Gloria crossed to the champagne and helped herself to a glass before joining Arnie and admiring her figure in the mirror alongside his. She thought Carlos was a gorgeous-looking fella and didn’t know how he could stand Arnie pawing at him, but then she decided that poofs were all the same—just out for what they could get. She’d no doubt let Arnie paw her as well if she got silk suits and nice motors out of it. Yes, Carlos was doing very nicely out of Arnie, especially with all the added business going his way at his garage. She wondered how long he would last, though. Usually Arnie’s boys never made it beyond two months. He was a fickle bastard, but this one, this Carlos, it’d been near that already and they still seemed to be going strong. And if Carlos ever did get dumped by Arnie, well, she’d be there to comfort him.
“I’m off home now,” Gloria said, necking her drink. “Shall I let Boxer in or what?”
Carlos stood up to leave.
“Stay. It’s only Boxer Davis,” said Arnie. “Wheel him in,” he told Gloria.
Gloria wiggled out and Boxer entered, his appearance catching Arnie off guard slightly. He’d had his hair cut, parted and flattened down on one side, which made his ears stick out, but more than that, Boxer was actually wearing a near-decent suit.
“So, what you got?” Arnie asked, lighting a cigar.
Boxer blurted it out. He’d been at the Rawlins’ place and had some information, which was worth a lot of money, but it was private stuff. Boxer looked at Carlos, hoping he would leave the room.
Arnie gave Carlos the nod to get another bottle of champagne. As he left, Boxer sat down without asking. This was a surprise. Boxer never pushed his luck with either of the Fishers, but today he seemed very confident about something. Arnie let Boxer’s disrespect go for now. He was intrigued to hear what the big oaf had to say.
“I got news about Harry Rawlins, Mr. Fisher. I been with Dolly, gaining her trust back and, well, she confided in me.” Boxer left a dramatic pause and then dropped the bombshell. “He’s alive. Harry Rawlins is alive.”
Arnie’s reaction was not what Boxer had expected. He sat at his desk, leaned back, took his glasses off and suddenly started to shriek with a high-pitched laugh. Then he looked up, glaring at Boxer with icy eyes as his face turned nasty. “Alive! She’s spinning you a yarn, you stupid little prick.”
“Straight up, Mr. Fisher. He wants me to work with him. Offered me a job, he did. She give me his jacket on his say-so. He wants me looking respectable for him.”
“You really are pathetic. I was at his soddin’ funeral, along with the law. Who does she think she’s kiddin’, eh? I watched them bury him!”
“It wasn’t him.”
Arnie got to his feet, making Boxer flinch. “It was him! And you’ve just blown it, Boxer. You’re through, you hear me! You had your chance and you fuckin’ blew it. Get that rag of a suit off and go back to cleaning beer crates—it’s all you’re good for. And watch your step from this day forward, speaking to me like you own the place, sitting down without being invited to. You watch your back. I’ll deal with that bitch now; I’ll find out if Harry bleedin’ Rawlins is alive. I’ll fucking well dig the bastard up if I have to!”
Boxer stood, raging at the way he was just being dismissed. Arnie was an arrogant prick who made Boxer feel dirty and useless. Well—he wasn’t useless. With Harry back at his side, they’d wipe this little gay turd Fisher out. “I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Fisher,” Boxer spoke in what he hoped was a calm, threatening tone. “Tony turned his place over and Harry didn’t like that one bit.” As Boxer continued, eyes fixed on Arnie, Carlos came back into the room with a second bottle of champagne. “Harry’s furious, I’d say. Tony even done over their dead baby’s nursery, so you can tell him that Harry’s very, very angry with him. I’m not the one who needs to watch his back. Harry’s watching my back, so I’ll be fine.”
Through gritted teeth, Arnie whispered, “Piss off.” Boxer left without another word.
Arnie’s eyes were practically popping out of his head. Carlos stood in the middle of the room like a spare part, holding the champagne bottle. He could see that Arnie was ready to explode, so he put the bottle down and put his arm round Arnie’s shoulders. Arnie pushed Carlos away, then quickly corrected himself. “Not now darlin’, that’s all. Not now.”
