Widows

by Lynda La Plante

  Slamming the driver’s door shut, she screeched off down the road, not really knowing which way she was going. She drove straight to the top of the road and made a left, but just as she was about to make the next turn she heard a loud thud, a scream and a screech of brakes.

  Up ahead of her was the other entrance to the mews. Pulling over, she saw a red Post Office van halfway up the pavement, crashed into a lamp post. As she watched, the driver stumbled out of the van holding his head, blood dripping from a cut over his right eye.

  Still in shock, Linda edged closer, gasping for breath. There was no sign of Carlos. Craning round the unmarked police car in the middle of the road, she saw a group of uniform officers clustered around the Post Office van. One was talking on a police radio.

  She knew she should drive off in the opposite direction, but she was desperate to know if Carlos had got away. As she drove slowly past the van, an officer stepped out and waved at her to move on. Then she saw Carlos.

  Jammed between the Post Office van and the lamp post, his white suit was covered in blood. His face was contorted in pain, his eyes were open, blood was running from his mouth and a deep pool, as red as the Post Office van, lay on the pavement around his feet. The officer on the radio shook his head, while another laid an empty post office sack over Carlos’s upper body. As Linda stared, Carlos’s beautiful white suit got redder and redder.

  The hammering on the front door was so loud and so sustained that Bella thought she was being busted. As she got closer, she could hear Linda sobbing outside, shouting and screaming to be let in. When she opened the door, Linda fell into her arms.

  “I’ve killed him! Bella, I’ve killed him! You’ve got to help me. Please. Oh God help me, I killed him!”

  Linda began to heave as though she was going to vomit and Bella rushed her to the bathroom sink.

  “OK,” she said, “Calm down. What’s happened?”

  “He was covered in blood,” Linda sobbed hysterically. “It’s not OK, Bella! I’ve killed him!”

  Bella slammed her hand over Linda’s mouth. “Stop it!” she demanded, “Before the whole block comes knocking.”

  Linda slumped to the floor at the side of the bath and sobbed.

  Ushering her into the bedroom, Bella poured her a glass of whisky and held it steady while Linda knocked it back. Bella poured her another one, and sat down beside her on her the bed. “Tell me what happened,” Bella asked again.

  As Linda spoke, she twisted the Sagittarius pendant round and round between her fingers. “He’s dead, Bella. He’s dead.”

  “Yeah, I got that bit. Who’s dead?”

  “She said I had to do it. She said I had to phone the police and tell them about his garage and his dodgy cars.” Linda suddenly yanked the chain from her neck and threw it across Bella’s bedroom. “That bitch!” she screamed. Bella stroked her back and waited. “She said the most terrible things about him, Bella. But I didn’t know—I swear I didn’t. I was with him all last night . . . just looking at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful body and I couldn’t believe what she said was true. How could it be when he’s lying there with me? I was so sure she was wrong . . . but it was too late. I’d already rung. I’d already told them about him and I couldn’t take none of it back. They were waiting for him when he got to work this morning. He ran and . . .” Linda put her head in her hands. Through the tears, she carried on, desperate to tell Bella everything. “The van hit him and he was dead in the road and there was blood everywhere!”

  “It was an accident, then,” Bella said.

  “It was my fault!” Linda shouted, jumping up from the bed. She was exhausted from all the crying and the guilt and the grief. “I hate Dolly’s guts.” Linda spoke with a venom Bella had never heard before.

  “I know.” Bella stood and walked across to Linda. She stood close, held her arms out and let Linda fall into them. Bella squeezed her tight, nursing her like a loving mother comforting a small child. Linda rested her head on Bella’s shoulder and stared into the distance.

  “She’s an evil cow, Bella. She’s cruel and heartless. She made me feel so small and stupid and she made me hate him. I hate her so much. She’d better watch her back.”

