She's Out

by Lynda La Plante

  Julia was within six feet of sanctuary when she turned the flashlight on once, twice, three times and Gloria pressed down the detonator. They were only a fraction off-target, but nevertheless the explosion ripped through the second carriage instead of where it was meant to—between the second and the mail carriage. She swore as the carriages rocked and shuddered and the railway line buckled under the impact. Next she crawled to the second detonator and thumped it down. This time it was almost right on its marker as the rear carriage broke loose. The explosion was terrifyingly loud, echoing across the water, glass and metal splintering. There was hardly a window left intact. Inside the guards were stunned, having been thrown across the floor.

  Gloria had used too much Semtex and now there was a dangerous hole in the bridge itself. But as they moved frantically on to the next stage of the operation, they didn’t realize the imminent danger. Amid the chaos, Julia could hear Dolly’s calm voice in her mind: “Soon as you get away from the track, you chuck this into the main front carriage, as close to the driver as possible. It’ll scramble any calls he tries to make from the train to the next station. It won’t give us long but it’ll be long enough.” Another of Ashley Brent’s little toys.

  Julia galloped to her next position, then collected Dolly’s horse and began to drag it toward the others down below by the lake. Dolly was on foot and running toward the center of the bridge.

  Ester rammed her shotgun through the carriage’s broken window. The men inside still lay sprawled on the floor as two more shotguns appeared through the windows on the other side. Dolly was the one to give the order and she screamed it: “Open the doors! Out!”

  Mike switched on the spotlight, turning the powerful beam a fraction to aim directly at the center carriage. He had seen the train moving off and hoped the driver’s phone would be scrambled. Then he jumped into the speedboat and, with the rowing boat trailing behind, headed at top speed for the bridge. He cut the engines as he came directly in line with the spotlight. It covered the doors of the train and the path down to the rowing boat.

  The dazed guards came out one by one. Dolly took up her position, screaming orders as she pointed the shotgun at them. “Lie down, face down!”

  Suddenly she saw, to her horror, that the mail carriage was creaking and groaning toward the hole in the bridge. It was going to go over the side.

  The guards lay down beside the track, as, unaware of the danger, Connie and Gloria went aboard. Ester walked round to the open doors. The sacks were passed out and dropped into the rowing boat, easily picked out by the beam of the spotlight. Inch by inch, the carriage kept moving closer to the hole as they worked frantically. Below, Mike stacked the bags in the boat, communicating with the women through gestures without saying a word. Dolly stood over the men, who lay face down without moving, listening to the bags crashing down and the awful sound of the carriage as it ground toward the hole.

  The guards were helpless to do anything and, if they moved so much as a muscle, they felt a hard dig in the middle of their backs. The women, their faces covered by ski masks, worked on, lifting, passing, dropping the mailbags, the danger now obvious, the carriage continuing to inch closer to disaster.

  Jim had limped to the nearest house and called the police. He was almost incoherent, repeating over and over the words “police” and “train” and “bombs.” They would be there in four minutes.

  Ester was the first to leave. She ran down to the horses and loosened the reins of her own mount, dragging him toward the water. Julia was already waiting, looking with desperation toward the bridge. Then the spotlight cut out, the batteries overloaded, leaving the bridge in darkness. “Jesus, God, they’re gonna go down with the bloody carriage. It’ll hit the rowing boat.”

  “Get out, move it,” muttered Ester.

  Gloria was next to leave, and the carriage suddenly shot forward by three feet, so that it hung like a seesaw over the bridge. Mike started the speedboat. He didn’t care if they lost one or two bags—he wasn’t going to risk being under the bridge any longer. He opened the throttle and powered back to the jetty. The next stage was hurling the bags out of the boat and into the saddlebags on the waiting horses. Mike began helping Ester and Julia. They turned and saw a mass of bricks and twisted metal about to crash from the bridge. Connie, still inside the carriage, whipped round to see Dolly waving frantically for her to get out, but she froze as the creaking grew louder and louder.

