Dangerous Lady

by Martina Cole

  ‘We’re meeting Isaacs again on Sunday night to complete the deal, so I want you, the boys and Gerry Jackson with me. Tooled up. Sawn-offs, not handguns. OK?’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘We’ll meet here at about five-thirty. Right then, Will, let’s get going.’

  He stood up.

  ‘Would you like to go out to eat?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘See you’s later then.’

  When Maura and William left, Roy started going through the papers. Sunday was two days away, and he was going to wish that he had listened to Garry’s story. Although none of them knew it, the net was closing.

  Lenny Isaacs was sitting in his hotel room, shaking like a leaf. Terry Petherick and Superintendent Marsh were sitting opposite him.

  ‘I swear on my mother’s grave, I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  Terry flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the carpet.

  ‘Listen, Lenny, we know everything. We know about the gold, about the robbery, and we also know about you. So why don’t you save yourself some trouble and just tell us what we want to hear?’

  Lenny was biting his lip. His short stubby fingers were trembling and he was trying as hard as he could to stop himself crying.

  Marsh looked at him pityingly.

  ‘I can promise you, Lenny, that the Ryans will not know where we got our information from. All we want to know is when the meet will be. We’ll do the rest.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know nothing. I’m over here on holiday.’

  Terry lost his temper.

  ‘Cut the crap, Isaacs! You’re over here to buy illegal gold. How about we pull you in now? Leak your name to the papers. Say that you’re helping us with our enquiries. Then leave you on remand in funky Brixton where you can sit and wait for the Ryans to waste you!’

  Lenny paled.

  ‘You wouldn’t do that to me!’

  Terry smiled.

  ‘Just try us and see.’

  Lenny looked down at his hands. Terry could see his shiny pate through his thinning hair.

  ‘It’s on Sunday. We all meet on Sunday. You realise that I’m a dead man?’

  Marsh stopped chewing his thumbnail and said, ‘We’ll see about that, Lenny. Don’t worry. Now tell us nice and slowly what’s supposed to be going down.’

  Lenny cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine. ‘We’re meeting at a place called Fenn Farm.’

  ‘We know all about Fenn Farm. What we’re more interested in is times.’

  ‘Seven-thirty on Sunday evening.’

  Terry looked at Marsh.

  ‘That only gives us thirty-six hours.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Petherick. We’ll be more than ready for them.’

  Lenny Isaacs wiped a stray tear from his eye. Maura Ryan would have his nuts for this. He was already dead.

  Maura had just put a chicken in the oven and was preparing the vegetables for Sunday lunch. She wanted to eat at twelve so she and William could have the afternoon free. When she had finished scraping the carrots, the telephone rang. It was Margaret.

  ‘Hello, Marge.’ Maura’s voice was warm.

  ‘Hiya! I thought I’d give you a quick ring and see how you was getting on.’

  ‘Terrific. I was just starting the dinner actually.’

  Margaret’s voice was incredulous. ‘Maura Ryan cooking! Now I’ve heard everything!’

  ‘Ha, ha, Marge!’

  ‘This William must be some guy. If he can domesticate you, he must be the business.’

  ‘He has not domesticated me . . . I often cook.’

  ‘Pull the other one, Maws, it plays “Hard Day’s Night”! Seriously, I’m just pleased you’re so happy. It’s about time.’

  ‘Oh, Marge, it’s great! I wish to God I’d got myself in a relationship years ago. I don’t think I’m in love exactly . . . but I just want to be with him all the time. In fact, I am with him all the time.’

  ‘I can remember when me and Den were like that!’

  ‘Come off it, Marge, you and Den are still like lovebirds. You two even embarrass your own kids with all your kissing and cuddling.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about my kids . . .’

  Margaret’s voice was sad.

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Penny. She’s got herself a bloke.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that? You can’t keep them tied to your apron strings forever.’

  ‘It’s not that, Maws. He’s a bloody Sikh.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘I wish I was. He even wears a turban. Mind you, I had to laugh. Little Dennis saw them together in the High Street and went up and asked him when his head was gonna get better. That’s how we found out. Penny and him had a big fight about it and when I tried to sort it all out, Dennis dropped the bombshell.’

  Maura was laughing so hard she had an ache in her ribs.

  ‘I wish I could see the funny side of it all.’

  ‘You bloody hypocrite, Marge! You’re the one who brought them up with liberal ideas. Everyone’s the same, no matter what colour they are or what religion. Now poor old Penny’s got herself a coloured bloke, you’re doing your nut!’

  ‘Well, I never thought they’d want to go out with one, did I?’

  Maura was still chuckling.

  ‘What’s big Den got to say?’

  ‘Oh, him! He’s about as much good as an ashtray on a motorbike. “Leave her alone, Marge. Let her find her own way . . .” I said, “You won’t be saying that when she’s walking round with a red spot on her forehead and a gold lamé sari.”

  ‘Oh, Marge, stop it. You’re making me guts ache. Can you see her in a sari with all that ginger hair of hers?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Well, if you want my advice, I wouldn’t protest too much. Remember what we were like at that age. The more people try and tell you what to do, the more you’re inclined to go against them!’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve thought of that.’

