Widows

Chapter 26

Fuller was pleased with his morning’s work — he’d got so much done without Resnick breathing down his neck. He grinned as he contemplated what sort of morning Andrews might have had. He bet it had been horrible.

Fuller had a full report prepared for Resnick detailing every piece of incriminating evidence found in Carlos’s car yard. It looked as if they could, at long last, pin something on the Fisher brothers. One of the cars recovered was a brown Jag with frontal damage and false plates in the boot. A subsequent check on the false plates revealed a brown Jag had recently been involved in a job in Manchester, chased and lost by police. Fuller had the vehicle checked for prints and was beaming when he was told both the Fisher brothers and Carlos’s prints were found inside and outside the car, but the false plates were clean. This was real police work; this wasn’t chasing ghosts and Fuller felt good. The Fishers were alive and well and about to be arrested.

Fuller had already spoken with DCI Saunders and told him about the death of Carlos and the good news about the Fishers’ prints being on the Jag. He was still agitating to be moved to the Mayfair robbery team, and hoped this would help his chances. Saunders had congratulated Fuller on a great morning of hard work, but moved on, once again, to the subject of bloody George Resnick.

‘Where’s your boss?’ Saunders had asked. ‘Chasing wild geese again, is he?’

‘Couldn’t say, sir,’ said Fuller.

‘As soon as they’re back,’ Saunders ordered, ignoring him, ‘I want to see Resnick and Andrews, separately, in my office. Do not let that man leave without seeing me.’

Fuller had returned to the main office with a smug smile on his face. He knew where Resnick was and he knew that Resnick had been bullying Fat Fran into saying that she’d been assaulted by a dead man, because Andrews had told him over the radio. Fuller hoped that Andrews had the balls to drop Resnick right in it.

Now, Fuller looked up when Resnick and Andrews walked back into the office. This is it, he thought. This is the day Resnick gets his papers. Fuller couldn’t help the smirk and Resnick saw it.

‘What you lookin’ so bloody happy about?’

‘I’ve identified the Fishers’ wheels man, sir. Didn’t Andrews tell you?’

Resnick shrugged, uninterested. ‘Big deal. I got Fat Fran to admit that it was Tony Fisher that gave her a pasting.’

Fuller was taken aback. Andrews raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

‘She’s that scared,’ Andrews chipped in, ‘she’ll never give evidence against him. You could nick Tony Fisher, but we all know he’ll never admit it and, without her statement, why bother? He’d walk the same day, then be free to go back and give the poor woman another beating, or worse... kill her.’

Resnick was lost for words; he’d never heard Andrews say so much in one go. Fuller offered:

‘So, if we could put Tony Fisher away on another charge, she might feel safer and open up then?’

‘You’re referring to your sterling police work with regards to the raid on Carlos’s car yard, no doubt?’ Resnick said with a sneer. ‘Where’s this evidence that’s going to rid London of the Fishers then?’

‘On your desk, sir,’ Fuller replied, pointing. If his report was good enough for Saunders, it was definitely good enough for Resnick. As Resnick picked it up, Fuller added, ‘Oh, yes — Andrews, Saunders wants to see you.’

‘What for?’ demanded Resnick.

‘No idea,’ said Fuller. Andrews shrugged and left the room.

Resnick walked into his new glass annex office, turned and walked straight out again. ‘I asked for bloody blinds so I wouldn’t have to look at your ugly mugs all day. Where are they?’ Resnick barked. ‘Get onto Alice — she’s the only way to get things done round here.’

While Fuller went off to track Alice down, Resnick sat in his goldfish bowl annex, opened the Carlos Moreno file and began to read, picking his nose all the while. When Fuller came back five minutes later. Resnick tapped on the glass, smiled and beckoned him into his office.

‘Interesting report Fuller, very detailed and thorough,’ Resnick said as he sat down and placed the report on his desk.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Fuller replied. ‘As you can see, I have uncovered evidence that could put the Fishers away for car ringing and potentially link them to an illegal booze racket in Manchester. That then gives you a fighting chance of persuading the Fran woman to make a statement against Tony Fisher for the assault. If he’s already behind bars, she’s got nothing to be scared of.’

Resnick looked up at him and shook his head. He tapped the report. ‘This is a bloody cock-up! The Jag had its real plates on it when you recovered it and it’s registered to the Fishers’ club, so their prints on the motor are worthless.’

