Linda was on her second tea when she and Dolly heard the banging on the main garage doors. Shirley bundled in, clip-clopping across the uneven floor in her stilettos, banging her suitcase into everything and apologizing for being late.
“Bleedin’ ’ell, what you come as?” said Linda. “Look at her, Dolly, all dressed up like a dog’s dinner. You wearing false eyelashes?”
Shirley dropped her suitcase on the floor straight into the oily puddle, which splashed all over her newly tanned legs. She jumped backward, snapped a heel, stumbled and ended up seated on the bonnet of the dirtiest car in the lock-up. Tears instantly welled in her eyes.
“I come eighth! I made a right fool of myself and I was awful to me mum.”
Linda spoke again, but more kindly this time. “Eight’s not bad, Shirl. How many of you were there?”
“Ten . . .” Shirley mumbled pathetically, and Linda turned quickly away in order to hide a smile.
Shirley stood up straight and brushed her backside down. When she looked at her hand, it was covered in oil and she could only imagine what her tan coat looked like from behind. The final straw was when she noticed that she’d broken a nail. The tears came and she said, “I wasn’t going to come.”
“Did anyone see you?” Dolly asked, secretly very relieved to see her. She needed to get things back on track.
“No, I got off at the station, like you instructed.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“Well, course I did! It’s a bloody station at kicking-out time!” Shirley snapped, then immediately checked herself.
Dolly settled Shirley down, patting and stroking her head like she did Wolf’s. She ordered Linda to make some more coffee.
“I’ve been here half the night and all I’ve done so far is to act as a bloody waitress,” Linda muttered, stomping off in a huff.
Ten minutes later, the three women were seated round a large crate, stocked up with tea, coffee and biscuits, looking at the maps and drawings Dolly had laid out for them. Linda was nibbling the top off a Custard Cream, Shirley was nibbling her broken nail into some sort of acceptable shape while wafting Dolly’s cigarette smoke away from her face, and Dolly was hunched over the plans, writing copious notes in her diary—things they needed to buy, to do, to learn.
“Our main problem is going to be the weight we got to carry on our backs from here—” Dolly added a neat line to her drawing of the Strand underpass—“right up to here. That’s where we’ll have the getaway car parked. It’s a run of about fifty yards.”
Dolly looked up to see Linda scraping the custard out of her biscuit with her bottom teeth. “You listening?” Dolly demanded.
Linda confidently recapped everything Dolly had been saying. “Nicked van up front to stop the security wagon in the underpass. Nicked van behind to block it in. Shooter keeping cars in check. Shooter getting the guards to open up. Rucksacks full of money.”
“Very heavy money,” Shirley corrected.
“Very heavy money.” Linda repeated. “Fifty yard run to nicked getaway car.” Linda was clearly very pleased with herself.
Insubordinate bitch, Dolly thought. She’d have to tame her before the big day but, for now, she let it go. “One of us will have to learn how to use a chainsaw as well and that’s really heavy,” Dolly continued.
“I’ve got no strength in my arms,” Shirley said. “My legs are OK so I’m not worried about the weight of the money.”
“You’ve carried a third of a million in notes, have you?” Dolly snapped.
Shirley fell silent. She was too tired to care how much this mythical third of a million weighed so she changed the subject. “What happens if we get trouble from anyone in the cars behind us?”
Linda butted in. “Weren’t you listening?! I just said: ‘shooter keeping cars in check’—that’s me. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. There’ll be no have-a-go heroes on my watch.” Linda grabbed another Custard Cream. “What about explosives?”
Dolly glared at Linda—one long, cold stare that said it all. If looks could actually kill, Linda thought, I’d be dead on the floor.
“Sorry, Dolly,” she said and reached a comforting hand across the crate.
Dolly moved her hand away and changed the subject. “I’m arranging a meeting with the security contact soon. We know from the ledgers that the wagon always uses the underpass, but that the runs vary in the time and the exact route they take. Once a month there’s a big run with extra cash—we’ll go for that one about four months from now. The contact will confirm the exact date and give us the route map—and we’ll need every minute to prepare.”
