Buried - DC Jack Warr Series 01 (2020)

by LaPlante, Lynda

  Still no reply from Jack. Foxy’s car engine stopped and started as he crawled forward, no more than ten inches at a time.

  ‘What does this mean for you, my friend? You thought he was – who? Your dad? I can tell you he’s not.’ Foxy glanced out of his window. ‘Look, I’m just driving past a pile-up that’s going to keep me busy all week, but how about a drink later? You can ask me anything you need to.’

  Jack left a note on the kitchen table underneath a plate of apologetic pastries:

  Something urgent came up. Back by midday. Sorry. X.

  He had left Maggie stranded with no car, but he also knew that driving from his parents’ bungalow in Totnes to Fran’s house in Burnham-on-Sea would be the quickest way for him to get back to Maggie. He’d work out how to apologise properly on the return journey.

  *

  Fran was putting the bins out when Jack pulled up. She didn’t look particularly pleased to see him, but he didn’t care.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, standing over her until she had no choice but to invite him in.

  Fran apologised for the mess, just as she had done the first time Jack visited. It would have been unlucky for him to catch Fran on two terrible housework days, so he concluded that she and Clay always lived in this half-hearted squalor.

  Not wanting either of them to be distracted, Jack declined a cup of tea.

  ‘When Trudie left me with you, where did she go?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Jack believed her. ‘Why did she go? Was she worried, frightened?’

  ‘She was very upset about something. She’d got a phone call a couple of days earlier and that had put her in a great mood. She took you and her suitcase and off she went – to start a new life, she said. Not a thank you, or nothing. As soon as she didn’t need us any more, it was like we never existed. But two days later she came back, tail well and truly between her legs. You were screaming, she was screaming ‒ “The bastard! I hate him! I hate him!” We thought Jimmy had promised everything and delivered nothing again. The next day, she left you with us and disappeared for the last time.’

  ‘So, she went from starting a new life to . . . what? Being stood up?’

  ‘That’s what we assumed,’ Fran said as she put the kettle on. ‘I can’t go an hour without a cuppa. You sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Jack sat down and fell quiet while Fran pottered. Who on earth could have called Trudie if it wasn’t Jimmy? Who was the man she was so happy to be running away with? And who had hurt her so cruelly by abandoning her and her baby?

  ‘What was the date, Aunt Fran, can you remember?’

  ‘Oh, good God, no. Sorry, love. It was so long ago. And it was just a normal morning really. She was sat right there, where you are now, drinking tea and reading the paper. Something snapped. One minute she was OK ‒ I mean she was upset but OK ‒ the next minute she was out the door. I wish I could tell you more, Jack, I really do.’

  Jack’s mobile buzzed in his trouser pocket. He checked it in case it was Maggie wondering where he was. It was Ridley. He watched the call go to voicemail. On his screen he had three messages: ‘missed call’, ‘new voicemail’ and ‘breaking news’ relating to some natural disaster across the other side of the world. But it prompted him to ask a question.

  ‘What newspaper was she reading?’

  *

  Burnham-on-Sea Library was far bigger than Jack had expected it to be and even had a research section, including newspaper archives, which was exactly what he needed. He scrolled through old copies of the Daily Mail, the newspaper Fran had said Trudie was reading on the morning she left. Although Jack didn’t know the exact date, he knew the approximate time of year because he was only with Fran and Clay for ten months before he went into foster care; he knew the date he went into foster care because that information was on the paperwork he’d been given by Charlie.

  Jack started by scrolling through the headlines, day by day, from July 1984 onwards. When he got to 12 August 1984, the four-word headline stopped him dead. He read it again and again to make absolutely certain of what he was seeing. It was a good twenty seconds before he realised that he was holding his breath. As he started to breathe again, he read the four words one last time: HARRY RAWLINS SHOT DEAD. Was this what had upset Trudie so much? Was Harry Rawlins the man who Trudie had gone to meet, and who hadn’t shown up because he was already dead?

