Buried - DC Jack Warr Series 01 (2020)

by LaPlante, Lynda

  Audrey took a break from her rambling to munch on a biscuit, and Jack worried that she was about to wise up and stop talking before she incriminated herself. She didn’t.

  ‘I went round to Jimmy’s. I knew his missus from bingo ‒ bit simple. I took her a packet of fags and offered to make her a cuppa. From her kitchen, I went into his workshop and there was the wall. Untouched.’ She sat bolt upright. ‘I swear on my life, Mike never knew anything about any of it. Write that down! I don’t want you thinking that any of this is Mike’s fault, ’cos it ain’t. It’s mine. And seeing as Mike can’t defend himself, I have to.’

  Jack dutifully wrote down that Mike knew nothing about the diamonds being stolen or hidden, or being found again by Audrey. She watched him do it. As though those words would keep her son’s memory safe.

  ‘Them diamonds got my Shirl murdered, so I wanted them gone. I sold ’em for a tenth of what they was worth and I built a villa in Spain. By that time, my old man had died of cancer in prison, so I told everyone it was his life insurance I was spending. But he wasn’t worth nothing.’ Audrey took a deep breath. ‘Can I have a fag break?’

  Outside, Audrey didn’t light a cigarette. She stared into the blue sky and absorbed the freedom she was now feeling. Freedom from the burden of having lived with such secrets. Eventually, she grinned at Jack.

  ‘The next time Dolly turned up on my doorstep, it was to ask for the diamonds back. I can still see her face when I told her I’d got half a million for ’em. Do you know how much they was really worth? Three million!’

  Audrey opened her mouth and emptied her lungs in one long, foul laugh, until her skin turned blue, revelling in her warped little victory.

  Jack could see just how pathetic she really was. Not only did she seem oblivious to how dangerous her world and its people were, she also seemed incapable of learning. Murdered daughter, stolen diamonds, corrupt son – would nothing make her wake up and smell the coffee?

  ‘Dolly!’ Audrey spat. ‘I told her how the stress had killed my baby and you know what she said? “Small mercies.” She’s stood in my house and telling me my baby was better off dead. I should have killed her where she stood but, God forgive me, I didn’t. Mike would be alive now if I had. That’s when I told him everything. He didn’t know nothing before that and everything he did afterwards was to put right the mess I’d made. If you don’t believe that, I’m leaving right now.’ Audrey’s hands began to shake in anger. ‘Mike’s a good boy. You gotta promise that he ain’t remembered as anything else.’

  Before Jack could stop himself, he said, ‘I promise.’

  If that turned out to be a lie, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, and took her elbow.

  He needed her to come back inside and pour her heart out on tape ‒ not on the steps of the police station.

  With another coffee in her hand and a fresh plate of biscuits in front of her, Audrey was ready to continue.

  ‘That debt to Dolly Rawlins put Mike in a position he couldn’t get out of. If my Mike had anything to do with the train robbery, it had to be because Dolly forced him into it. Mike was a victim, not a criminal!’ Each time Dolly’s name was mentioned, it spat out of Audrey’s mouth with venom. The tears welled. ‘Dolly Rawlins only got eight years for taking some gangster off the streets – who gives a shit about Harry being gunned down? But she got nothing for killing my Shirl, my little baby . . . and now Mike! That bitch killed my babies, but you lot never punished her for any of that.’

  ‘She was shot six times!’ Jack pointed out.

  ‘Not by me! Not by me!’

  Audrey dropped her mug, hid her face in her hands and sobbed. Years of ignoring the truth fuelled her uncontrollable anguish. It was as if she finally felt responsible for something – and that something was for not killing Dolly Rawlins when she had the chance.

  *

  When Jack and Laura walked into his office and closed the door behind them, Ridley hoped it was because they had something to say that he actually wanted to hear. If they were bringing him anything less than a bloody miracle, they’d better watch out. But as Jack relayed Audrey’s second interview, Ridley edged towards his seat and finally sat down on it – a rare event. Once Jack had finished, Ridley confirmed that Audrey would be arrested on suspicion of handling stolen goods, bounced back to his feet and headed out into the squad room.

