure the door was closed. This was the last time he was going to attempt to talk to her. He dialed the number and waited. Vera snatched up the phone and snapped ‘Yes.’ This was getting to be ridiculous. It was three o’clock in the morning.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said softly. ‘Is Trudie there?’

Vera told him to hang on. She went into the sitting room and roughly pushed Trudie to wake her. ‘That bloody man is on the phone again. I don’t know if either him or you can’t tell the time, but it’s 3 a.m.’

Trudie pushed Vera away and ran from the room to pick up the phone in the hall. Harry was about to hang up. ‘Is that you?’ Trudie said. ‘Is it really you? Dear God, I’ve been waiting for you to contact me for so long.’

He interrupted very quietly. ‘I haven’t got long, Trudie, but make sure you never mention my name to anyone. The police are very close, but everything is going to be fine. I’m going to be a rich man. I will call you first thing and we’ll go and you, me and my son will start a new life. Is that what you want?’

‘What I want?’ she screeched. ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Trudie could hardly catch her breath. She felt hysterical, but before she could say anything the phone went dead. She turned to her sister and said, ‘Everything is going to be all right now, Vera. I’ll be leaving.’

Vera couldn’t believe it. Trudie was like a kid, spinning around the hall laughing and crying at the same time.

Harry rested his hand on the phone. Just hearing the way she reacted made him doubt very much that he could keep his promise. In reality, if she did not have his son, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. He knew he could easily get rid of her if he needed to and take the child.

He went back to check his appearance in the mirror and straightened his tie. Standing behind him, Jackie watched. She couldn’t believe Dolly was meeting him, after all he had put her through. And what’s more, Harry seemed to be dressing himself up for it like a date he had waited for, longed for. He had changed his shirt twice, even put on cologne.

‘Do you still love her, Harry?’

He was whistling. Even at this hour in the morning he was fresh, bursting with energy. But he didn’t reply to her question.

He took her car keys. She’d tried to persuade him not to, but he had made her a promise that she would have the car back, and a lot more besides. She knew he was probably lying; he had said he was going abroad, and he would have to stay away for a long time. In a way, it was a relief; she could live with Harvey in peace, without having to worry about Harry ever coming back, ever having contact with Jason, the son he didn’t know he had. Jackie just wanted him gone, and when the door finally closed behind him, she almost collapsed with relief.

Now all she wanted was for Harvey to come home. She had no idea that at that moment he was sitting in a cell, charged not only with robbery but with the murder of a security guard.

Harvey Rintle would not be seeing Jackie for a very long time.

Dolly let herself out of Morgan’s flat. She’d remembered that when he had taken the gun from her — the one Linda had gone to the lock-up for — he had put it into one of the little drawers on the top of the dresser. And there it was, nestled between his handkerchiefs and socks.

She picked it up and put it in her bag.

Reynolds had been having an uncomfortable kip in one of the interview rooms, his head resting on his coat, when Fuller started barking from the doorway.

‘Get your arse up to the office! Things are moving.’

Morgan was sitting smoking. He had laid out the deal. Dolly had arranged to meet Harry Rawlins on the footbridge at Kenwood House, Hampstead, at four o’clock. She wanted the police there, and she wanted Rawlins picked up. It had been Dolly who had given the tip-off, and Morgan was able to give Fuller the exact time Kensington had received the call to verify her story.

Morgan took another drag of his cigarette. Time was running out. Fuller was still skeptical. He couldn’t just go on a story from Morgan; he wanted Dolly Rawlins brought into the Yard. What if he got half the police force surrounding the place and nobody turned up?

‘I’m giving you my word that she’s straight.’

‘Then why won’t she come in?’

Morgan rubbed his eyes, exasperated. ‘Don’t you want him? She won’t come in. She’s willing to tell you where the bulk of the underpass raid cash is. She’s willing to set her husband up. Don’t ask her to come in, because she won’t do it.’

Fuller sucked his teeth. ‘So what’s in it for you, then?’

Morgan shrugged wearily. ‘There’s still the thirty grand reward money up for grabs, isn’t there? A piece of that would do nicely.’

‘You got something on with this woman?’ Fuller asked. ‘Resnick insinuated that you had.’

Morgan stood up. He’d had enough. He looked at his watch and his heart missed a beat. It was 3:55. He grabbed Fuller’s phone and dialed, standing there, ashen-faced, as it rang and rang.

Harry drove carefully, unused to Jackie’s old Morris Traveller. He switched on the radio.

‘And now, still climbing up the charts at number four, “Widows’ Tears.”’ Harry turned the volume up.

He chuckled. Well, the night was almost over, and he and Doll were going to meet again.