  ‘Let her get it out of her system.’

  Maura heard William get out of bed. ‘I’ve gotta go, Marge. I’ll try and get over to you tomorrow. Say about lunchtime, how’s that?’

  ‘All right, Maws. I’ll make us a nice quiche.’

  ‘How about a curry? You’d better start practising Indian cookery.’

  ‘Piss off, Maura!’

  ‘And you! ’Bye, Marge.’

  Maura put the phone down and leant against the wall, laughing. Poor old Marge!

  ‘What are you laughing about?’

  Maura went to William and kissed him.

  ‘I’ll tell you all about it later. I’ve started the dinner, we’re eating early today. I thought we could go out this afternoon for a walk or something. I have to leave at four to meet Roy and the others.’

  William looked down into Maura’s bright blue eyes.

  ‘Tell you what. Scrub the walk, we’ll go back to bed. How’s that?’

  Maura kissed his mouth hard.

  ‘I was kinda hoping you’d say that!’

  Terry and Marsh were in the Special Operations room at Scotland Yard, going over the final details with a hand-picked bunch of men. Marsh had recruited them from the SPG. All had licences to use firearms.

  ‘So we swoop at precisely seven-forty-five. That gives them fifteen minutes to negotiate with Isaacs. We’ve put a man with him so he doesn’t lose his nerve. He’ll introduce him to Maura Ryan as his partner. You all understand what you are to do?’

  All the men nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  Terry stood up and faced them.

  ‘The main aim is to bring the Ryans in. All of them. This is going to be one of the biggest busts this country has ever seen. Nothing is to go wrong. You only fire if it is absolutely necessary and then you aim only to wound if possible.’

  The men nodded and looked at one another. Unknown to Terry they had all been told to open fire immediately they e
ntered the barn. Not one person was to be allowed to leave that place alive, Lenny Isaacs included. No one knew why this young DI was being kept in the dark. They were just following orders.

  4.00

  Sarah was sitting with Benjamin watching a Doris Day film on TV. She was trying to knit and finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. She had left message after message for that young man Petherick and he had not been in touch. She was worried that one of the people who worked for Maura had found out what she had done. If Maura knew she would kill her, she knew that. For all her talk of never being frightened of anything that came out of her own body, she was increasingly nervous. Today for some reason she had had a terrible feeling of foreboding. It had been weighing down on her like a lump of concrete in her breast since she had got out of bed this morning. She put her knitting down and rubbed her eyes.

  ‘How about a nice cuppa, Sar?’

  Benjamin spoke without taking his eyes off the television. Sarah stood up, glad of something to do. She made her way out to her kitchen and put the kettle on. She had been going to visit the boys’ graves today. Mainly Anthony’s, Benny’s and Geoffrey’s, she only ever paid Mickey’s a flying visit. But for some reason she did not want to leave the house.

  As she set about making the tea, a deep coldness came over her and she had to sit down at the kitchen table. She had only felt like this twice in her life before and that was when Benny had died and Geoffrey had gone missing. She had had a feeling similar to this the day the police had reported to her Geoffrey’s body had been found. She closed her eyes to blot out the picture of him in the mortuary. He had been shot in the back of the head and the bullet had come out just under his jawline. He had had a surprised expression on his face. Now she had that feeling again. She was convinced that something was going to happen today. Something bad.

  When she finally took the tray of tea in to Benjamin he was asleep. She turned the sound down on the TV and sat and drank her own tea. Waiting for a knock on the door or the phone to ring.

  4.30

  Maura was driving to Le Buxom to meet the boys. She had not felt so happy for a long time. William had tried to persuade her to let Roy deal with the business today and she had been very tempted to stay in bed with him. After all these years she was finally having a relationship with a man, and loving every second of it. She only wished she had let herself go before now. She found herself smiling at complete strangers at traffic lights and laughed to herself. If this was love she was enjoying every moment of it. She decided that she would pass more of the business over to Roy. He was doing so well now. She wished he could get rid of Janine but knew that concern for Benny kept him with her.

  She could understand that. If she had become a mother she knew she would have done anything for the good of her children. She wished again she had kept her baby. It would have been grown up now with a life of its own.

  She pushed the thought from her mind. She was happy today and nothing was going to interfere with that! She turned her thoughts to Marge, determined that nothing was going to spoil her happiness. All she wanted to do was get the meet over and get back to William.

  She was humming a little tune as she pulled into Dean Street.

  4.45

  Lenny Isaacs had dosed himself up with brandy. The policeman assigned to keep him from bolting was Detective Sergeant Paul Johnson. He had been given his orders two hours ago. Once the shooting started he was to push his gun into Isaacs’ side and blast him. There was something definitely fishy about all this but as his old dad used to say: ‘Ours is not to reason why.’ If it got him a promotion he didn’t give a toss. The likes of Lenny Isaacs were scum anyway. He’d be doing a public service.