  ‘Right!’ he shouted. ‘Everybody just listen for now, so we can put this together. Questions later.’

  As Ridley and Jack spoke, they shuffled evidence, moved and regrouped suspects and filled in gaps on the three overflowing evidence boards. As Anik watched Ridley and Jack leading this new charge, he could feel the sergeant’s position drifting out of sight.

  ‘Harry Rawlins’ gang did the diamond heist ‒ we know this because most of them were arrested at the scene,’ said Jack, looking round at his colleagues. ‘But the diamonds ended up with Dolly, who gave them to Audrey for safekeeping while she went inside for killing her husband . . .’

  By three o’clock, he’d brought everyone up to speed and the case was up to 1995. Ridley took over.

  ‘We know Mike drove to Rose Cottage in his Range Rover and we know someone else drove there in a pest control van ‒ probably Barry Cooper. We know someone killed Mike, then expertly improvised the destruction of the cottage and everything in it ‒ probably Barry Cooper. We know that the remaining cash left the scene in the pest control van. And we know Barry’s on the run. He has a background in the army and in demolition. He’s highly dangerous and we have to find him. He’s the key.’

  Ridley looked round at his team. Everyone was gripped ‒ except Laura, who was frowning as she stared at Jack. Ridley followed her gaze. Jack had his hand up.

  ‘I think Barry’s definitely involved, sir, but there’s nothing to suggest he’s a mastermind. I think we need to look again at the women. If Dolly was the woman that Audrey says she was, she’d have had the balls to hide twenty-seven million in the cellar of an ex-copper’s house.’

  Ridley looked sceptical. ‘Those women have been ruled out. Twice. Once in 1995 and again by us. By you, in fact.’

  ‘There was no evidence,’ Jack pointed out. ‘But then, there was no evidence to connect Dolly to the diamond raid either, yet we now know that she was the one who walked away with everything.’

  ‘So, no evidence means they did it?’

  Anik smirked and the sergeant’s post drifted back into his sight.

  ‘And,’ Ridley continued, ‘if they’d just got away with a life-changing sum of money, why the hell, two days later, are they shooting each other?’

  ‘That was Ester,’ said Jack. ‘She’s unstable, but the rest of them aren’t. The diamonds have to be how Dolly bought The Grange in the first place, sir. With all due respect, you haven’t met them. They’re . . . I don’t know, there’s something about them. They’re calm ‒ like they’ve been hiding in plain sight.’

  ‘Or maybe they’re innocent?’ Anik chipped in.

  Jack ignored him and kept his focus on Ridley.

  ‘We know Angela worked for Ester and had an affair with Mike, whose family has history with Dolly. We’ve been slowly linking them together this whole time, and now Audrey is telling us that her son did the train robbery.’

  ‘Which I agree with, but—’

  ‘Call it gut instinct, sir,’ Jack interrupted, ‘but I know we should be looking at these women.’

  ‘Your “gut” has just spent next month’s overtime budget digging up a grave for no reason,’ said Ridley angrily. ‘I’m the one who’ll get daily flak on that for the foreseeable, not you. You’re all right, Jack. Your newly acquired “gut instinct” has a lot to learn. We’re going after Barry Cooper and when we find him, my gut instinct says we’ll also find the rest of the money and a gang of as-yet unidentified army blokes who were in on the train robbery.’

  *

  Jack marched the twelve-minute walk to
pathology in just under seven minutes. He was fuming. He’d finally found his passion for this thankless job and now he was being ignored. His mind raced with disjointed thoughts and then oddly settled on something he had only read in passing many weeks ago – the name of George Resnick. The entire station had mocked George when he insisted that Harry Rawlins was alive, and hadn’t been blown up in the Strand underpass. Every scrap of evidence was against him, his team was against him, but he knew he was right. Jack recalled how he’d wanted to feel that sort of tenacity. That sort of certainty. Well, now he did. He knew the women from The Grange were up to their necks in this.

  As he pushed through the heavy rubber doors into Foxy’s outer lab, his mobile signal died and a call from Maggie was sent straight to voicemail. Jack handed a DNA testing kit he’d bought online to Foxy. One sample was already labelled and ready to go; the second would be taken from the bag of bones.

