Now, after several hours in her arcade booth mulling over what had happened in the lock-up, Linda was very angry. She poured another vodka into her coffee, and slugged it down. She hated feeling controlled by Dolly; she hated being treated like a child; and she hated not being her own boss anymore. When she thought about all that, was the idea that she, Bella and Shirley could the job themselves such an impossibility?
Shirley looked at herself in the long mirror and smiled. She was pleased. The new face pack she’d tried out had done wonders for her skin, which now had a fresh glow. She began cutting and filing her nails. The rehearsal at the beach had been murder on them. Just as she began to relax, the doorbell rang. Shirley nearly shot out of her silk nightie.
Her heart began thumping. What if Tony Fisher was standing on her doorstep? She was on her own! He could break the door down, he could beat and rape her this time, even kill her. Shirley looked at the clock; it was one fifteen in the morning. Terrified, she didn’t move or make a sound.
On the landing, Linda kept her finger on the doorbell. She’d seen from the street that Shirley’s bedroom light was on. She giggled. It would be a laugh if she’d actually caught Miss Goody Two Shoes with her leg over a bloke!
The doorbell continued to ring. It couldn’t be Tony Fisher, Shirley reasoned. He’d have kicked the door in by now, or at least screamed at her to open it. She tiptoed to the door and asked in a trembling voice: “Who is it?”
Linda was oblivious to the hour and Shirley’s nerves. “It’s me, you stupid cow! Open up.”
Linda waited impatiently as Shirley undid the numerous locks on the door. It sounded like Fort Knox: bolts, chains, a double or even a triple lock . . . Linda couldn’t tell how many. When the door eventually opened, she could see the look of relief on Shirley’s face.
“Bloody hell, Linda, you gave me the fright of my life. What do you want?”
“I just wanted to talk to you about Dolly,” said Linda, swaying a bit from the vodka.
She walked into the lounge, leaving Shirley to re-bolt and lock the front door. She was taken aback. Shirley’s flat was like something out of an interior design magazine: soft pale colors everywhere, big thick rugs, classy furniture and a lovely stripped-pine dresser. Linda felt jealous. It must have cost a fortune decorating and furnishing the place: Terry must have made a lot of money doing jobs with her Joe and Harry Rawlins. Joe must have got the same cut as Terry, of course, so why had he spent so little of it on her or their place? It wasn’t that Joe hadn’t been generous with Linda, it was that he’d been a bloody charity to his own family; finding them places to live, flying them over from Italy, paying their rent and giving them handouts all the time. It was also true, Linda acknowledged, that Joe had thrown his money away down the clubs, gambling and buying drinks for all and sundry. And then there were the blonde bimbos she knew he played around with . . . Linda found herself getting edgy, and angry, as she watched Shirley in her expensive silk nightie fiddle with the central heating dial. None of it was Shirley’s fault, but Linda wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.
“What about a drink then?” Linda asked.
Shirley could tell Linda had already been drinking. Vodka, probably, she thought. The pie-eyed “grumpy ferret” look on her face gave her away. She didn’t have vodka, so she poured Linda a large brandy in one of her best cut-crystal glasses and handed it over.
Linda noted the glass, but didn’t say anything as she swirled the brandy round and round, looking as if she knew what she was doing. She sat on the floor on the thick white rug and leaned against the Heal’s three-seater sofa. Taking a swig of the brandy, she got straight to the point. “You think Dolly’s been straight with us, then, or what?”
Shirley stayed near the fireplace. She was tired and she was sick of Linda’s suspicious mind. “Of course I think she’s being straight,” she said sternly.
“Me and Bella been talkin’—” Linda began.
“And drinking,” Shirley interrupted.
“Just shut up a minute, will ya? This rumor Dolly started spreadin’ about her old man being alive . . . and this fourth man, the one that got away. We was thinking, well, what if both them things are true? What if Harry Rawlins is alive and what if he’s the one that got away and left our fellas to burn to death?”
“Don’t be so bloody stupid!” Shirley snapped. This had to be the most ridiculous thing Linda had said to date.