  Chapter 24

  Dolly was waiting in her Mercedes in the car park of the Little Chef, just off the A23 road to Brighton. Wolf was asleep on the passenger seat. She’d parked at the far end, but she still had a clear view of the entrance and car park. She was becoming impatient; she’d been there for over half an hour, and he was late. Nervously tapping the briefcase on her lap, she looked around, feeling edgy. Was he was going to turn up at all?

  To keep herself occupied, she got out her notebook and flipped through it, going over the last details of the robbery and things yet to be done. She sighed. Linda still hadn’t got a suitable van to act as the front blocking vehicle. Dolly understood that Linda must be under considerable stress after what she’d told her about Carlos, but she was smart enough to know when something was serious. And Carlos being in Arnie’s pocket and his bed was very serious. Dolly could never be one hundred percent sure of any of her girls but she had to trust Linda now. She wondered whether Linda had had the sense to disguise her voice when she called the police to grass on Carlos . . .

  Suddenly, she slammed her fist on the briefcase, jolting Wolf awake. “Where the hell are you?” she shouted. “Come on, you bastard. You’d never have kept Harry waiting like this.” The problem with this meeting was that if it didn’t happen, the job was off—simple as that. She’d called Brian Marshall and said she worked for Harry Rawlins. Although he was dead, she was collecting debts owed on behalf of his family. Marshall had sounded doubtful on the phone, but had reluctantly agreed to meet, although he could just as easily have decided to run and Dolly would have had no idea how to track him down.

  As she sat there, wondering how on earth she would tell the others, a Rover entered the car park and stopped on the other side. Dolly waited to make sure that the car, whoever it was, was alone and hadn’t been followed, ever wary of a trap.

  Brian Marshall had already drunk half a flask of brandy by the time he pulled up, but was still shaking as he looked around: he had no idea what to expect, or who the contact was. Fortunately for Dolly, he’d decided that failure to turn up would be disastrous for him. His hand reached to his pocket for the flask of brandy, and took another swig. He felt disgusted with himself.

  Brian Marshall’s drinking went hand in glove with his gambling and, ten years ago, he had drifted from the legitimate casinos into Arnie Fisher’s club, where the higher stakes attracted him. It was there he’d met Harry Rawlins. Harry was charming, always friendly and seemed interested in how Brian was and what he was doing for work. During one drunken conversation, Brian revealed that he was married to the sister of the owner of Samson’s, one of the country’s biggest security firms. From this point forward, Brian was in big trouble—not that he’d been aware of it.

  Rawlins had continued to act like Brian’s friend, lending him money, encouraging him to gamble beyond his means. Brian had no idea how dangerous Harry was, until the night he had drunkenly allowed Harry Rawlins to pick up a seven-thousand-pound gambling marker to Arnie Fisher. Then Brian had belonged to Harry.

  Rawlins waited patiently. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that he demanded Brian pay off the debt—money he knew Brian didn’t have. In return for canceling the debt, and a seven-thousand-pound cash gift on top, all Rawlins wanted was to be told the different routes Samson’s security wagons took when delivering large sums of cash. They regularly changed the routes as a security measure, and often at short notice. Rawlins promised to leave Marshall alone for good if he helped on this one job.

  Terrified and under pressure, Marshall had had no option. He’d hoped against hope that Rawlins would be as good as his word and would leave him alone once the job was done. When he’d read of the botched robbery and Rawlins’s death, he had heaved a sigh of relief—but then he’d ha
d the phone call. Scared that the meeting with this mysterious woman was about something much more sinister than the debt, Brian checked the envelope he’d tucked down the side of his seat. He’d come prepared. The passenger door opened, making him jump. A woman wearing dark glasses and carrying a briefcase got into his car.

  Dolly could smell the booze straight away. She looked in disgust at Marshall’s red face, blotched from years of alcohol abuse. The collar of his pin-striped suit was covered in dandruff.

  “I’m not here for the seven thousand,” she said, looking straight ahead.

  Marshall closed his eyes. If she didn’t want the cash, then she wanted something much worse. “I knew it would happen again,” Marshall whimpered. “It’s my brother-in-law’s security firm. This’ll break him!”