As Dolly reached down to her bag, Linda and Shirley rolled their eyes at each other. Two months, four months, six months—did Dolly honestly believe they could pull off an armed robbery?
Dolly sat upright again, two large brown envelopes in her hand. “Get yourself wheels,” she instructed, handing them over. “Pay cash and make sure they’re taxed and registered, then, after the job’s done, we’ll ditch ’em.”
Linda opened her envelope and swallowed hard, eyes glinting. She tingled all over—there had to be two grand inside! She was grinning like the Cheshire cat as Dolly handed her a set of keys to the lock-up and brought the meeting to a close.
“From now on, this’ll be headquarters. Be careful how you come and go.” Dolly held up another set of keys for Shirley. “Now’s your chance, love,” Dolly said. “You in or out?”
Shirley squeezed the envelope full of cash, looked at Linda who eagerly nodded—and she took the keys.
Dolly stood up, pleased with how well the evening had gone. “That’s it for tonight,” she said. “Golden rule is you two never call me at home, I’ll get in touch with you as and when I need to. Inside your envelopes is a list of details of what each of you have to do. We take this in stages. Stage one is to get the motors sorted, and for you Shirley, to get all the clothing gear I’ve put on your list.”
Dolly didn’t wait for confirmation; she didn’t need it. They’d taken her money and they’d taken her keys. As far as she was concerned, they were now a team and she was in charge. They’d do as she said, just as Joe and Terry had always done what Harry said. “You two can lock up. Don’t leave together, just like at the spa.” And she was gone, with Wolf quick on her heels.
Linda and Shirley still sat at the crate, their envelopes of money in front of them. They listened to Dolly’s footsteps echo out of the lock-up, heard the Alsatian barking like a lunatic, then nothing.
It was Shirley who broke the silence.
“You scared, Linda?”
“If I believed that this was for real I’d be shitting myself, darlin’,” Linda laughed, taking her money out of the envelope to count it.
Shirley agreed, but she was genuinely concerned for Dolly. “She’s not right, is she?”
“Not even close! Look, I dunno why she’s doing this, Shirl, but it seems to be helping her. Making her feel better. And I have to admit, talkin’ about it makes me feel alive, like I’m tingling all over.”
“So you’re just going to go along with it?”
“I’m not proud. I need the cash. Joe left me broke and I know your Terry did the same to you. Dolly’ll come to her senses eventually and we’ll all just go back to our lives but, for now, I’m going to keep on taking the money and Dolly can live in her little fantasy world with us for company.” Linda could see that the decision to play along with Dolly was nowhere near as easy for Shirley. “We’re actually doing her a favor, Shirl. We’re looking after her, giving her something to aim for . . . making sure she doesn’t end up naked in Trafalgar Square with a traffic cone on her head.” Linda reached across the crate and put her hand on Shirley’s.
Shirley looked down at Linda’s comforting hand and noticed that she no longer wore her wedding ring. Then she looked at her own long, slender fingers. They were shaking and her gold wedding ring glistened. She didn’t feel elated, or as Linda had put it, “tingling all over.�
�� If this was all just part of Dolly’s grieving process, then Shirley felt terribly, terribly guilty. And if this was really about three widows getting together to commit their dead husbands’ armed robbery, then she felt petrified. But the envelope of money in her hand was lifesaving. Without it she’d lose the house and everything in it.
“Come on.” Linda said, helping Shirley to her feet. “Let’s go home.”
As Dolly walked along toward the Dorchester, she could see Andrews in his car outside. He was every bit as predictable as she’d thought he was; a foot soldier, nothing more. As she passed his window, she couldn’t resist giving him a small smile. She tipped the doorman when he returned with her Merc, and then drove off like a cat who’d got the cream.
