At four thirty, Dolly left the convent and headed straight for the nearest travel agent. There, she booked a first-class ticket to Rio leaving the following morning. When asked if she’d like a return ticket, Dolly said that she wasn’t sure how long she’d be staying so she would make any return arrangements from Rio. Then Dolly drove a mile down the road to another travel agent, where she pretended to be Mrs. Shirley Miller and booked an economy class ticket for Rio on the same flight.
Resnick had been at home all day, sitting down one minute, getting up the next, pacing round the living room and chain smoking as he waited impatiently for the call from DCI Saunders. The living room ashtray was full, but he still forced his cigarette butt into it before lighting another.
He looked at his watch. It was now 6 p.m. and he could smell the liver and bacon Kathleen was cooking for dinner. The phone rang once and he snatched it up, but it was just Kathleen’s bridge partner, Margaret.
“Sorry, Margaret,” Resnick said quickly. “Kathleen’s not in. And I’m going to have to cut you short as I’m waiting for a very important phone call.”
Kathleen appeared behind Resnick and took the phone from him. He gave her a disapproving look, which she ignored.
“Don’t talk for long,” he said.
Kathleen pushed him toward the kitchen. “Go and occupy yourself, George. Keep an eye on the dinner for me. Go on. Scoot.”
Kathleen finished her phone call five minutes later and returned to the kitchen, where George was picking out bits of bacon with a fork from the liver and gravy and eating them. Kathleen smacked the back of his hand and pursed her lips.
“Stop picking. And don’t lie to my friends just because you’re waiting on an imaginary phone call.” As she stirred the dinner, she could see that her words had upset him, but she believed in telling the truth. “You’ve retired, George. Go and play golf or paint the hallway like you said you were going to.”
Resnick’s face looked like an abandoned bloodhound.
“Oh, you are stubborn!” Kathleen continued. “Call them if you want to.”
“It’s my case. They’ll call me.”
“It’s not your case, George. Not anymore.” Kathleen drained the potatoes and got the masher from the drawer. Resnick snatched it from her and started to take his frustration out on the pan of potatoes, smashing them into oblivion. Kathleen watched him. She’d never liked her husband being a policeman. He wasn’t the sort who could leave his work at the station; he brought it home with him, all knotted up in his stomach, and he was awful to live with at times. But, she thought, George out of the police force was far worse than George in the police force. She hated seeing him so angry but she couldn’t be bothered to placate him anymore.
As Resnick continued to massacre the potatoes, he shouted at Kathleen. “I told them! I told them these robberies were all connected. All masterminded by the same bloke. Bloody Rawlins! I warned them not to underestimate him. You can never underestimate Harry Rawlins.”
“Harry Rawlins! Harry Rawlins!” Kathleen screamed back at him. “That’s all I’ve heard for years. Anything and everything that went wrong in your career was always the fault of bloody Harry Rawlins! It couldn’t possibly be your fault could it, George?! No! It’s the fault of a dead man.”
Resnick threw the masher into the sink, spraying flecks of potato across the kitchen tiles. He stormed into the hallway to get his hat and coat.
“You have to let go, George!” Kathleen shouted after him. “I’m not going to stick around to see you in an early grave, do you hear me? I won’t do that.”
“Don’t then!” Resnick shouted back as he slammed the front door behind him.
He got into his old battered Granada and made his way to the Rawlins’ house. He didn’t know why he was going there; the car just seemed to drive itself. Deep down, he knew that no one from his office would call. Why should they? He was a has-been; his opinion had meant nothing for years now. He hoped that all hell was breaking loose at the Yard and that Saunders would get a size-ten boot right up his arse. He smiled at the thought of Saunders being brought down a peg or two.
It suddenly crossed his mind that maybe Saunders and the others had wanted him out so they could take over the case and reap the glory when they found and arrested Harry Rawlins. The more Resnick thought about it, the more he convinced himself he was right. They’d deliberately blocked him along the way because they wanted him out! Well, now he’d show ’em the old two-fingered salute. He’d bloody well sort it out himself! “There’s life in this old dog yet,” Resnick muttered to himself. “I’m the one who’s going to arrest Harry Rawlins. Harry Rawlins is mine.”