He parked on the edge of the heath. He would walk across it toward the house and the footbridge; walk the pathways like he had when he was a kid, on the day trips his mother had brought him on. Walking over the fields in the darkness, he thought about his old lady, the way she had taken him round Kenwood House, showing him the paintings, her favorite Gainsborough, even the cases with the old household bills and accounts. He had been bored to tears, but it must have meant something to him, because this is where he’d brought Dolly.

Doll — she’d been such a shy one, unlike the rest of them. But there had been something about her that he’d gone for: her class, her style. He reckoned you could never teach that; style was something you either had or you didn’t, and Doll had always had it. She liked the best, whatever it was — clothes, furniture. She’d been the one the whole street talked about, who’d got in to university with more ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels than anyone else had ever had from round their way. But she’d given it all up for him. He remembered the rumpus it had caused in her family. Her mother cried, her father threatened to have him done in; his girl was going to make something of herself, not marry the local bad boy doted on by his mother. Well, he’d shown them. It was a shame they were no longer alive when they’d got the house in Totteridge; he’d have liked to shove the cut-glass decanter down her father’s throat. Harry had always borne a grudge against him; Dolly had simply never seen him again after the marriage. She was like that, Doll — stood by him through thick and thin.

As Harry picked his way through the bushes, he gave no thought to what he had done to her; it was in the past, as if it had never happened. He wasn’t thinking about the way he betrayed her, the child he’d had with Trudie Nunn; he was actually thinking about what a good woman Dolly had been and that with all the cash she’d got, maybe they should try again. She’d proved she was one in a million. He never allowed himself to imagine she wouldn’t want him. He was Harry Rawlins, the guv’nor, and he was a rich man again. Not only would he have the money from the underpass raid, but the cash from the sale of his house, his businesses...

It was a pleasant walk and even the nagging pain in his hand had stopped bothering him. It was a fine, clear night and the air felt cool and fresh.

He stopped suddenly and wondered if he’d made a wrong turning — maybe things had changed on the heath. Then he got his bearings and went on, vaulted over the small wire fence and was finally in the grounds of Kenwood House.

Dolly felt like kicking herself when she found the gates leading to the house were locked. Of course they were — it was four in the morning! Actually, it was after four and she was late.

How long would he wait for her?

She turned the car round and headed back toward the heath, then remembered a short cut from close to Whitestone Pond, just past the Spaniard’s Inn. Dolly parked the car at the side of the road and began running, afraid that he wouldn’t be there. The gun felt heavy in her pocket.

Harry stood on the footbridge and looked at his watch. He was late and suddenly felt a moment of panic that he had missed her. He found the emotion interesting. Had she come and gone? No, not Dolly. Then he saw her, some distance away, the moonlight shining almost ghostlike on her cream-colored coat. She seemed younger, her face flushed as she came nearer. She wasn’t carrying a bag or holdall, but then of course she wouldn’t: the jewels would be in the car. She was walking quickly now, pushing aside the bushes. One caught in her sleeve and she stopped and unhooked it. She was only twenty-five yards away. He lit a cigarette, his face illuminated for a brief moment in the reddish flame, and she saw him.

Harry flicked the match into the water. Seeing her now had churned him up somehow. It wasn’t like seeing her on the heath that night, and he was reluctant to turn toward her in case she could read his feelings on his face. The truth was he needed her, he needed this woman. And she belonged to him. She was his.

Now he turned. It was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He needed her. He almost thrust his arms out toward her, but held himself in check. What if she didn’t want him back, was still afraid of him, wanted another deal?

Dolly knew that she had been right to come alone, knew it the moment the match flickered and she saw his face. It wasn’t the same feeling this time, not like the night Linda had died. She had felt her whole body lurch when she’d seen him then, standing, smiling, fooling round at the Jag as he showed her that there was no gun up his sleeve, no gun in his pocket, nothing in the car.

She instinctively removed her hand from the cold gun in her pocket. There was no lurch now, no searing pain. At long last the pain had gone.

She walked toward him, this time unafraid. He had hurt her, almost destroyed her, but he couldn’t anymore: it was over.

Harry hitched himself up to sit on the bridge, one leg resting on the ground, the other swinging. He took a heavy pull on the cigarette and tossed it into the water behind him. She was just yards away.

‘Hello, Doll. You’re looking good. Come here.’

His voice sounded coarse, with a sexual edge. He patted his knee, held a hand out to her.

Oh God, no... Please, no, she thought.

It was the coarseness that repelled her. She could smell him, the stink of cheap cologne, and now it was as if he was drawing her toward him by a thin, transparent cord.