Back home, Dolly locked the garage doors from outside, allowing Wolf to have a pee in the front garden before heading in for the night. Usually she would have entered the house through the connecting door in the garage to the kitchen, but she couldn’t resist toying with Andrews, who had parked up in his usual place outside her house. As she took out her front door key and let herself in, Dolly smiled to herself, thinking how adept she was becoming at losing her police tail. But when she opened her front door, her smile turned to shock, a chill ran through her body from her head to her toes, and her eyes stung with anger as she took in the mess before her. The hallway carpets had been lifted, vases and figurines were knocked over, the upholstery had been slit open, houseplants upturned and the soil tipped out.
Noticing the light coming from the open lounge door, she moved slowly and quietly forward, tiptoeing over the broken debris.
Dolly froze as she heard the click-click of a record dropping down onto the turntable, then the eerie silence was broken by the words of her song filling the room. “What is life to me without thee, what is life if thou art dead?” She slowly pushed open the lounge door and held her hand to her mouth—the room was destroyed, the stuffing hung out of her beautiful sofa, pictures were smashed. She had only just straightened everything out after the cops had turned the house upside down—and now this! Anger flooded over her and she kicked the door, causing it to swing open and slam against the cabinet behind it.
Boxer Davis jumped, dropping the framed picture of Harry he held in his hands. His suit and hair were covered in the fluff from the sofa stuffing and he looked so ridiculous she was suddenly not afraid anymore. Without a word, she walked over and lifted off the needle from the record on the turntable. Wolf whimpered, not knowing what to do, running round the room, getting tangled up in the torn cushions.
“It wasn’t me, Doll, honest,” Boxer whined nervously.
Dolly turned on him and screamed, “Don’t you dare call me that!”
Boxer was nearly in tears as he begged Dolly to listen to him. “There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop him. If you’d been here, Dolly, he’d have done this to you. I’m so glad you was out! I really truly am glad you was out!”
“Who?” Dolly said through clenched teeth.
“Tony, Tony Fisher. He thinks you know where Harry stashed those ledgers.”
“You stood by and let him do this? Watched him do this to my home!”
Boxer hovered around her, almost crying with the shame of what had happened, repeating again and again that he had nothing to do with the damage. “I’m trying to do you a favor, gal. I’m worried for you. They’re not offering money anymore. They want those ledgers.”
Dolly sat on her torn velvet chair and Wolf jumped up beside her. “I’ve told you! I don’t know where the ledgers are. I’ve told you and I’ve told the law.”
“But they don’t believe you. I do though, Dolly, I believe that you don’t know. But they still have to be somewhere, don’t they? So maybe you and me could take a little look round? And Tony Fisher wants to pay the other widows a visit an’ all.”
Dolly felt her insides tighten. “Why the bloody hell would he want to do that? If I don’t know anything, they’re not going to, are they?”
“Tony doesn’t think like that, Dolly. He just wants to hurt someone till he gets what he needs.”
Dolly sat with her head in her hands, desperately trying to work out if Tony could possibly know about her meetings with Shirley and Linda. She was always so careful, but she worried nonetheless.
Boxer was now sitting on his haunches in front of her, patting her knee like a great ape, his eyes blinking repeatedly. She wanted to hit him. She couldn’t take on the Fishers without a plan and she had no one to turn to. She needed time and she needed to somehow keep the Fishers away from the other widows. Her head was spinning.
“How did Tony get into my home?” she demanded.
Boxer smiled and pulled an old plastic card from his jacket pocket, holding it up for her to see.
Dolly stared at him. “You do know the police are watching me, don’t you?”
“You’re not going to get me into trouble are you, Doll?” Boxer was clearly unnerved. He hadn’t known. Would Dolly have him arrested for breaking and entering?
“Don’t call me Doll! And I think you’re in enough trouble without me adding to it, don’t you? Working for the Fishers is a dangerous move, Boxer. They’re not smart, see, not like my Harry was. I mean, if the Old Bill did my house over and couldn’t find the ledgers, what makes Tony Fisher think he’s going to do any better?”
Boxer sat there on his heels, looking at Dolly for guidance. His poor brain couldn’t work out how to speak at the same time as think.
“Leave me alone now, Boxer. Come round in the morning, help me tidy up and we’ll see if we can find any hiding places that the coppers and Tony might have missed.”