  As Jack read the words over and over, he recalled everything he knew about Harry Rawlins. Rawlins was the one who always got away, the one who revelled in ruining Resnick’s career; he was smart, controlled and controlling, fearless and ruthless ‒ and he was the only man the Fisher brothers had ever feared. Was Harry Rawlins the man his mum loved? Jack recalled Foxy’s text about Jimmy Nunn:

  No DNA match.

  Was Harry Rawlins Jack’s dad?

  CHAPTER 25

  Jack’s detour to the library meant that he didn’t get back to Maggie until well after lunch. As he pulled into the driveway, he could see that boxes were now stacked higher than the living room windowsill. In the kitchen, most of the pastries had gone. Jack didn’t know what he felt more strongly ‒ guilt or hunger. He was nibbling on a cinnamon swirl when Maggie came into the kitchen carrying a box labelled ‘Penny’s knick-knacks’.

  ‘Everywhere’s done apart from the stuff we’re still using in here. I’ve taken the bed and wardrobe apart in their room and the bed in your room. I can’t see how your wardrobe comes apart. Did you put it together? I think it’s glued. I’ve still got to box up the bathroom cabinets and I’ve left the shed for you ’cos there’ll be stuff in there that’s too heavy for me. Put the kettle on and I’ll finish the bathroom.’

  Maggie put the box down, picked up a smaller empty box and disappeared towards the bathroom. She sounded like nothing was wrong, but Jack knew that this was worse than if she’d been shouting at him.

  *

  The drive home was excruciating. Queen were playing again, just loud enough to stifle conversation. Jack knew that staying quiet was making things worse but he didn’t know what to say ‒ certainly not, ‘My dad’s not Jimmy Nunn after all, Mags. In fact he might turn out to be Harry Rawlins. You know, that notorious old-school gangster?’

  He had to have absolute proof before he shared his news with Maggie.

  Maggie dropped him off outside the police station, not bothering even to pause the music for a loving ‘goodbye’. As he got out, Jack turned back to say how sorry he was for leaving her alone all morning with no explanation and no car, but before he could open his mouth, she’d driven off.

  *

  Meet me outside the garages.

  When Laura got Jack’s text message her heart did an involuntary little flutter and her face flushed. Once she’d actually had a second to think, she realised it was probably work-related, probably something Jack wanted kept from Ridley. She was right.

  *

  The coach seats had now all been smuggled back inside the coach, and no one would ever know that the value of this second-hand vehicle had just increased from £3,700 to around £25,003,700.

  Angela was very proud of all the wine-fuelled hard work they’d put in.

  ‘I can feel it,’ Ester complained as she bounced up and down on her seat.

  ‘No one’s going to be bouncing that violently,’ Angela pointed out. She was having none of it. ‘Perhaps the lumps you can feel is the cellulite in your arse.’

  ‘Talking of cellulite,’ Ester continued, ‘I hear Connie’s put on a pound or two. Where is the old slapper?’

  ‘Connie’s sorting out her B & B. She’ll be back the day after tomorrow.’ Angela changed the subject. ‘Where are you staying, Ester? You’ve not used your own name, have you?’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about anything I do, Angela darling,’ Ester replied loftily. ‘I was outsmarting the Filth before you were a twitch in your daddy’s underpants.’

  Angela
was tempted to point out that for someone skilled in outsmarting the Filth, Ester had spent a lot of her adult life behind bars, but it wasn’t worth it. She behaved as long as she thought she had the upper hand. And behave was all Angela actually needed her to do.

  ‘So, what’s the cover story for four middle-aged women heading to Europe in a 25-seater coach?’

  ‘There’ll be Rob and my kids as well,’ said Angela. ‘So I imagine we’ll look like friends going on holiday, if you can manage to smile.’

  In fact Julia was also planning to bring three kids from the home, but they would keep that quiet until the final second before they were due to leave, so that Ester had no option but to accept it. Sam, Darren and Suzie were unrelated orphans who would never in a million years be successfully fostered – they were too damaged for ordinary people to love. They were exactly the sort of kids Dolly would have wholeheartedly embraced if The Grange had ever been successfully transformed into a children’s home. Julia adored each one of them. They were very difficult in their own ways but the rewards, when they came, were heart-warming. She wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind.