Chapter 34
Eddie adjusted the wing mirror of Jimmy Nunn’s car. Bill Grant was slouched in the passenger seat beside him, snoring. Eddie was watching a car pull in and park about fifty yards behind them. The driver got out, lit a cigarette and walked slowly toward them on the opposite side of the street. His pace was too slow to be heading anywhere in a hurry and Eddie was worried. He nudged Bill awake.
“Some bloke behind us is clockin’ Harry’s place. I can’t make his face out yet.”
“Keep looking straight ahead,” Bill ordered. “Shift your wing mirror so I can see him under the next streetlight. Hurry up.” Eddie did as he was instructed. “Shit!” Bill whispered as the man’s face was temporarily lit up under the streetlight. “It’s bloody Resnick! He put me away for that last stretch. And he’s always had a wasp up his arse about catching Harry.”
“Shall I drive off?” Eddie asked.
“No. Duck your nut so he can’t see your face.”
Resnick had spotted the hand adjusting the wing mirror, but he didn’t recognize the car. As he walked past, he paused and looked at the sole of his shoe, as if he’d just trodden in dog shit. Resnick only got a side view of the passenger’s face and, although he thought it rang a bell, he couldn’t place him at all. But the driver had glanced his way for a split second and he felt sure it was Eddie Rawlins. Resnick made a mental note of the number plate before continuing along the street and past the Rawlins house. The light in the front bedroom was on, but the rest of the house was in darkness.
After looping round the block, Resnick came back to the street where Eddie and Bill were parked, got into his own car and drove away. He pulled up round the corner and wrote down the car’s number plate. “What you up to, Eddie?” Resnick whispered to himself. “And who you working for? Anyone we know?” He put a cigarette between his grinning teeth and lit up.
“We should scarper, in case he comes back with more coppers.” Eddie whimpered as Resnick drove off.
“What’s he gonna do? Arrest us for sitting in a car? I’ll go and see Harry. He’ll tell us what to do.” Bill got out of the car and stretched his back out, cracking the bones. “Stay awake till I get back.”
“Get a cab, otherwise you’ll be ages.”
“Walking for miles in a straight line is a luxury I ain’t had for years, mate. Don’t worry. I’ll borrow Trudie’s car to come back.”
Eddie didn’t feel safe being left alone, but he guessed he felt safer than being with the man who’d crushed Boxer Davis to death without batting an eyelid.
After visiting the travel agent, Dolly had picked up some food before heading home just after dark. She was so exhausted she hadn’t noticed Eddie sitting in Jimmy Nunn’s car outside her house. And when Resnick arrived, she’d been in the back garden with Shirley.
The two women had looked at the small mound of freshly dug earth, topped with a bamboo cross and a flower. “I didn’t know if he liked flowers . . .” Shirley said, not really knowing what to say.
“He liked pissing on ’em,” Dolly said. Shirley saw a small smile creep across her face. “Especially next door’s roses.”
“Shall I go and nick one for him, then?” Shirley asked.
Dolly looked at Shirley. She did say some stupid things, but Dolly loved her for that. “No, darlin’. That one’s just fin
e. Thank you for looking after him for me. I could never have buried him.”
“That’s OK.” After a moment, Shirley asked, “I couldn’t have a bath, could I? I’m a bit smelly and dirty after all that diggin’.”
By 9 p.m., they were both exhausted. After her bath, Shirley changed into a nightdress and dressing gown Dolly had loaned her. She looked out of the Dolly’s bedroom window through a small crack in the curtains, checking the street.
Dolly came out of her en suite bathroom and crossed to the bed. “Everywhere locked up?”
Shirley nodded. “I’ve bolted every door and window. And made your milk.” She pointed to the bedside cabinet. Dolly picked up the glass, got a sleeping pill from the bottle in the top drawer and swallowed it.
“Want one?” she asked. “It’ll help you sleep with that bad ankle.”
“Yes . . .” Shirley tailed off, still looking out of the window. “Dolly—this is the third time I’ve looked out of the window since you got back and each time that BMW has been there with two men in it, but now there’s just one. It’s too far away to see their faces properly. You think it’s the police or . . .” Dolly joined Shirley at the window.