  Lenny sat in the barn. It was freezing and he shoved his hands into the pocket of his sheepskin. He was praying for the first time in thirty years. DS Johnson sat opposite staring at him. Lenny wished to Christ the copper wasn’t such a big bastard. He would have tried to make an escape. The trouble was he had never been the hero type. More the ‘I’ll scratch your back’ class of villain. He hadn’t slept all night and had been jittery all day. Maura Ryan, whether she was nicked or not, would make sure he disappeared. Oh, God in heaven, help him, for fuck’s sake!

  Chapter Thirty-four

  4.50

  Fenn Farm was derelict. It had not been worked for years. Maura had bought it for a song at an auction a few years previously and was going to sell it eventually, subject to planning permission for a housing estate. Green belt land was not classed as sacrosanct any more. If you had the money and the contacts you could build just about anywhere you wanted to. Arable land that was worth only a few hundred pounds an acre could become, overnight, prime building land worth millions. This was the Thatcher era, when anything that was commercially viable and cost the government nothing was encouraged wholeheartedly. Even building estates on old power stations was acceptable, provided you filled the land in with plenty of concrete first. Then the people who bought the houses were given lists of trees they could plant, trees with very shallow roots that would not disturb the sludge and radioactive waste lying beneath the houses. It was a developer’s dream, and Maura Ryan had had the foresight to cash in when land was still at nominal prices. The days when the working-class men dreamt of winning fifty thousand pounds on the pools were long over. You could not buy a flat for that amount now, let alone live for the rest of your life on it. England was the epitome of the consumer society.

  Today Terry Petherick was watching from the sidelines as the farm was being set up ready for the arrival of the Ryans. Everywhere he looked there were men with high velocity rifles, all taking up position in and around the barn. The light was fast fading, and Terry was reminded of an old World War Two movie, seeing the men dressed in black spiriting around with faces covered in camouflage make up and guns glinting in the half-light. He fingered his own gun and prayed that he would not have to use it. Especially not on Maura Ryan.

  He was sitting on an oil drum watching the activity around him when a man standing near him answered a call on his walkie talkie. Terry had not been issued with one and until this moment had not thought it strange. When he heard what was being said on the man’s radio, it became crystal clear to him just why he had been overlooked in that department.

  The voice crackled over the radio and into Terry’s brain. ‘Remember, not one Ryan is to leave the farm alive. You cut them down as they arrive.’

  ‘Understood. Over and out.’

  The man began to walk towards the barn door, and Terry realised through his reeling thoughts that the man had not noticed him. In the twilight and with the camouflage make up he was indistinguishable. He sat for a while on the oil drum, letting what he had heard sink in.

  Maura and her brothers were going to die. They were being led here, to this farm, like lambs to the slaughter. And it was his fault. He had taken the files to his superiors and then had listened to their excuses as to why none of the judges and policemen on the Ryans’ payroll would be brought to justice. Now it was revealed to him with shocking clarity why the Ryans had to die. While they held knowledge that could rock the country, they were dead men. And women. He must not forget Maura, the mastermind behind it all. It was she who was the biggest target: Maura who was the fly in an otherwise perfect ointment. He could have kicked himself. Here he was, with his ideals about justice - good and bad, law and order - and there was no such thing. Not in this country, or indeed the world.

  He looked at his watch. The luminous dial showed that it was just five o’clock. Looking around him surreptitiously, he began to move slowly towards one of the last remaining cars outside the farm. He was praying that the keys were still in it.

  He slipped behind the wheel of the Sierra Estate and felt a surge of thankfulness that was almost sexual. The keys were in the ignition. He swallowed deeply, feeling the momentary hesitation that always precedes an act of wrong doing. Only what he was doing was not wrong. He had sworn an oath to uphold the law in this
country, and as far as he was concerned that was just what he was doing. Stopping the wanton murder of a whole family. No matter what they had done, nothing warranted what was to happen at this farm tonight. He had two hours before the Ryans were supposed to arrive and he would try to stop them if it was the last thing he did.

  He started the car up and drove cautiously away from the farm house and the barn. He drove as if he was supposed to be driving the car away, neither too fast nor too slow. He remembered that on their way to the farm today he had seen a phone box in the lane about a hundred yards from the farm’s exit. He drove there, his breath barely entering his lungs in his state of nervous tension. If somebody tried to stop him, he would use his gun. Whatever happened, Maura Ryan was not going to die, not in a barn on a cold February evening, mown down like a dog.

  5.05

  ‘Right then. Is everyone happy with what they are to do?’

  Roy, Leslie, Garry and Lee nodded at Maura.

  ‘Good. We’ll have a quick coffee and then make tracks. It’ll take over an hour to get there.’

  ‘I still think we’re being watched.’ Garry’s voice was low.

  Maura sighed.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Gal. If we were being watched, one of our plants would have let us know before now. You’re so paranoid lately.’

  ‘I’m telling you now, that bloke I saw in the blue Granny was definitely waiting for us.’

  ‘Give it a rest, Garry. You’re like an old woman sometimes.’

  Garry looked at Roy. ‘Well, when we’re all fucking nicked, don’t say I never warned you.’

  Lee laughed, then said in a girlish voice, ‘All right then, Garry. I promise you with all my heart.’

  Garry looked at him, frowning.

  ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. I hope you find it as amusing when you’re sitting in Parkhurst or Durham doing a twelve stretch.’