  ‘Whose is this?’ asked Foxy, pointing at the first sample.

  ‘Mine,’ said Jack as he left.

  Foxy stood there, shaking his head.

  ‘And I thought I’d seen everything . . .’

  *

  ‘Hi, darling.’ Maggie’s beautiful voice brought an almost physical relief to Jack. All he wanted to do right now was go home and slide into bed next to her. ‘I just got a call from your dad’s estate agent. The last offer was above the reserve, so it’s been accepted. They want a quick sale and have asked for the bungalow to be emptied. I know you’re in the middle of a lot right now. I’ll come with you, Jack, but I can’t do it for you. Love you.’

  Jack leant against the battleship-grey wall and texted Maggie back.

  We’ll go tonight.

  He paused mid-text. Then,

  They don’t need me here.

  CHAPTER 23

  Ridley had been sympathetic to Jack’s impending family loss and had granted him the time off to go and sort out Charlie’s affairs without comment. Jack got the impression Ridley was happy to see the back of him. The feeling was mutual.

  Maggie drove and Jack stared out of the passenger window, his mobile on his lap. For the first half of their journey, she had attempted polite conversation but now she seemed content to mumble along to Queen songs and allow him time for his thoughts. His phone was on silent but each time it vibrated, he checked to see if it was Foxy calling with DNA results. If the bag of bones was a match to him, then his dad was dead. If it wasn’t a match, then his dad could still be alive. Tony Fisher had insinuated that Jimmy Nunn could well be living it up on a beach somewhere, spending someone else’s money. The thought once again popped into Jack’s head that it was even possible – if he was right, and Dolly Rawlins was behind it – that she’d enlisted Jimmy Nunn in the train robbery.

  Jack’s gut instinct was in overdrive. What if Craigh had been right when he raided The Grange looking for guns? After all, Gloria Radford’s husband, Eddie, had been an arms dealer who had weapons stashed all over London. What if Ester had seduced . . .? No, not Ester; no one could be that desperate. Julia. What if Julia had seduced Norma into helping them? Or simply into trusting them? What if Mike and Angela had been lovers since the day he’d rescued her from Ester’s brothel? Right from the very beginning, coppers like Bill Thorn had totally underestimated the women, labelling them as too physically and emotionally weak. Different snippets of evidence swam around inside Jack’s skull, settling into their most likely home. If one of the robbers had been on a horse, why not all of them? That would compensate for any lack of physical strength. As for emotional strength, Jack had no doubt whatsoever that none of the women were lacking in that department.

  ‘It’s them,’ he whispered to himself.

  And although Maggie heard this comment, she didn’t ask Jack to elaborate. He wasn’t speaking to her.

  *

  The tall ships in Cowes were an impressive sight. Tourists snapped away, hoping that at least one of their ten thousand holiday photos would be worthy of a frame. Waiting at the quayside, Ester looked like something out of an Agatha Christie TV drama – her sense of style had waned somewhat over the years. Today she was wearing a real fur hat.

  ‘If you’re off on the run,’ Geoffrey warned her, ‘might I suggest that a dead beaver on your head isn’t the best attire? It’ll only take one confrontation with an animal lover and you’ll end up being arrested for disturbing the peace. They’ll see your new passport and, hey presto, you’ll be taken from me for ever.’

  Geoffrey was a gibbering wreck. His entire body shook and he made strange noises as he tried to stifle his tears.

  ‘Geoffrey! You listen to me!’ Ester barked. ‘You can’t be like this. Once I’m gone, you need to go home and set about finding yourself another lover straight away. Someone who will think more of you than she does of herself. You deserve the best – so don’t settle for the first money-grabbing tart who knocks on your door.’ She smiled. ‘That’s what you did last time and look at the mess that got you into.’

  Ester’s feelings for Geoffrey were as shallow as they were for any other human being, but she did have the emotional capacity to understand that he loved her with all of his pathetic, overly needy little heart. Unfortunately for him, Ester was a great believer in pulling the plaster off quickly and not prolonging the pain.

  ‘I don’t love you, Geoffrey, you know that ‒ although I have always very much liked the idea of you. Buy yourself a suit – you look lovely in a suit – and go on the prowl. Oh, and, when you do snag yourself a willing lady, make sure you hide the dildos and whips until you’re sure she’s on board with all of that sort of caper.’