  Dolly looked at the men, and back to Connie. She reached out and grabbed Connie by the arm, dragging her forward.

  “Jump.”

  Connie pulled back, stiff with fear, and Dolly had to pull Connie to the edge of the crumbling bridge. Half-holding, half-dragging her, she jumped the twenty-five feet to the water below. The shotgun flew from Dolly’s hand as she hit the water.

  Connie surfaced first, gasping and flailing. “I can’t swim!” she spluttered.

  Mike had hurled out the last bag, unaware that Dolly and Connie were in the water and in trouble. Connie was dragging Dolly down, clawing and scratching at her in a desperate panic to stay afloat.

  Julia lifted the full bags off Helen and climbed back into the saddle. “Just keep moving as planned—Ester, go on! We’ll catch you up.” She kicked the horse’s ribs and set off into the lake, Helen not batting an eyelid as they waded deeper and deeper toward the struggling women. Connie still clung to Dolly, who tried her best to keep them both afloat, while bricks and concrete slabs began to plummet into the water around them. Then suddenly there was Julia, pushing Helen through the water and reaching out her hand, but Dolly could only grab Helen’s tail, with one arm around Connie, as Julia turned in the water and pulled them back to the shore. Gloria and Ester had gone, leaving the tethered horses standing loaded with mailbags.

  As they clambered onto the shore, Connie began screaming. Dolly slapped her face hard. “Get out of here! Get on your horse and get out!”

  Connie, sobbing and shaking with cold, stumbled to her horse. She could hardly mount but neither Julia nor Dolly paid her any attention as they heaved Julia’s bags onto Helen. They still had a long way to go before they were finished.

  Mike left the boat and ran to his car. He tried to stay calm, not allowing himself to put his foot flat to the car floor. If he was caught now, he had two mailbags crammed with money in the boot. He took the route away from the station in the opposite direction from the manor.

  Every police force in the county now knew that the mail train had been hit and orders went out to set up roadblocks on all major roads in the area. All vehicles were to be stopped and searched.

  So far, though, no police car could get anywhere near the bridge. The guards ran down the sides of the track, their only exit, while the carriage remained precariously balanced. The police who had managed to get to the station tried to question Jim but he broke down, in a state of shock, unable to tell them anything. The three guards were in a similar state as, one by one, they were helped from the bridge. One man was bleeding badly from where the glass in the carriage window had slashed his cheek. An ambulance was on its way.

  Mike made it onto the motorway before any roadblocks could be set up, but it was a long drive home and he wasn’t safe yet. He wouldn’t be truly safe until he’d boarded the plane.

  The women were almost crying with exhaustion but not one of them flagged. They pushed themselves on. They had galloped across the fields, up through the woods, keeping to cover as much as possible. Then they galloped down from the woods into the manor grounds, slinging their bags down beside the lime pit, which was open and ready.

  Julia leapt from Helen in her haste to start ripping open the mailbags. She hurled the money into the skip and threw the bags into the lime pit. Connie rode up, hurled her bags to the ground and, still sodden from the lake, wheeled her horse round and galloped off, passing Dolly, the last to return, just as she started trotting down from the woods.

  Julia grabbed Dolly’s bag, ripping it open and throwing the money into
the skip, and then, as the pit gurgled and hissed, pressed the empty canvas mailbags down with a rake. Without pausing for breath, she dragged the corrugated iron across the pit, hooked the skip chains to the old truck and began to drag the skip across the pit, over the corrugated iron.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the women re-stabled the horses, gathered up the cladding used on their hoofs and took them to the stable yard tip. The horses’ tack was replaced in order. No one spoke—they could hardly draw breath from exhaustion and panic—but they were still following their plans, even down to replacing the stable keys in their hiding place. Then they went to the parked Mini, where Gloria was waiting patiently at the wheel. They almost had to haul Dolly inside she was so tired. But it was not over yet.