‘Money safe, is it? Ah, my girl’s clever. Come here, Doll.’

She moved closer. Money: she knew that was all he had ever loved. The knowledge helped her keep moving toward him.

Then he surprised her.

‘I love you, Doll. I need you. It won’t work without you. Go for it again with me, one more time. I’ll get down on my knees, just like the first time.’

Dolly knew he might be acting, being flippant, but there was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen for a long, long time, and she knew what it was — love. He’d always tried so hard to act like the ‘guv’nor’ with her, but at this moment she was stronger than him, she knew it — stronger because of the undying love she had held on to during all the years she had devoted to him, guided him, cared for him, tried to bear his children. For him, those years had meant nothing. He had only now, right now, realized he needed her.

He said it again, and this time the sound was as raw as the helpless look on his face. ‘I love you, Doll.’

She was so close, she could put out her hand and touch him.

‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’ he said.

He was what she had wanted, from the age of seventeen. She had never loved anyone else. The tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak; just one more step and she would be in his arms.

Vic Morgan drove his Rover straight at the heavy white gates at the main entrance to Kenwood House. The impact sent shock waves up his spine, but the gates remained closed.

Fuller and Reynolds ran from their patrol car. Morgan was now slamming his shoulder into the gates — and one finally gave way and swung open. Morgan ran back to his car and drove through.

‘Crazy son of a bitch.’

Fuller ran back to the patrol car and followed Morgan through, up the driveway to the house, which was suddenly lit up starkly by their headlamps. Morgan was already running to the back of the house, Fuller and Reynolds close behind.

Morgan stopped at the top of the hill and looked. He could see Dolly, alone on the footbridge, looking into the water.

Fuller took a hold of his arm. ‘I’ll take it from here, Vic.’

Morgan threw him off and started running down the hill toward Dolly. As he reached the flatter ground, Fuller caught him up.

Morgan kept his voice low. ‘I think she’s got a gun. Go round to the right. Come from behind her.’

Fuller knew it was pointless to argue. He waited for Reynolds to join him, then they split up, moving round the lake to approach the bridge from the opposite side.

Where the hell was Rawlins?

Morgan stepped onto the bridge. Dolly turned to face him. She didn’t seem surprised.

‘Hand over the gun, Dolly. Please, just give me the gun.’

She lifted her arm, holding the gun out. Then she dropped it, her arm remaining stretched out to him for a moment.

Morgan stared at her. His mouth twitched.

‘Why?’

Dolly turned away, facing the water.

Morgan moved in closer. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He picked up the gun and put it in the pocket of his overcoat.

Again he asked her, ‘Why? Just tell me why?’

Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, a stranger, distant, expressionless. ‘We didn’t stand a chance. It was the only way.’

She was shivering. He thought he heard her whisper she was sorry. He was sorry too. He felt such a fool; she had made him look such a bloody fool, but then that’s what he was.

He looked down and saw the body floating in the filthy water. Harry Rawlins lay face down, arms outstretched, as if reaching for the safety of the bank.

Morgan looked up. Fuller was standing at the opposite end of the bridge. Morgan walked over and handed him the gun. He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.

‘Take it. She’s killed him — he’s in the water under the bridge. Wait.’

Fuller stepped back, as if frozen by Morgan’s command.

Morgan took off his overcoat, wrapped it round Dolly’s shoulders, and gently guided her away from the bridge. She was shivering, her hands icy cold to the touch.

Glancing back, Morgan nodded to Fuller, said he would take her to the car. Reynolds now appeared at the side of the bridge. Fuller pointed beneath the bridge. Reynolds stepped down the side and saw the floating body.

As Morgan and Dolly moved away from the bridge, he felt her ease away from him slightly, as if she wanted to walk alone, without his help. She held her head up proudly.

Reynolds was now knee-deep in the stagnant water. He reached for the body and grabbed hold of the left leg, pulling it toward the bank. Fuller stepped down into the water to help him. Together they dragged the body closer to the bank and turned it over.

Harry Rawlins was dead. On his face was a peaceful, almost serene smile.

Fuller was shocked. He straightened up, as if the body was contagious.

Dolly turned midway up the hill and gripped Morgan’s coat tightly round her for warmth. She looked back to Fuller, their eyes briefly met, and she gave him a small nod, like a tiny salute. That, too, unnerved him. He watched her continue her walk to the waiting patrol car, head held high.

Fuller sighed. It was finally over. He looked back down to the body as the water lapped round it. Then it started to rain, small drops at first, then the sky opened up and it was coming down in torrents. The wind seemed to shift the water, and the body moved slowly with it. It was as if, even in death, Rawlins was still trying to get away.