When Shirley arrived at the lock-up, Linda was sitting on one of the orange boxes looking dreadful, make-up smeared all over her face. Shirley raced across. What if Tony Fisher had been to see her and done something terrible?
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Linda said, flapping her hands at Shirley. “Keep the noise down a bit. My head’s banging.”
“Well, what are we here for, then? You know we’re not meant to call meetings, only Dolly. What’s happened that was so important, Linda?”
Bella came out of the office and handed Linda a cup of coffee. Shirley stared, mouth open, not knowing what to say or where to look. “Tea?” Bella said. Shirley couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Who was this woman? Why was she here? And, most importantly, what the bloody hell had Linda told her!
“This is Bella,” Linda said, casually sipping her coffee. “She’s our number four.”
Shirley’s mouth opened even wider, which just made Linda laugh. “Don’t be like that, Shirl. Bella’s as good as gold and as hard as nails. She’s just what we need. I know what you’re thinking, but Dolly’ll be fine once she’s met her. And if she ain’t, well bollocks. Bella’s worth ten of her.” Linda nudged Bella to get her attention. “She is loaded, mind, so in truth, she’s probably worth ten thousand of you!”
Shirley finally spoke up, “She’ll go absolutely mad, Linda, and you know it.”
“Bella’s got just as much right to take Dolly’s money as we have. She deserves some good luck for a change . . . and she’s a widow, just like us. Dolly’ll love that.”
As Shirley shook her head in disgust and disbelief, they heard Wolf yapping at the Alsatian next door and the Alsatian growling back. All three women looked toward the door, then Shirley scurried off toward the office, dragging Bella away.
“You deal with her,” Shirley snapped at Linda. “You’re in for it now.”
Linda put her head in her hands, willing her headache to go away.
Dolly raced into the lock-up, popping Wolf on the floor as she ran toward Linda. “What’s the matter?” Dolly asked, concerned “You all right? What’s happened?” When Linda lifted her head and Dolly smelt the booze, her concern turned to anger. “You’re pissed!” Dolly seethed. “Did you call an emergency meeting, Linda, cos you ran out of vodka?”
Shirley watched from the doorway of the kitchen and office annex. She’d never seen Dolly look so disheveled. She wore no make-up, her hair needed washing, and she looked exhausted; her face drawn, haggard almost. For the first time ever, Shirley thought Dolly looked her age, older even than her own mum. Then again, thought Shirley, she is old enough to be my mum.
“I’m not pissed. I have had a couple, sure, but I’m not pissed.”
Linda was certainly pissed enough to be oblivious to Dolly’s simmering rage. From where Shirley stood, she could see the veins standing up in Dolly’s neck. Before anyone could speak again, Bella stepped out from behind Shirley.
Bella was a tall, impressive, commanding figure, but Dolly didn’t flinch at any of that. Bella smiled and walked toward Dolly, hand outstretched. Shirley had seen Dolly when she had had a go at Linda earlier that day, but she was different now—earlier, when she slapped Linda, it was like a parent slapping a child. Now, Dolly looked even tougher and there was something almost mannish about her, as though this situation demanded something extra. When she eventually spoke, it was a growl. She flicked a look to Bella and back to Linda.
“Who the hell is she?”
Linda, empowered by the booze, introduced them. “This is Bella,” she said.
“What’s she doing here?” Dolly was desperately trying to maintain control.
“She wants in. You
said we needed somebody else, so I told her and she—”
“Told her? Told her what exactly?”
Stumbling to her feet, Linda continued, “Everything. I told her everything when she came into the arcade. Look at her, Dolly, she’s perfect.”
Dolly cut Linda off. “You in on this?” she bellowed at Shirley, who was still standing in the doorway.
“I was in bed when she called. Don’t bring me into this, I’m as shocked as you are.”
“Shut up, Miss Goody Two Shoes, and let me finish!” Linda shouted at Shirley.
“Oh, you’re finished all right, Linda.” Dolly had her hand on her hip and was waggling her finger in Linda’s face, trying desperately to resist slapping her again. “You can get your gear and you can get out! And you can take that black tart with you!”