“It’ll be the police,” Dolly said reassuringly. “The man from earlier isn’t coming back, love. Not with the coppers right outside.” She didn’t want to panic Shirley, but even though she couldn’t see the driver’s face, she knew the car they were looking at wasn’t the usual unmarked police car. “Right. Sleep,” she went on as she crawled into her bed. “If I don’t sleep, I’m finished. Take your tablet and forget about everything till morning.”
Shirley sat on the edge of Dolly’s bed and took the sleeping pill with some of Dolly’s warm milk. She noticed a picture of Harry and Dolly on the bedside table. They looked such a happy, loving couple: Dolly in a beautiful designer dress and Harry handsome in a smart, very expensive suit. Better times.
“You done well today,” Dolly said, smiling up at Shirley. “Brave and strong. I’m very proud of you. Now go on, off to bed and get some sleep.”
Shirley held the milk up for Dolly to take if she wanted more, but she shook her head and closed her eyes. As Shirley sipped she looked at Dolly. It was as if the day’s events had aged her ten years; she looked so tired and haggard. Touching Dolly’s hand lightly, Shirley whispered, “God bless.” For a second, Dolly gripped Shirley’s hand tight, so tight it hurt, and then she released it.
Shirley took the rest of the milk through to the spare room and placed it on her bedside cabinet. The room was bigger than her bedroom at home and beautifully decorated with pictures of Dolly and Harry on holidays, at parties and with friends. As she finished the milk she walked round the room. “What a life Dolly’s led . . .” she thought to herself. Suddenly she stopped, caught by a photograph on the dressing table. She grabbed it, heart pounding, and ran back through to Dolly’s bedroom.
“Wake up!” she said urgently, flicking the bedside light on and shaking Dolly.
Dolly didn’t rouse quickly, but when she did open her eyes and saw the look of panic on Shirley’s face, she was immediately awake.
“Who’s this man in the middle with his arms round you and Harry? Who is he, Dolly?” Shirley was trembling as she held out the photograph.
Dolly rubbed her eyes and waited a second or two for them to focus. “That’s Eddie,” she said. “Eddie Rawlins, Harry’s cousin, why?”
“It was him, Dolly! He was the man who broke in, the one who attacked me and Wolf.”
Dolly sat up and grabbed the photo from Shirley. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not making it up, Dolly—I swear it was him! I know it was him. Wolf acted as if he knew him at first—and of course Wolf did know him. What if that’s him in the car outside? What if he’s coming back?”
Dolly grabbed Shirley by the hand. “He wouldn’t come back here; not after what you did to him. The money is safe. We’re safe. It’s the police outside, like I said. Trust me Shirl. You trust me, don’t you?”
Shirley nodded. She trusted Dolly with her life.
Dolly took Shirley back into the spare room and tucked her up in bed. “I’m going to look after you, darlin’. You, Linda and Bella. Please don’t worry so much. I know this is all very new to you, but I’ve lived on my nerves for years, so trust me when I say that everything’s going to be OK.” And switching off the bedside lamp, she sat with Shirley till she fell asleep.
Returning to her own bedroom, Dolly picked up the photograph that Shirley had found. She went to the window, eased the curtain back slightly and looked down at the parked car. It was too dark to see the interior, so Dolly patiently waited and watched. Eventually, another car drove past and briefly lit up the face of the man in the driver’s seat. It was as if a blade of ice cut through her. “Oh, Eddie,” she gasped. “Stupid, stupid Eddie.” Tears filled Dolly’s eyes as her mind raced. Eddie didn’t have the balls to do anything under his own steam, let alone break into her home, attack Shirley and kill poor Wolf in the process. “So, who’s pulling your strings?” she whispered. But she already feared she knew the answer.
The gold Dunhill lighter in Jimmy Nunn’s flat.
The brutal murder of Boxer Davis.
Bill Grant, the man at the lock-up, knowing who she was.
Eddie Rawlins doing someone’s bidding inside and now outside her home.