“What if we’re being shipped off to Rio, not knowing where the money is, not knowing where Dolly is? What if this fourth man is still around here, hiding locally, and what if he swans in and takes the lot? What if it’s Harry, and Dolly’s in on it? She loves the man to death, Shirl. She’d do anything for him.”
Shirley tensed up, cheeks flushing. She clenched her hands for control. She’d never heard such ungrateful, spiteful nonsense in all her life. Linda was now up on her feet, bending over, prodding Shirley with her chewed finger. Shirley pushed Linda away from her and stood tall, hands on hips. She didn’t shout. Her voice was calm, but she let Linda have it.
“You think that woman’s grief wasn’t real? You think that day in the sauna when she came to us with this plan was all part of some bigger picture that doesn’t actually involve us? Harry’s dead! Just like your Joe’s dead and my Terry’s dead. Don’t you dare expect me to believe that her grief ain’t as real as mine. Just because you’ve bounced back, don’t mean we have!”
“All right, keep your wig on! So, it might not be Harry who walked away—but she could still be having us all on. Why won’t she tell us where she’s stashing the cash, eh?”
“She’s explained that!” Shirley’s eyes were wide, her face tight and serious. “If you’ve got something to say to Dolly, Linda, say it to her face. You and Bella can think what you like, but I won’t believe she’s playing a double game. She didn’t want to drive the lead truck, but she is. It’s the most dangerous position and she took it because it’s the right thing to do for all of us.”
Linda tried her best to stand her ground. “Me and Bella—”
Shirley shrieked her frustration. “‘Me and Bella! Me and Bella!’ You brought Bella in and now you both want to stir up trouble and expect me to take sides with you. Well, I won’t. Dolly hasn’t let us down yet, and I for one don’t believe she will. Not on purpose.”
“I’m sorry, all right. I’m sorry,” Linda said, backtracking.
But Shirley wasn’t about to let her get away with it that easily. “No, it isn’t all right. You come here in the middle of the night trying to start a mutiny when Dolly’s done nothing but look after us. You’ve never had it so good, Linda! And you didn’t have Tony Fisher onto you. You didn’t have that bastard trying to burn your tits off! You frighten me, Linda, you understand? You frighten me.”
Linda knew she shouldn’t have come. She reached out for the bottle of brandy to settle her nerves.
“I think you’ve had enough. You should go.” Shirley said, and snatched the bottle away.
Deflated, hands stuck into her jeans pockets, Linda stood head down like a naughty schoolgirl. Shirley sighed, unscrewed the bottle cap and poured her a small measure. Linda carried the glass over to the sideboard and looked at the row of photographs displayed neatly on it. She sipped her drink and pointed at one.
“That your mum?” Linda asked.
Shirley wasn’t remotely in the mood for small talk, but this seemed to be Linda’s attempt at an apology, so she went with it. “That’s me brother and that’s me dad,” she said.
With her back to Shirley, silent tears rolled down Linda’s cheeks. Shirley couldn’t tell Linda was crying until she spoke.
“My dad walked out when I was three,” Linda said. “Then me mum dumped me in an orphanage and never came back. I don’t remember her now—not even what she looked like.” She polished off the remainder of the brandy. “Nice family,” she said. “You’re lucky, Shirl.” Suddenly back to her usual grinning self, Linda asked: “You got a fella?”
<
br /> “Course not,” Shirley replied, hoping that Linda wasn’t now going to get all slutty and inappropriate like she usually did when she was drunk. But Linda stayed quite ladylike.
“I’ve got a fella,” she said. “I’m not supposed to be seeing him—Dolly don’t approve. But I like him, Shirl, I really do. He’s gentle. And he’s got prospects, better prospects than Joe ever had. He’s got his own garage. He wants to be a racing driver,” she added proudly.
“Oh, my God.” Shirley’s eyes suddenly widened as if she’d seen a ghost. Falling to her knees, she flung open the bottom door of the sideboard, pulled out a photo album and started frantically flicking through it. “It’s got to be him!” she kept saying. “It’s got to be him! There!” She’d found what she was looking for. Grabbing Linda by the arm, she dragged her down to the floor next to her, pointing at a snapshot of Terry with his arm round a man in white mechanics’ overalls.