“Just let me explain.”
“Explain?! Explain how you went and told the whole world about what we’re up to? How many more slags you got coming down here? I want you out!!” Dolly grabbed Linda and started to push her toward the door but, this time, fueled by the booze, Linda fought back.
“You’ve talked to me like shit once too often, Dolly! You treat your dog better than you do me!” As the tears came, Linda reached the point of no return and she screamed in Dolly’s face. “I bring the answer to all our problems and you throw it in my face, you stuck-up bitch.”
From nowhere, Bella pulled Linda away from Dolly and slapped her, hard. In the following silence, Dolly and Bella stood nose to nose getting the measure of each other. Then Bella spoke for the first time.
“You two want to have a cat fight, go ahead, only don’t do it over me.” Bella’s deep voice was calm and controlled, her eyes blazed with a silent warning. “Look, Mrs. Rawlins, anything she told me, I just forgot. It’s no skin off my back. Thanks for the coffee.” Bella collected her handbag and started to walk toward the door.
Linda looked at Dolly.
“Just a minute.” Dolly’s words made Bella stop and turn.
“You talking to me, Mrs. Rawlins?” Bella’s confidence shone as she stared at Dolly. “Cos I got a name and it’s not ‘tart’ or ‘slag.’ My name’s Bella. And I didn’t come pushing my way in here, I was asked. These two might think your idea’s crazy, but I don’t. I know what you want to do and I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think I could be part of it.” Dolly listened intently, without breaking Bella’s stare. “How many girls out there do you think could do this? Better still, how many do you think would want to?” When there was still no word from Dolly, Bella continued toward the door. “You can stuff your job,” she said.
“Stop. How much has she told you?” Dolly asked.
“Nothing.” Bella’s tone was sarcastic now that she’d made her point. “I’ve got a really bad memory. If you want to come with me, Linda, I’ll walk you home.”
Linda stood between Dolly and Bella, like a small child between feuding parents. “Please, Dolly. I only did it for the best. I’m really sorry. You can’t call it off, Dolly, not cos of me. Please don’t let her go, Dolly, she’s right, I know she is.”
“You opened your big mouth to anyone else, Linda?”
Linda shook her head. “No. I swear I haven’t.”
“What do you think, Shirley?” Dolly asked.
Shirley was surprised to be asked her opinion. She didn’t know Bella and she was upset that Linda had gone behind their backs, but she still trusted her. “She looks the part,” Shirley replied after a moment. “And now that she knows everything, she might as well stay.”
“You married?” Dolly asked Bella.
Bella walked back toward Dolly, Linda and Shirley. “I got no ties, Mrs. Rawlins. I just do the clubs and anything else I can pick up.”
“She tell you we’d be using guns?”
“Yes.”
“You drive?”
“Yes.” Once again, Dolly and Bella stared at each other, but this time it wasn’t like two Alpha females vying for position. Now there was respect in their eyes. It was Bella who finally lightened the atmosphere.
“And I play a mean tune on a harmonica.”
Dolly had to suppress a smile. Bella was a strong, powerful woman who took no shit from anyone, but she was also smart and would be a great asset to the team.
Linda and Shirley held each other as they waited for Dolly’s decision.
“All right, Bella,” Dolly said finally. “. . . and the name’s Dolly.”
Chapter 12
Forensics were able to tell DI Resnick that the rear bumper of the bread van had been modified with a heavy metal bar strong enough to ram backward into the security wagon, and that there were still traces of the security wagon’s body paint on it. This was definitely the bread van used in the botched robbery.
There had been five days of intensive police work at Sunshine Bread, during which every man and woman in the company had their prints taken and compared to those found in the bread van. It was a long, tedious procedure, but Resnick was determined.
So far, no prints taken had revealed anyone with a criminal record, and all the prints in the van belonged to company employees. But someone had to have given Rawlins the keys to the site and to the van. Someone was crooked. During the week of the robbery, the fleet manager had been told that this van was in the workshop being repaired, so Resnick started with the two mechanics. Both denied any involvement, of course, and neither claimed to recognize the photos of Harry Rawlins, Terry Miller or Joe Pirelli. One of them, Resnick insisted, had to be a liar.