Dolly slumped on the edge of her bed, gripping her tired and confused head in her hands. “It was a rumor,” she said, trying to convince herself. “It was my rumor. It wasn’t the truth. It was never the truth!” As unbelievable and terrifying and hurtful as it was, Dolly couldn’t shake the thought. “No, no, no, no! I saw your watch.”
All chance of sleep was gone. Her eyes were wide open now, and her heart felt as though it had seized. “But I saw your watch,” she cried out loud. “I saw your watch!”
Chapter 35
Kathleen Resnick could hear George moving about downstairs. She looked at the bedside clock; it was nearly midnight. He’d be drunk, pacing up and down with a whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The last time he had been like this was when his suspension made the headlines. Then, he’d drunk himself into oblivion, fallen asleep with a cigarette in his hand and almost burned the house down.
Slipping on her dressing gown, she went downstairs to give him a piece of her mind. The front room was full of cigarette smoke. Kathleen was about to speak, but he held up his hand. He was on the phone, the receiver balanced between his shoulder and ear and he was holding a notepad and pen in his hands. He wasn’t drunk—far from it. He was bursting with energy.
“Yes, I’m DCI Saunders from the Yard. I’ve been out on an observation and need to know the registered owner of the car index I just gave you. It’s very urgent.”
What on earth was he up to? Kathleen crossed the smoky lounge and stood next to her husband, arms folded. Whatever he was doing, he was clearly not meant to be doing it.
“Sorry, what? James what? Nunn . . . and the address?” Resnick scribbled down the information on the notepad. “Thank you, officer. Very kind and much appreciated.” George replaced the receiver and opened the address book next to the phone.
“What are you doing pretending to be Saunders?” Kathleen demanded.
Resnick thumbed through the diary. “I needed a car registration checked on the police computer so I phoned the local nick. I couldn’t very well say who I was, could I? Where’s Alice’s home number? I thought we had it in the address book?”
Kathleen couldn’t believe it. “You can’t ring that poor woman at this time of night!”
When George looked up at his wife, his face was hard and cruel. “Yes, I can! Alice is someone I can speak to at this time of night. So, take your disapproving looks back to bed and let me do my job.” He found Alice’s number and picked the phone up again.
Kathleen stormed back upstairs. “You don’t have a job,” she yelled as she went.
Resnick waited as the phone rang and rang. He
glanced at the clock. Maybe his wife was right . . . but this couldn’t wait, it was too important.
“Alice?”
“What’s wrong?” Alice wasn’t angry at being woken at gone midnight; she was worried that Resnick was in trouble.
“Nothing’s wrong, love. Listen, I need you to do me a favor first thing tomorrow morning.”
Alice was sitting at her dressing table with a pen and paper on one hand and the phone in the other. As she jotted down Resnick’s instructions, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. God, she looked just like her mother! She had thick cream on her face and was wearing a nightdress that would terrify any man. She thanked God that Resnick had chosen to call and not pop round.
“You mustn’t get caught, Alice, you understand? You’re the only person I can ask. Will you help me?”
Alice looked at her terrible reflection and smiled. “Of course I’ll help you, sir.”
Chapter 36
Trudie had let Bill into the flat and he was now waiting for Harry. He sniffed. The grubby little flat smelt of baby’s piss. He was still wincing when Harry came out of the bedroom, wrapping a towel round himself.
“Thought I’d update you,” Bill said, grinning. He thought it was funny that he might have just interrupted Harry and Trudie shagging. Harry wasn’t smiling at all. “Dolly’s still indoors,” Bill continued. “She drove back just after dark and ain’t been out since. I rang Ray the Rash, but there’s not a dickie about her trying to fence the money anywhere, but he’ll keep askin’.”
Harry put his finger to his lips and led the way into the kitchen, Bill followed him and shut the door. Harry put the kettle on.
Harry recapped. “When she went home after being at the nick, the blonde bit will have told her about Eddie’s visit . . . hopefully she just described him as ‘some bloke’ and not my stupid fucking cousin. I don’t think Blondie and Eddie have ever met so we might be in the clear there. But then Dolly went out in the car, you say?” Bill nodded. “Then she’s stashed the money, ain’t she?” Harry was thinking hard. “Now where would she have put it?”
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