“That’s Jimmy Nunn!” she said excitedly. “He was a racing driver. I reckon he could have been the fourth man, Linda! Terry could have brought him in to the team. That’s why he’s not mentioned in any of Harry’s ledgers—that’s why Dolly can’t find out who he is . . . he was new.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I remember Terry going on about him. How good he was, how no one could catch him. I think he must have driven the lead truck. It makes sense. Why else can’t we find him? He was new.”
Suddenly sober, Linda took the photo from the album. “Don’t say anything to Dolly,” she said. “Not till we’re sure. I want to find him, Shirl, please let me find him and then we’ll tell Dolly.”
“How you going to find him?” Shirley wasn’t at all convinced, but Linda seemed desperate.
“Please, Shirl.” Linda begged again. “Let me do this. I’ll do it right, I promise.”
Shirley nodded reluctantly and Linda was out the front door like a shot. Jimmy Nunn . . . she was determined to find the bastard who’d left their men to die. But, more than that, she was determined to prove to Dolly that she had a brain in her head and that she was part of the team.
Detective Chief Inspector Saunders’s face was expressionless as he listened to Fuller complaining. Occasionally Saunders would look up from the file Fuller had given him, give Fuller a quick nod as though he was still listening, and continue to read.
Fuller was in full flow, keen to get it all off his chest. “I don’t want it to seem as though I’m telling tales out of school, sir, but you should know how DI Resnick’s handling this case. And it seems to me, sir, that the Mayfair case needs more officers and I could do some real good there. Instead, I’m sitting outside a dead man’s house and following his wife to the hairdressers or to the convent or when she’s taking her dog walkies. With respect, sir, it’s a waste of resources. And at the weekend . . . well, it’s costing the service overtime, there’s still nothing to show for it, and it’s impacting team morale.”
As Fuller continued venting his spleen, Saunders wandered to his office door and opened it. Fuller instantly fell silent.
“You don’t have to like him,” said Saunders, “but you do have to work with him.”
Fuller stood and reached across Saunders’s desk to retrieve the file he’d brought with him.
“I’ll keep that,” Saunders said.
Saunders closed his door behind Fuller and took a deep breath. Fuller was a good, hard-working officer, but he was no team player. And he would have been surprised by how highly Resnick rated him. “He’s a prissy little ponce who thinks he’s better than everyone else,” Resnick had told Saunders, “and he gets my back right up when he acts like the leg-work’s beneath him, because he’s a smart kid. And he’s so anally retentive that not much gets past him. He needs to start listening to his gut more, but he’ll get there. And he might just be right about being better than the rest of the team.”
Fuller puts himself and his career above anything else, which was something that Resnick has never done, Saunders reflected. Resnick was a pain in the arse, but that’s because he was like a dog with a bone when he got an idea in his head. And he was right more times than he was wrong. Like most of the station, Saunders thought Resnick was letting his emotions rule in his pursuit of Harry Rawlins, but then, he’d been framed, so no one could really blame him. It was Resnick’s blinkered attitude that would finally see him pensioned off; Saunders just needed to give him a little more rope to hang himself with. And the file Fuller had just given him was exactly the rope he was looking for.
After a suitable interval, Saunders followed Fuller to the new offices to have a chat with Resnick. In the lovely new annex, Resnick’s new desk was completely empty. Saunders retraced his steps to Resnick’s old office and found Alice filling a cardboard box with files.
Alice froze. “DI Resnick was packing as requested, sir, but then I sidetracked him, I’m afraid, so he got a little behind.” She was a convincing liar. “I said I’d finish packing for him, seeing as it’s really my fault he’s behind schedule.”
Saunders gave Alice a gentle smile. He truly admired her loyalty and had always thought that she would have made an exceptional officer. He picked up one of the files from a packed box. It was incomplete and months old. Next, he looked at Resnick’s desk diary: page after page was blank, with no indication of his whereabouts. Saunders’s face flushed at Resnick’s total lack of respect for the rules and regulations of basic policing.
“When DI Resnick comes in,” Saunders said crisply, “tell him I want to speak with him in my office. Without fail. And no excuses this time, Alice.”