“You can see it in their eyes, Fuller, and in their body language. He’ll not be a criminal mastermind, he’ll be a hard-up, scared little man who was slipped a couple hundred and will have been shitting himself since the robbery went tits up.”
“Seems to me,” Fuller argued, exhausted by Resnick’s “gut instinct,” “that all he’s got to do is keep his mouth shut, seeing as Rawlins and his gang are all dead and there’s no one left to drop him in it.”
“There’s the fourth man, Fuller. The fourth man can drop everyone in it because he’s got the ledgers. No, it’s one of the mechanics and I’m going to find out which one.”
Donald Franks sat in front of Resnick, twisting the oily rag in his hands. He was certainly nervous about something. Resnick had left Franks to sweat for what he judged to be the optimum length of time and was just about to start his questioning when the phone rang.
“What?” Resnick shouted down the receiver, then his face quickly softened and his voice lowered. “All right Alice, thank you. Yes, I’ll be back by four. I will. Alice, I will.” Resnick hung up. “Keep a close eye on the time, Fuller,” he ordered. “I’ve got to get back to the station by four.”
Within minutes of starting the interview with Franks, Resnick discovered that he wasn’t nervous about being Rawlins’s inside man, but about slacking off work. He and the other mechanic would clock in together and then one of them would bugger off down the pub for the day. “Please don’t tell anyone, sir.” Franks whimpered. “The jobs always get done. There’s just not enough work for two of us and we can’t afford to lose our jobs as well, you see.”
“As well?” Resnick’s eyes narrowed as he sensed an important lead coming his way.
“There used to be three of us, sir. Len was sacked three months back. Me and Bob’re hanging on by the skin of our teeth. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Shut up,” Resnick ordered. “I don’t give two hoots about you and Bob scamming your boss, but if you don’t tell me all about your mate Len, I’ll make damn sure your boss finds out everything.”
Franks told Resnick that Len Gulliver had been suspected of theft. Franks didn’t believe it for a second; he thought it must just be the quickest way to get rid of someone. On further questioning, Resnick discovered that each mechanic had his own set of yard keys cut in order to sneak off to the pub whenever work was light. So, if no one knew Gulliver had yard keys in the first place, it stood to reason that he could still have
them now, meaning he could easily be the man who helped Rawlins steal the bread van. Resnick gave the orders to find and arrest Len Gulliver. For the first time in weeks, he actually thought they were getting somewhere. In fact, he was almost pleasant and put a tenner on Len Gulliver knowing the identity of the fourth man.
At Gulliver’s house, his wife said he wasn’t with her anymore, but her reluctance to let them in made Resnick think she was lying. She went on and on about the bread company treating her Len like a dog, worse than a dog in fact.
“Fifteen years he worked for them and—just like that, finished, out. They made up some rubbish about him stealing, but you don’t slip someone two hundred quid to go quietly if you really think they been stealing from you, do you? Well, do you?”
Suspecting Len Gulliver had done a runner, and that she would protect him, Resnick thought it was pointless even asking where her husband was. He was about to leave when he decided to show Mrs. Gulliver the suspects’ photographs. Resnick was amazed when she said she recognized Joe Pirelli.
“Yes, he’s been here,” she said innocently. “He had some business with my husband. And this one—” she pointed to the photo of Rawlins—“waited outside for him. I could see him from the kitchen window in a dark gray Mercedes-Benz.”
Resnick felt his insides churn. It looked like Mrs. Gulliver genuinely knew nothing about her husband’s criminal activities. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Len Gulliver.
“And where is your husband now?” he asked.
Mrs. Gulliver started to cry and pointed to the dining room.
Surprised, Resnick walked over and pushed the dining room door open.
“You’re nicked, Len!” he roared, then stopped, aghast. There was a coffin on the table.
“The cancer got him in the throat,” Mrs. Gulliver explained from behind him. She was in floods of tears. “Thankfully it was over quickly and he didn’t suffer long.”
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