Fuller looked embarrassed. ‘Well, the false plates were in the boot... and they tie up with a brown Jag used on the Manchester job.’

‘So fucking what? The Fishers have an expensive lawyer who will crucify your case. In letting Carlos Moreno do a runner and get squashed to death by a Post Office van, you’ve given them a perfect alibi. If I need to spell it out, Fuller, you’re thicker than I thought. The Fishers can pin everything on Carlos and walk away.’

Fuller felt totally deflated. Resnick was right. The Jag was in for a service, so all the Fishers had to say was that Carlos must have taken the Jag to Manchester for the illegal booze racket. With Carlos dead, there was no one to argue with anything the Fishers might claim.

Humiliated, Fuller turned to leave.

‘Wait,’ Resnick said, opening the file again. ‘Your report says the tip-off about the Moreno garage was anonymous and made by a woman.’ Fuller nodded. ‘An unknown woman also rang Boxer Davis at his bedsit the night he was killed.’ Resnick clicked his fingers at Fuller. ‘Have a look in that box of my stuff down there for the phone tap reports on calls made.’

Fuller searched through the box of files Alice had packed for the move. He found the phone tap report file and handed it over.

As Resnick flicked through the pages and pages of calls made in and out of Dolly Rawlins’s house, Fuller spotted Andrews coming out of Saunders’s office. He looked depressed. Fuller cheered up. It was all coming to a head. All of Resnick’s short cuts, unprofessionalism and sidestepping of red tape, his crazed obsession with the Rawlins case, was coming out into the open and would see the end of him. Andrews would have just told Saunders about the picture of Harry Rawlins Resnick carried in his pocket at all times. Saunders would see him for the obsessed weirdo he was.

Andrews knocked on Resnick’s open door. ‘DCI Saunders would like to see you, sir.’

Resnick ignored him and continued to run his finger down the numbers called, checking to see if Boxer’s number or if the anonymous call to the police station on the night Carlos died was on there. At the bottom of the third page, the list of numbers suddenly stopped: no more recordings, no more notes, no more information. Resnick shot to his feet, knocking his chair over and slammed the file shut.

‘Well, I hope Saunders will be telling me what the bloody hell’s going on, because it seems he’s been keepin’ me in the dark and I won’t have it! First he stops the surveillance and then he stops the bleedin’ phone tap! What’s the point in me being here?’ He stormed off toward his boss’ office.

Andrews still had a faced like a slapped arse.

‘So, what did you say to Saunders?’ Fuller asked.

Andrews sighed and dug his hands into his pockets. ‘He did all the talking.’

This was disappointing. Fuller had hoped Andrews would have been spilling the beans on Resnick’s lunatic moment with Fat Fran.

‘Resnick gave me a lousy work report,’ Andrews continued. ‘And Saunders said I’d failed to make the grade, so I’m back on division and routine crime as of next month. I can’t believe it! I’ve always worked as hard as anyone else, done as I was told and never let Resnick down.’

Fuller suspected Andrews was for the chop; he felt sorry for him and said as much, but the fact was that, although he was a nice bloke, armed robbery investigations were out of his league. Working on division, investigating thefts and criminal damage would be more his forte. ‘Don’t worry. This job’s a roller coaster,’ Fuller said as he walked away. Then he whispered to himself: ‘I’m on my way up and you’re on your way down.’

When the explosion went off in Saunders’s office, the whole annex heard the boom of Resnick’s voice as he shouted at the top of his voice. All eyes looked over to the DCI’s office, where Resnick could be seen through the glass partition, red-faced with anger and thumping his fist on Saunders’s desk. Turning his head, Resnick saw Fuller, Andrews and others looking at him. He flung open the DCI’s office door and stepped into the corridor.

‘You all havin’ a bloody good gander and gettin’ an earful, are you? WELL, ARE YOU?’

Everyone in the annex suddenly pretended to be busy: there was a general rushing about and gathering up of papers, the typists typing frantically and officers picking up phones to make suddenly urgent calls. Except Fuller — Fuller stared Resnick down square for at least five seconds before looking away.

‘You know what?’ Andrews said, as he watched Fuller gloating. ‘You’re a bigger bastard than he is. He doesn’t make a conscious decision to be a shit; you do.’