  By the time they returned to the manor, Julia had still not finished. She was hoovering up the money from inside the skip, then emptying it into thick black rubbish bags. Gloria ran from the Mini as the others started lifting the bags and stashing them into the back of the car. They pushed and squashed them inside as bag after bag was tied off and handed over.

  Gloria and Connie began a slow, careful walk, eyes to the ground, to look for a single note that might have come loose. They didn’t need any torches now as dawn was breaking. The Mini full up to the roof, Julia and Ester drove out. They knew they could be stopped at any second and neither spoke, their mouths bone dry with nerves. They still had not seen a single police car as they drove round the back of Norma’s cottage to the barn.

  Julia forced open the door of the old coal chute, and they dropped the bags down the hole. The other end of the chute was bricked off in the cellar. They had to shove hard to get the door shut again when they’d finished and Julia applied blackened putty where wrenching the door open had left marks on the wall.

  Back at the manor, Dolly now joined Connie on her hands and knees searching the ground. The shotguns had been ditched in the lake, the mailbags were hopefully already rotting, but their work was not finished—not until Dolly was satisfied they were in the clear. One note and they’d be screwed. They found four or five but kept on searching as Gloria raked over the deep tracks left by the skip. She brought stones and branches and stamped them down to cover any movement around the pit.

  They didn’t stop until Julia and Ester returned. Then they parked the Mini and went into the kitchen. Dolly set light to the black book in front of them and threw the ashes into the waste-disposal unit. All their equipment had already been dumped in the local tip but still they checked that there was no incriminating evidence around the house. It was almost seven o’clock before Dolly ordered them to change and get into their beds. “They’ll be coming and they’ll be around for a long time. We just sit tight, stay calm, and carry on here as if nothing has happened. This is the most difficult part. Any one of you can blow it so it’s up to you all now, and I dunno about you lot but I’m totally knackered.”

  She walked slowly up the stairs and they watched her going to her room. No one congratulated anyone. Connie broke down crying and Gloria gave her a squeeze, telling her to hold it together. They then went their separate ways to bed.

  Julia hugged her pillow tightly, the exhaustion still held at bay by adrenalin. She watched as Ester lay back on the pillows. “Well, so far, so good. We did it.”

  Ester drew up the sheets around her chin and turned away. Julia leaned over her. Ester was crying and Julia kissed her shoulder. She didn’t say anything because she felt like weeping herself.

  Connie cried herself to sleep.

  Gloria lay wide awake, waiting for the knock on the door. She was still waiting when she fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion like the rest of them.

  Dolly, in her room, couldn’t stop smiling. It felt so good—she felt so good. She couldn’t even think of sleeping, one eye on the clock, waiting to hear if Mike had made it home. In the end she felt her eyes drooping and gave in. She slept with her arms clutching her pillow like a lover.

  Mike let himself into the house. He emptied the money bags, putting the cash into two big suitcases and covering them with clothes he’d already prepared. He then sat in the dining room, trying to burn the mailbags. It took a long time and a whole packet of firelighters as the canvas was supposed to be fire-resistant. In the end he poured some white spirit on top of them and they finally caught alight. He took the ashes outside and tipped them into the dustbin, then emptied more rubbish over the top.

  Angela was fast asleep in his bed. He stood watching her from the doorway. She looked so young and innocent that he couldn’t resist kissing her just one last time. She woke with a start.

  “Will you call home and tell Dolly you and the kids are okay? Do it now, so she’s not worried about you.”

  She yawned and sat up as he walked to the door. “I’ll get the girls dressed and start breakfast.”

  Dolly could hardly raise her head. Her whole body felt bruised as if she’d been in a boxing match. She blinked as the phone interrupted her thoughts and she was relieved to hear Angela’s voice. They were all fine and she’d get the first train back.

  “Good.” Dolly leaned back on her pillow. “Get a cab from the station, will you? And some fresh bread from that little corner shop.” She hung up and looked at her bedside clock. Mike was home safe. He’d made it. She closed her eyes, wondering if they all would. Any moment she knew the shout would go up and the manor would be the first place they’d start. “Well, let them come,” she whispered to herself. “We’re ready and waiting.”