  *

  Laura thanked the custody sergeant as he let Jack into Audrey’s cell.

  ‘Five minutes, Jack, OK?’

  Inside, Jack handed Audrey a cup of coffee she hadn’t asked for, which confused her, until she glanced to the top right-hand corner of her cell, at the CCTV camera pointing down at her. Her blood ran cold and the penny dropped: Jack didn’t have a legitimate reason for being in her cell. He was covering his back so this little visit wouldn’t come back and bite him in the arse. Their conversation would appear cordial to anyone watching, but even Audrey, who wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, could see that the man standing in front of her now wasn’t the same kind man who’d earlier plied her with coffee and biscuits.

  ‘Tell me about Harry Rawlins.’ Jack’s tone was calm but cold.

  ‘I never met the man,’ Audrey said. ‘I know he was a big noise back in the day. I mean, he even put the willies up the Fishers and no one did that.’

  ‘Go on,’ he prompted.

  ‘I don’t understand what you want me to say,’ she whined. ‘I never met him, like I said.’

  ‘You lived in his world, Audrey, so tell me about him.’

  Audrey shuffled on her thin, plastic-covered mattress.

  ‘Well, he lived out in Potter’s Bar. Married to Dolly ‒ you know that bit. No kids. I don’t know much about him. I didn’t live in his world at all, DC Warr, I only skirted round it.’

  ‘DC Warr?’ Jack knew he had Audrey on the back foot. She was uneasy and she was scared, and she was compliant.

  ‘He was like a myth, you know?’ she went on. ‘My Shirl told me she’d met him once and I was properly worried. I didn’t want her near him. We was the sort of people that Harry Rawlins would use up and spit out. I mean, those poor men who got blown up in the armed raid were meant to be his friends and he left them behind quick enough. Just imagine what he’d do to someone he didn’t care about. I’m really sorry, I’m just guessing what you might want to hear. I don’t know him.’

  In the short silence that followed, Laura, listening from outside, racked her brains trying to think how Harry Rawlins might be linked to their current investigation. But then Jack had followed the Fishers as a lead when no one else made a connection, so perhaps Harry Rawlins was integral in some way.

  ‘What family does Harry have?’ Jack kept his voice monotone.

  ‘I don’t know anything about Harry’s family,’ insisted Audrey.

  Jack moved to lean on the wall near the foot of her bed.

  ‘You do know,’ he continued coldly. ‘Think about it and you’ll remember. Harry Rawlins must have had family. Cousins, nephews. He’d have had a crew that he always used. Who hung around in that group?’ Audrey’s gormless face was starting to annoy him. ‘Think, Audrey!’

  ‘I dunno. I’m sorry that I don’t, but I don’t.’

  Laura heard a movement from inside the cell and before she’d made a conscious decision, she had opened the door. Jack was now standing next to Audrey and she was leaning away from him.

  Laura spoke quickly. ‘We’re done.’

  Jack walked off, leaving Laura to thank the custody sergeant for his discretion. When she caught him up, she had to physically grab his arm to make him stop and listen to her.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Jack, but . . . Look, I’m on your side but this isn’t you. You’re acting like you have another agenda that you’re not telling anyone about. You can talk to me, you know.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Laura. I just spent yesterday clearing Dad’s cottage ready for sale and . . .’

  Jack dipped his head in shame. He was actually using his dying dad as a lie to explain away his unprofessional behaviour. Laura interpreted the head-dip as sadness and put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Go home,’ she said. ‘I’ll cover for you with Ridley.’

  Jack put his hand on top of hers and stroked his thumb back and forth. He looked into her dark blue eyes and told her how grateful he was. He couldn’t find the will to care about her feelings at all. All he wanted was to find out whether Harry Rawlins was his dad and if those fucking Grange women had committed the biggest train robbery in living memory.

  Knowing these two things would make everything fall into place. Then, for the first time in his life, maybe he’d feel whole.