Back in Saunders’s office, Resnick stood with both fists on the DCI’s desk as he leaned forward and glared at him. Saunders looked down at his memo pad and tapped it with the point of his sharpened pencil.

‘I withdrew the phone tap on the Rawlins woman when I found out about it a few days ago. For one, you had not sought mine or any other senior officer’s approval, which means it was illegal, not to mention the cost of having an officer monitor and write down the number of all the calls in and out, day and night. And I withdrew the surveillance for pretty much the same reason. I couldn’t justify two officers sitting outside the Rawlins house with Boxer Davis’s killer on the loose.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you pulled the tap?’ Resnick said, trying to regain his composure. ‘It could have been Dolly Rawlins that phoned Boxer Davis and who grassed up Carlos Moreno. It was a woman, sir. A woman who called to speak to Boxer Davis twice on the night he died. You should have told me.’

Saunders sat back in disbelief. ‘I should have told you? George — have you any idea how many times I have gone looking for you, only to find you were out God knows where? I left a copy of this memo on your desk. If you failed to read it that’s not my problem.’

‘I’m so close, sir.’

‘Close to what, exactly?’ Saunders asked.

Resnick sucked in his breath, trying to keep control of his temper. He’d already blown his top once; he knew he could only go so far with Saunders before he bit back. They’d been friends for so long...

Saunders placed the pencil down, leaned forward and stuck the knife in. ‘The Rawlins case is closed, George. You and your men are to assist on the Mayfair robbery. They have a few good leads and need more troops.’

‘Oh, no, no, no, please, just two more weeks. I’ll have something within two weeks.’ Resnick pleaded, sharing everything he had with his old friend. ‘We know there was a fourth man and I’m this close to finding him. When I do, I solve four cases in one go. He’s connected to them all, I know he is. Rawlins is connected to them all. It stands to reason that the fourth man is as well.’

‘Who do you think it is?’ Saunders inquired.

‘I’m close. Give me time. A little more time, that’s all. The fourth man and this woman who’s been calling people... they’re the key.’

‘I thought Fran was the key? Last week, Boxer Davis was the key. The week before, Len Gulliver was the key.’ Saunders shook his head. He’d heard enough; he wasn’t going to back down. ‘I’m acting on orders that come from higher up, George. Your case is closed.’

‘You’re giving up on me!’ Resnick snapped.

Saunders snapped his pencil in two. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘How dare you? How bloody dare you? You were given the Rawlins case on my recommendation. Not one senior officer bar me thought you were up to it, but I fought your corner and got you the case. The case you’ve wanted to close for your entire career. But all you’ve found, George, are dead ends. No useful leads or evidence. My hands are tied.’

Resnick bowed his head in a mixture of shame and despair; he knew the system well enough to understand where Saunders was coming from, but he still hated it.

‘I know what that bastard Harry Rawlins did to you,’ Saunders continued, ‘but now you’re carrying a personal grievance too far. Give it up George and move on for your—’

Resnick interrupted him. ‘What personal grievance?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

Resnick leaned over the desk and slammed his fist down again. ‘The man’s a bloody villain and—’

‘The man’s dead!’ Saunders shouted, shocking Resnick into silence. ‘Andrews told me what happened with Fran. He told me about the photograph of Harry Rawlins. You were wrong, because she admitted it was Tony Fisher who assaulted her. I hate to say it, George, but you’re becoming obsessed and need to face facts — Rawlins is dead and buried.’

Resnick opened his mouth, but Saunders held up his hand to stop him. ‘If you don’t want to move to the Mayfair robbery, might I suggest you take time off? The Chief Superintendent will approve your leave.’

Resnick stared at Saunders. ‘Sounds as if you know that for sure. You’ve already asked him, haven’t you?’ He held Saunders’s gaze. ‘I expect he’s already approved my transfer if I want that as well, has he?’

‘He approved your transfer months ago, George. I’ve been fighting to keep you here, on the case you want, doing the job I know you were excellent at.’

‘Were?’ This single word from Saunders cut like a knife. ‘Then I expect it’s pointless me asking if the Super’s read my application for promotion?’

Saunders chose to ignore Resnick’s last question. He waffled on about what a good officer George was and how he was sure this time he would get the promotion, perhaps to a quieter station where he could serve out his time. He said he knew that, by rights, George should be sitting where he was.