  Chapter 20

  Angela, as instructed by Dolly, had got off the train at the mainline station, not the local one. Dolly didn’t want her running into a swarm of cops but didn’t tell her that, just that it would be too early to get a cab at the local station.

  Angela arrived back at the manor at eight o’clock. The girls were about to run upstairs but she told them to stay quiet and not to wake up the house. She set about preparing breakfast, the girls helping her lay the table.

  Angela hadn’t known any of the women to sleep in so late and she asked one of the girls to check if Helen of Troy was in the stable, wondering if they had all gone out for an early ride. The girls stayed outside, shouting that Helen was in the stable. Angela had fried eggs and bacon, sausages and some cold potatoes. It was all keeping warm in the oven when the women came down, bleary-eyed and still wearing their dressing gowns.

  “Had a late night, did you?” Angela asked as she started getting out the plates.

  “Yeah, we did have a bit of a night,” Gloria muttered.

  “Aren’t you going riding today?” Angela asked. It was unusual for them not to be up and out by now.

  “No. Stables have got some kids’ party so we can’t,” Ester said as she creaked into her chair.

  “There was something going on at the station,” Angela said as she served the eggs and bacon.

  “Oh yeah, what was that?” Gloria asked, as she poured the tea.

  “I dunno, but there were loads of police and all along the lanes more patrol cars. They even stopped us in the taxi.”

  Dolly walked in, her hair in pin curls. Unlike the others she was dressed. “Angela love, go and get the girls inside. They’re getting filthy out there in the yard.”

  Angela went out without argument and Dolly sat down. She reached for the teapot, was just about to pour a cup when the sirens wailed. “Well, here they come,” she said.

  The front doorbell echoed through the house, and Angela opened the back door. “There’s police all over the place! They’re even up in the woods.”

  Dolly jerked her head at Ester. “Go and see what they want.”

  Ester hesitated only for a moment before she pulled her dressing gown round her and they could hear her slippers flip-flopping as she went into the hall.

  The Thames Valley police had pulled in every possible man and were searching every house within a five-mile radius of the station, not to mention every outhouse, stable and barn, even every greenhouse. Scotland Yard’s Robbery Squ
ad was already at the scene of the raid as hundreds more officers were drafted in to the immediate area to assist in the search. No vehicle had been found, and no witness; the raid appeared to have happened without a single person seeing it.

  The police interviewed the women and they all insisted they’d been at home together the entire evening, going to bed sometime after eleven. They had heard nothing and kept up a bewildered act that should have won an Oscar as they asked innocently what had happened. A murder? A rape? A kidnapping? But they were told nothing as the uniformed officers began the search. They looked through every cupboard, every chest and wardrobe, the roof, the chimneys, under the floorboards, the sauna area. The police were polite, but diligent, and staying there for almost eight hours until they had to move on. They found nothing.

  By lunchtime the press were on the scene, and then it was headlines in the evening papers: the biggest train robbery in history had taken place and Thames Valley was using more than four hundred officers to comb the entire area. By now the police knew that a man masquerading as a police officer had daringly held up the train, and the robbery had been committed by possibly five or six others. They had been armed, and the public were warned that, if they were suspicious about anyone, they should act with caution as the men were deemed to be dangerous. The owner of the speed-boat had been arrested but released after questioning. The signal-box attendant, Jim, had also been questioned and released. They had, as yet, found no clues, and had no idea of the present whereabouts of the stolen money. The amount in question was not disclosed.

  The women did not dare believe they had got away with it as the searches and questioning went on. Even Helen of Troy had been examined, though she had not actually been taken in for questioning, as Julia joked.

  Everyone in the area who owned a horse got a visit from the police. Even the staff at the local stables were questioned and their horses examined, but in the darkness the train driver could only describe the horse that had been standing on the line as shiny and black.