  Ester took off her beaver fur hat and placed it on Geoffrey’s head. It slipped down his bald head and covered his face before Ester tilted it back to reveal his weeping eyes.

  ‘Don’t think I’m coming back, will you?’ she said over her shoulder as she marched off. ‘Because I’m not. Move on, my darling.’

  As she headed for the Southampton ferry, Geoffrey waved goodbye to the love of his life. And Ester never once looked back.

  *

  The electric fire had been off for so long that it now filled the living room with the stench of burning dust. Packing boxes had taken over the whole of the kitchen, half of the front room and were threatening to bury Jack in the far corner of the living room.

  ‘You know, we could sort some of this stuff out before boxing it up, Jack,’ said Maggie, although she knew that Penny must be the one to decide which memories she kept and which she let go.

  Behind a bookshelf in the living room, Jack found a wooden arrow covered in cobwebs. The shaft was beautifully sandpapered to a smooth finish and the metal head was made from a piece of a Coke can folded and hammered into a triangular point. Even the fletching, made of pigeon feathers, was still intact.

  ‘Our cat never actually killed birds,’ Jack explained. ‘But it’d bring stray feathers in and give them to Dad. We made a bow and arrows in the shed one day when Mum was out. We had enough feathers to make fletching for seven arrows, I think it was. I’ve no idea why we thought it’d be a good idea to test it in here. Maybe it was raining. Dad hates being cold.’

  Jack looked up the wall. Directly above his head, just beneath the narrow cornice that ran around the edge of the ceiling, there was a deep gouge in the wallpaper.

  ‘This one hit the wall and fell down behind the bookcase, just as Mum came back. Dad almost shit himself! He threw the bow out of the window and we pretended we’d been reading.’

  Maggie loved the ‘little boy’ version of Jack. His smile melted away as the depth of his impending loss dawned on him. She wrapped her arms round his neck, forcing him to dip his head and rest into her neck. She felt him breathe against her tight embrace and she didn’t let go until she felt him start to move away. She would have held on to him forever if he’d wanted her to.

  By early evening, Maggie and Jack were eating pizza and drinking wine in front of the fire, happy just to be with each other in this
comfortable, familiar space that, after today, they’d never see again.

  ‘I’m sorry for being a dick,’ Jack said, out of the blue. ‘With all the Jimmy Nunn stuff, I mean. I’m not after another dad, Mags. I want to know where this restlessness comes from – or if it’s just me not quite knowing where I fit. Foxy’s helping me find the answers I need but what I won’t do, I promise, is ever again allow Jimmy Nunn to distract me from the people who are really important. We should catch up with Mum and Dad, like we said we would. Do you reckon you can get the time off work?’

  Maggie knew her work rota off by heart, so knew she was owed several days – but she was more concerned about the cost of two tickets to St Lucia, which was the next stop for the cruise ship. As she googled flight and hotel prices, Jack’s phone buzzed.

  Foxy’s text read:

  No DNA match.

  In a split second, everything Jack had just said went out of the window. If Jimmy Nunn wasn’t the man in Harry Rawlins’ first grave, then he could still be walking around somewhere. He watched Maggie’s lips move, but he didn’t hear a word she said. He was getting to grips with the idea that his birth dad might still be alive.

  CHAPTER 24

  The next morning, while Maggie lay comatose, having drunk more than her fair share of the two bottles of wine from last night, Jack was in the kitchen having a whispered phone conversation with Foxy.

  ‘No, no, that’s not what I said at all,’ Foxy explained. He was stuck in traffic due to an accident up ahead, and was trying hard not to take that out on Jack. ‘I said that there’s no DNA match between you and the skeleton on my table. I did not say that the skeleton wasn’t Jimmy Nunn.’ There was silence from Jack’s end of the phone, so Foxy continued. ‘You told me about an old shoulder injury sustained when Jimmy fell off a fence. This was confirmed by his medical records, and the skeleton on my table has an identical injury. We don’t have DNA on file for Jimmy Nunn, but his dental records, I’m certain, Jack, will show that this is him.’