Chapter 21
Linda was feeling pleased with herself. After a phone call to Brands Hatch racing circuit and a bit of flirting and digging around, she’d managed to find out where Jimmy Nunn lived. And it turned out that no one had seen him for a while: the mechanic she’d spoken to had said he’d be grateful if she’d jog Jimmy’s memory about the fifty quid he owed him. I bet he’s a right charmer, she thought, recalling the way her Joe used to charm small “loans” off dozens of people so he could take her away for a posh weekend.
Now, Linda sat in a Greek cafe in Old Compton Street, looking out of the window waiting for Dolly. When Linda had called Dolly at the convent, the Mother Superior had been sitting just yards away and Dolly had been in no position to question why Linda was asking for a meeting just for the two of them, and out in the open. Dolly will be dying to know what on earth was so important, thought Linda, smiling to herself. For a change, Linda was looking forward to seeing her. She was the one with something to offer; she was the one who should be listened to, just like when she brought Bella into the team. She felt powerful.
As Dolly’s Merc pull up opposite, Linda waved to the cafe owner for two more coffees. She watched Dolly, Wolf tucked under her arm, pop some coins in the parking meter and stare across the road at the little cafe. Just come in, you snooty old cow, it’ll be worth the trip!
Dolly sat down opposite Linda, stony-faced. She couldn’t stand the heavy smell of cooking fat and fried food, hated the way the smell of these greasy spoon cafes lingered on your clothes. The Greek owner carried the coffee over, spilling some into the saucers, and wiped his hands on his filthy, food-stained apron. The Demis Roussos hit “Forever and Ever” started up on the jukebox; the record was scratched and sounded tinny over the cheap speakers.
Dolly looked at the dirty rim of her small espresso cup with distaste and waited for Linda to start talking.
“Do you know Jimmy Nunn?” Linda asked, knowing this was unlikely.
“Never heard of him,” Dolly replied.
Linda decided she’d better get to the point pretty quick. “I think he was the fourth man. The one who did the disappearing act on our fellas.”
Dolly said nothing. She waited for Linda to speak again.
Linda slid a folded piece of paper wrapped around the photo of Jimmy Nunn she’d taken from Shirley’s photo album across the table to Dolly, like a spy delivering a secret
message. “He’s an ex-racing driver friend of Terry’s. That’s his address. Thought you might want to suss him out, seeing as you’re the boss. Then I think we should all have a meet, don’t you?”
“I’ll say when we have a meet,” said Dolly. “And this one being in public might not be doing us any favors, Linda.”
“You’re a dab hand at losing the filth by now, ain’t ya?” Linda said.
Dolly ignored her. She read Jimmy Nunn’s address, glanced at the photo, and then put them in her coat pocket.
Linda continued. “I didn’t knock on his door or speak with neighbors. I just parked up and watched for a bit, but I never seen him come or go. I bet your life he’s the fourth man you’re looking for, Dolly. Bet you he’s the bastard who left our men for dead.” She sat back and waited for Dolly to say something . . . something like, “well done” or “good work.”
“Waiter!” Dolly summoned the cafe owner over. “I’d like some biscuits, please.” When they arrived, she leaned down and started feeding them to Wolf.
Fuck, thought Linda. Had that blabbermouth Shirley already told Dolly about Jimmy Nunn because of his connection to Terry?
Dolly broke off another piece of biscuit, fed it to the little rat and then looked at Linda.
“You’re not the only one who’s been playing detective,” Dolly said. “Why did you lie to me?”
In that split second, the power dynamic flipped right back. Linda could feel the sweat building on the palms of her hands. “I ain’t lied, Dolly,” she said. “Me and Shirl found Jimmy Nunn’s picture in an old album and—”
“Not about Jimmy Nunn,” interrupted Dolly. “I’ll deal with that from now on. I’m talking about your new boyfriend. Carlos, isn’t it?”
Linda was taken totally by surprise. She could feel the warmth rising in her cheeks as her face flushed red.
“You haven’t told him anything about us, have you? About what we’re doing?” Dolly demanded.
“He’s not a boyfriend, Dolly. He’s just that mechanic I had a bit of a thing with after I bought the car,” Linda said. “That weren’t nothing.”
Widows Page 21