Boxer’s eyes widened and his face lit up like a child who’d just been given the biggest ice cream in the world. “I will!” He beamed as he stood up. “I’ll be here at nine, shall I?”
“Seven.”
“Seven’s better. Yes, I’ll be here at seven. I’m meant to report back to the Fishers this evening, so I’ll let them know you’re co-operating and tomorrow we’ll look properly and everything will be all right.”
Dolly couldn’t believe how gormless Boxer was. She watched him trot off out the front door, with a renewed bounce in his step. She then bolted and double locked every door in the house before tidying the kitchen a little. All her food from the freezer lay on the floor defrosting and her beautiful china and cutlery was smashed and strewn everywhere. She didn’t have the strength to tackle this tonight, so she made herself a coffee and sat back down in her ransacked living room, on her ruined sofa.
Dolly knew she had to start thinking the way Harry would have done, but it was hard as she looked around the room at the collection of Capodimonte figures Harry had bought her, smashed to bits. She looked at Wolf. “What would Harry do? Eh, darling? What would Daddy do?”
She thought about the police car outside and was tempted to call Resnick and tell him how his idiot men chose to follow her to the Dorchester instead of stopping Tony Fisher and Boxer Davis from breaking in and destroying her beautiful home. She went to her window and peered out through a rip in her thick velvet curtains. “Idiots!” she seethed. “You’ve just watched Boxer Davis leave my home and it doesn’t even cross your mind how or when the hell he got in here in the first place.”
Dolly turned to survey her living room. Amid the horrific mess, the broken framed photograph of Harry dropped by Boxer stood out as clear as day. At first, she felt sad seeing Harry’s handsome face smiling up at her through the cracked glass, but then she felt he was trying to tell her something.
“What is it, Harry? What should I do?” Dolly said softly as she knelt on the floor and picked up the broken frame. She stared at his face and with her whole heart and soul whispered, “I loved you. I loved you so very much. Dear God, Harry, I still love you. You would never have let those Fisher bastards do this to us.”
Then, as if Harry was suddenly there standing by her side, she suddenly felt comforted. He would guide her through the next few months, thr
ough the robbery, she was certain. She was doing it for Harry, after all. She truly believed that he would watch over her now, and wouldn’t let anything go wrong.
That night, with little Wolf curled up on Harry’s pillow next to her, Dolly had her best night’s sleep since she’d heard the terrible news.
Chapter 9
Dolly had been up since 6 a.m., tidying and cleaning. At first, she hadn’t known where to start. Usually, she’d run the vacuum round but this morning she couldn’t even see the carpet under all the debris.
By the time Boxer strolled up the driveway, she was dressed in her oldest clothes, apron and headscarf and was throwing away yet another bin bag full of broken memories. 7 a.m. was clearly way too early for Boxer. He looked like a zombie as he shuffled past her, although he seemed enthusiastic enough to get on with the search for Harry’s ledgers.
The second zombie in the street was the very tired young officer in the car parked six houses down. “You’re not paying any attention, are you?” Dolly said. She glanced down at Wolf. “Silly policeman.”
In the lounge, Boxer was assessing the situation.
“What shall I do first?” he asked. Housework, especially after a ransacking, wasn’t something he was going to take to easily.
“Right,” said Dolly. “Throw anything that’s broken beyond repair, but bag the sofa cushions and curtains; they can be fixed. And, once you can see the carpet, the vacuum’s in the cupboard under the stairs.”
“Right you are, Dolly.” Boxer beamed. With idiot-proof instructions, he was far happier. “We’ll have this place spick and span in no time.”
Dolly watched Boxer as he bagged her last few broken Capodimonte figures. The damage wasn’t as bad as she had originally thought, and it was mostly downstairs. Once everything was cleared, her sofa was probably reparable and she’d no doubt be able to scrub the carpet clean from the mud and grass stains that had been trampled in from her back garden. It was the intrusion that hurt her the most. The police, the Fishers, they each seemed to think that they could treat her with such disdain and get away with it.
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