  CHAPTER 26

  Jack was desperate to find someone who had known Harry Rawlins and, more importantly, who knew a living member of the Rawlins family. As things were, he didn’t even really know what Harry looked like. Every photo he’d been able to find of Rawlins was blurred, or his face was partly covered, or showed him side on to the camera. He seemed to be a dab hand at remaining incognito.

  As Jack trawled through old files and new databases, he came across numerous names who could have helped if they hadn’t been dead. So much time had passed. At this rate, he was going to have to convince Ridley to dig up Harry’s second grave.

  After an hour of searching, Jack settled on the name of DS Alex Fuller, mainly because he was one of only a handful of people from the eighties who was still breathing. Fuller had been Resnick’s right-hand man and, at times, his biggest critic. One report from Fuller caught Jack’s eye. In it, he expressed concern to the then superintendent about Resnick’s emotional stability and requested a transfer out of Resnick’s team. Fuller’s report showed him to be an honest, ambitious man who didn’t want his own career to be hindered or tainted by the unfounded obsessions of his boss. Jack felt an immediate affinity. Right now, he, too, thought his boss was on the wrong track. He called Fuller.

  *

  Alex Fuller was a stout man in his mid-60s. He had been handsome in his day and the years had been kind to him. He had a full head of white hair and he carried his once muscular physique well. He’d still be a handful if he ever got into a brawl.

  ‘It’s good of you to see me, Mr Fuller,’ said Jack.

  ‘Alex. And I’m happy to help.’ Fuller didn’t ask what Jack would like to drink, he just got on with making a pot of tea for them both. ‘Fire away, son. I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m interested in Harry Rawlins.’

  Fuller let out a belly laugh. ‘Fuck me, that name never goes away, does it? What’s he done now? Risen from the grave and robbed a bank? He’s not the missing man on the Hatton Garden job, is he?’

  ‘I read your case files today. Rawlins was certainly notorious.’

  ‘That’s one word for him. So, you think he’s connected somehow to a new case?’

  ‘We’re exploring a variety of avenues.’

  Fuller grinned at Jack’s use of such a stock phrase when talking to an ex-copper. He must be new to this.

  ‘You wrote about an occasion in 1984, when you raided the home of Trudie Nunn. She was hysterical apparently, screaming, “He’s gone, he’s gone!” At the time, you assumed she wa
s talking about Jimmy Nunn.’

  Fuller bowed his head as he recalled the moment.

  ‘The only assumption that ever mattered was that Harry Rawlins died in the explosion in the Strand underpass. From that moment on, it was all smoke and mirrors and the only person who knew it for a fact was George Resnick. I remember the raid on Trudie Nunn’s flat . . . So you think the “he” she was talking about was Harry Rawlins? I think you’re right.’

  Jack told Fuller about the exhumation, and how one of the few remaining teeth from the jigsaw puzzle skeleton was currently being tested against Jimmy Nunn’s dental records. Fuller nodded, as if that all made sense.

  ‘Look – for most of his career, Resnick taught me nothing at all about the art of being a copper. He was a cantankerous old prick, resentful and fucking hard to like, meaning no one wanted to work for him. But he was an exceptional policeman. He had commendations coming out of his ears, he’d put more bad’uns away than anyone I’ve ever worked with and his gut instinct was to die for. It was only when the force couldn’t keep up with him that things went off track. Unfortunately, that’s when I knew him. I wish I’d known him when he was younger.’ Fuller looked directly at Jack. ‘You’re standing there with the same look in your eyes as Resnick back in the day. Like you’re about to ask me to believe in something, based on nothing more than gut instinct. I let him down on that score so many times and that weighs heavy. So, ask what you came to ask.’

  ‘I need to find a close relative of Harry Rawlins to check his DNA for a familial match.’

  ‘The only one I can think of is his cousin, Eddie, but I don’t know if he’s dead or alive.’

  Fuller handed Jack a mug of tea, and he took it gratefully. He was exhausted and let his mind wander as Fuller rambled on about villains in the old days. But when Fuller mentioned Dolly Rawlins, he was all attention.