  Dolly maintained her composure. Marshall was clearly terrified of her and she had to keep it that way to get what she wanted. She noted the child’s seat in the back of the car. Mr. Marshall will do as he’s asked, she thought.

  “There’s ten grand here,” she said, flipping open the briefcase on her lap. Marshall’s eyes widened at the rows and rows of banknotes. She snapped the case shut again. “That’s more than you were offered last time.”

  “I was promised that last time was the last time,” Marshall whined. “Rawlins gave me his word! He said he’d let me off the hook and—”

  “Rawlins is dead.” As the words left Dolly’s mouth, her heart jolted, but she couldn’t let Marshall see how much those words hurt her. “Even though three men died, you still got paid seven grand. And Harry Rawlins picked up your marker.”

  “You said you weren’t here for the seven thousand!”

  “If you keep to your side of the bargain, I’m not. If you don’t keep to your side of the bargain—”

  “Bollocks!” interrupted Marshall. He looked at the hard bitch of a woman sitting next to him. He didn’t know who she was or who she worked for, but he disliked her intensely. He could feel the brandy giving him confidence. “I’m broke, so you can demand money all you like; I don’t have it to give. And I can’t get the delivery routes again because my brother-in-law’s upped his security. So—what can you do?”

  Dolly stared at Brian, unblinking. “If you don’t keep to your side of the bargain,” she continued as if Marshall hadn’t interrupted at all, “the debt gets sold back to the Fisher brothers. You do know the Fisher brothers, don’t you, Mr. Marshall?”

  Instantly, the boldness instilled by the brandy ebbed away and the blood drained from Marshall’s face. He didn’t know the Fishers personally, but their reputation was enough.

  Dolly continued, “Give me the route, your seven-grand debt goes away and, when the job’s done, you get this ten grand in cash. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity. The Fisher’s won’t be so kind.” She opened the passenger door and got out, taking the briefcase with her, glancing very obviously at the baby seat as she slammed the door.

  Marshall’s mouth trembled as he squeezed the leather steering wheel. Dolly walked away, her stride was even and controlled: she didn’t give a damn about him or his family. He found his hand on the car key in the ignition. It would be easy to knock the bitch down, steal the briefcase and disappear for good. The thought was fleeting—Marshall was a coward.

  Taking the brandy flask from his pocket again, he drank it down, thinking of his wife and kids. The tears welled up and the pressure in his head was almost painful. Then he heard that voice inside, the one that spoke every time he took a drink. Everything was all right, his brother-in-law was insured, he was the family drunk, the charity case. No one would expect anything less even if they did find out. And he desperately needed that money! Ten thousand pounds . . . He could pay off all his debts with it; maybe even start up his own business.

  As Dolly got back to her Merc, her heart was beating so fast she thought she was going to faint. God knows how she had walked so calmly across the endless car park, but she couldn’t let Marshall see how worried she was. “Stay upright, Dolly,” she mumbled to herself. “Stay upright.” As she got to her car, she put the suitcase on the roof and leaned her back against the door. From where Marshall was parked, it would look as though she was relaxed, waiting for his decision. In reality, she was leaning against her car to stop herself from falling over. Little Wolf watched Dolly from the passenger seat, probably wondering why she wasn’t getting back in beside him.

  On the other side of the car park, Marshall didn’t move. Come on, Dolly thought. Come on. Had she been too threatening? Not threatening enough? What if he called her bluff and drove away? Perhaps it would have been better to cajole Marshall, be nicer to him, lie to him tell him that Harry respected him. Come on, Marshall, come on!

  The Rover’s engine started up. Dolly held her breath; the direction Marshall took would decide her future. He pulled out of his parking space and headed for Dolly. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she composed herself. The Rover pulled up neatly beside her and Marshall handed Dolly the envelope he’d brought with him.

  “The routes, dates and times for the next month are all in there, but I want the briefcase with cash up front now and your assurance the gambling marker is over and done with.”