‘Then why aren’t I?’ Resnick snapped.

‘Because of the bloody Rawlins case, George! This personal—’

‘It’s not personal! He’s just a villain.’

‘A dead villain,’ Saunders said, hammering this home one more time.

‘Dead or not, he’s responsible for dozens of unsolved robberies and I’m this close to solving all of them,’ Resnick repeated. But he’d heard enough. He hated being patronized. He stood up and stabbed his finger at Saunders. ‘You are too right, sonny. I should have been sitting where you are long ago. You, me and everyone in this bloody place knows I’m not because of Harry Rawlins. It was personal, you’re right — how could it not be? But it’s not anymore. Now, it’s about good solid police work. I want his ledgers, I want the fourth man and I want the woman on the phone. Because that’s how we clean up London! And, just so you know, sir, people with their ear to the ground, people in the know, don’t think Rawlins is dead at all.’

Resnick took a deep and rasping breath, taking in oxygen to calm himself down. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his warrant card and threw it down on Saunders’s desk. ‘You can stuff my promotion application and I resign from the Met.’

Saunders sighed and stood up. This wasn’t what he wanted, but Resnick had overstepped the mark and Saunders had had enough of trying to appease him. ‘I think you had better take your resignation up with the Chief Super.’

‘I’m taking it up with you! People in the know... you remember that: Boxer, Green Teeth, me. The Fishers — they’re running scared from someone bigger and nastier than them! You mark my words; you haven’t heard the last of Harry Rawlins. He’s out there somewhere, alive and well... I know it. And it won’t be me he comes back to haunt, it’ll be you!’

Saunders was now convinced that George was losing it. ‘Please, George, just go home and rest. Don’t make any rash decisions here and now.’

‘My resignation will be on your desk first thing in the morning. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? Well, I hope yours and everybody else’s heads bloody well roll when you all see I was right.’ Resnick stormed out of the office.

Resnick was on the ground floor heading toward the main exit when he stopped to have a coughing fit. He could hardly catch his breath, his heart was hammering so rapidly he thought it was going to leap out of his chest. As he leaned against the wall, waiting for the heart attack he was sure was coming, he saw Alice walking toward him. Her pace quickened when she saw the state he was in.

‘Deep breaths sir, long deep breaths.’ Resnick knew what to do when he got like this, but Alice’s gentle reminder was still soothing. Especially now. She gave him time to get his breathing back to normal then asked if she should fetch a glass of water.

‘No, I’ll be fine,’ Resnick said. ‘But I need you to do me a favor, Alice, love. I want you to write a letter.’

‘I can’t...’ Alice began, trying to tell him she wasn’t working for his department anymore.

One more rule broken wasn’t going to harm either him or Alice now. ‘No,’ said Resnick. ‘I really need you to do this for me, Alice, please. It’s my letter of resignation.’

‘Oh, sir.’ Alice didn’t know what else to say.

‘They took the case off me, so I quit.’ Resnick looked so wretched, his head bent as he quietly told her exactly what he wanted written.

Alice wasn’t listening; she never did when he dictated letters. She usually just wrote what she knew he would have said if he’d had the time to think straight. She’d do the same now. She imagined herself saying, ‘I’ll quit with you, George. We’re both meant for better things.’ The very idea of actually calling him ‘George’ brought a lump to her throat and she hoped she didn’t have to say anything before it went away. He’d always been such a grouch, but he was her grouch. He was her grumpy, brilliant, disgusting, dedicated policeman, and no one knew how to handle him except her.

Once he’d finished, Resnick looked up at Alice. ‘When you do the whip round for the retirement pressie, no Teasmade, all right?’

Alice tried to smile but she just wanted to cry.

Resnick leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thanks for everything, Alice. And thanks for putting up with me.’

As she watched Resnick walk away, with his manky old coat flapping and his moth-eaten briefcase in his hand, she finally broke down. She’d be the first to admit that her feelings for such an outwardly unlikeable man were hard to comprehend. But Alice knew where she stood with Resnick, she knew her role, she knew she empowered him to be the best officer he could be by covering his back, listening to him moan, reassuring him when he had self-doubt and protecting him from... well, himself mainly. And she’d failed him. He gave her life purpose and that was more than any other man had ever done. Resnick had no idea how much she loved him — and now he never would.