  Dolly took the envelope and handed Marshall the case. “Be assured, Mr. Marshall, if the details in the envelope are correct and if the police remain unaware of the plans, then the Fishers’ marker will stay with me and you’ll be in the clear. You have my word.”

  Once Marshall was out of sight, Dolly climbed into her car and succumbed to a buzzing sense of excitement. She had the plans! She planted a massive kiss on Wolf’s little head. He stood with his feet on her chest and listened as she told him, “Daddy would be proud of us, darling. So proud. And the girls will be so excited! It’s all coming together, Wolfie. It’s all coming together, just as Harry planned.” The words stuck in Dolly’s throat. It was not just as Harry planned at all. Very, very far from how Harry had planned.

  She hugged Wolf tight and took a moment to recollect just how Harry’s plans had gone so terribly wrong. She had the strength and the motivation now to finish what he’d started. Then she cleared her mind of all bad thoughts and filled it with thoughts of her girls. They were so close to the finish line . . . Yes, Linda still had to get the blocking truck and they still had to get used to the guns, and the padded overalls, and the chainsaw, and now they would have to learn the exact route on the day of the big run—but they’d come so far from those weak, crying, grieving widows who had met in the sauna all those months ago. Now, they were a team. Dolly smiled. Regardless of their faults and their moods and their inexperience, they were a team. Her team. And nothing and no one was going to stop them now.

  Chapter 25

  Resnick and Andrews had been waiting outside Fat Fran’s house in an unmarked car since nine o’clock. It was now 10:15, and although the heater was on it was still cold. The car was full of cigarette smoke, Andrews was red in the face and could hardly breathe; no sooner had he opened the window to let some fresh air in than Resnick barked at him to close it again. Andrews hated working alone with Resnick. At least when Fuller was there, he had some support. Alone, he was open to all kinds of abuse from Resnick if the mood took him. The station was in some chaos after the Mayfair heist and the botched raid on Carlos’s garage and the chase that had led to his death. With so many officers writing up notes, processing evidence and doing door-to-door, someone from Resnick’s team had to stay desk-bound and help with all the extra paperwork. Andrews imagined Fuller sitting with his feet up in a warm, smoke-free office, sipping on a cup of tea.

  “Sir!” Andrews pointed out of the car window. Fat Fran was heaving her bulk down the road. Every ten yards, she paused to put her shopping down and get her breath back before waddling on again at a snail’s pace. As she got nearer, they could both hear the chinking of the bottles in her carrier bags.

  “Stone the crows,” Resnick said. Fran’s heaving bosom almost fell out of her blouse as she b
ent to pull her sagging tights back up into position round her crotch. “Close your eyes, Andrews. That’s no sight for an innocent like you.”

  Andrews spoke without thinking. “I have seen breasts before, sir.”

  “Not like them you haven’t.” Resnick opened the car door, flicking his cigarette butt into the road before heading after Fat Fran.

  They followed her as she turned into the scruffy overgrown path, the already open gate hanging by one rusty hinge. Leaning against the front door, she took out her key.

  “Oi!” Fran jerked her head round at Resnick’s voice, loud behind her. “We need another word with you, Fran.”

  The stench in Fat Fran’s flat was overpowering: cats, stale beer, food and body odor. The living room was dusty and dark; the heavy moth-eaten curtains looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years. Resnick helped her off with her coat, while Andrews picked up the bottles of booze from the floor and put them by the door to the adjoining dining area.

  “Sit yourself down, love. How are you feeling?” said Resnick. He didn’t give a damn how Fran was feeling, but he did want her to co-operate. He folded her coat neatly, placed it on the back of a dining chair, then sat on a pouf in front of the low easy-chair she was now slumped in.

  Fran still had bruising over her right eye, although it was now a yellowy-purple color rather than the deep blue and black of a few days ago. Plasters covered the cuts, which made her face look even worse than before, and one side of her head had been shaved at the hospital so they could stitch the wound.

  Andrews glanced at his watch. Whenever Resnick did his “good cop” routine, the attending officer always timed it. Whoever witnessed him last more than sixty seconds would win a tenner off the others.