She's Out

by Lynda La Plante

  Dolly was so immersed in her thoughts that when she heard twigs cracking she spun round in shock, her heart pounding. Julia appeared, riding Helen of Troy.

  “Sorry if I made you jump. I did call out!”

  Dolly covered her fright, smiling. “I didn’t hear you—I didn’t even see you, come to think about it. You been here long?”

  “No, I just rode up, cut across the fields.” Julia dismounted and tied up the horse. “How did it go at the social services?” she asked.

  “It didn’t. It’s finished.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. Are they easy to ride?”

  “Yeah. Why, you thinking of taking lessons?”

  Dolly moved tentatively toward Helen, putting out her hand to stroke her nose.

  “She won’t bite you. Be confident, they know when you’re nervous.” Julia moved to stand beside Dolly, putting an arm round her shoulders.

  Dolly petted Helen’s nose. “That Norma . . . she said this horse was police-trained?”

  “Yep. She’s very solid, nothing scares her. As Norma said, she’s bomb-proof. Be good for kids to learn on.”

  Dolly withdrew her hand, her face drawn. “Yes, well, there won’t be any kids to teach. I’ll see you back at the house.”

  She trudged off as Julia unhitched the reins and got back into the saddle. She rode away, unaware that Dolly had turned back to watch her as she cantered into the fields.

  There was a way to get to that train. Julia was now galloping, disappearing from sight as she jumped the hedges.

  DCI Craigh and DI Palmer looked over the forensic reports taken from the red Volvo. There was no indication that the car had been involved in any accident, no trace of blood, or body tissue. They didn’t have enough to bring charges against Gloria Radford and, even if she had hired the car, they had no evidence that she had run over James Donaldson. In other words, they had fuck all.

  “Now what?”

  Craigh looked at Palmer and shrugged. “Well, we’re up for a hard rap around the knuckles from the Super, and that’s just for starters, unless we can iron this out somehow.”

  Palmer looked over their reports and noted the vast amount it had cost Thames Valley and the Met to mount the searches of the manor, together with the surveillance. And all they had to show for it was one arrest: Kathleen O’Reilly.

  Craigh sucked his teeth. “I’m going to interview O’Reilly again. So far she’s not said a bloody word, but you never know.”

  “Bring her in, shall I?”

  Kathleen had been taken to Holloway. She would stand trial again for the previous charges of fraud and kiting but she insisted she was just staying at the manor and that Dolly Rawlins had no knowledge of her previous record or that she was on a wanted list. All she did was pay Rawlins rent.

  Mike appeared and Craigh fixed him with a stare. “I’m going to talk to O’Reilly again but the word from the Gov is to stay well clear of Rawlins. We got to get ourselves out of this mess so you make sure your reports are tight as a nut.”

  Mike hesitated. “What about my sister?”

  “Less said about her the better. We’re in enough trouble as it is so just get on with the backlog of work on your desk.” Craigh glared at him. “This isn’t over yet, son. We could all be in trouble. We never found any diamonds so at least that’s been sorted, understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mike sat down at his desk. His heart was thudding in his chest. Had he got away with it? Or was that call from Rawlins going to turn into a real threat? He felt sick to his stomach and when he reached for his files his hand was shaking. If Rawlins put him in the frame, he was finished.

  Kathleen was as unforthcoming with Craigh as she had been the night she was arrested. She didn’t know anything about any diamonds or guns; all she did was rent a room from Dolly Rawlins.

  “What you think she is? Some kind of female Al Capone? Why don’t you leave her alone? All she’s doin’ is tryin’ to open a home for kids and you’re just harassing her.”

  Craigh thanked her for her observations and turned on his heel. Maybe she really didn’t know anything about Rawlins and maybe, he began to wonder, they had been pressured into the searches and warrants by Mike Withey because he had personal motives. The more Craigh thought about it the more he made up his mind that if the Super tapped on his shoulder he’d point the finger at Mike. He wasn’t going to take the fall.

  Dolly sat with a mug of tea. She was deep in thought when Ester walked in. “Angela’s still in her room. Gloria took up a coffee at breakfast time, told her to get packed, but she’s still in there.”

  Dolly got up and poured the dregs of the tea into the sink. “I don’t care, just get rid of her. I got to go up to London, have a word with Kathleen.”

  Connie walked in with three sheets of paper. “Dolly, you wanted John to give estimates for the damage when the police raided the house.”

  Dolly inspected the figures and smiled. “These are good. Oh, Connie, can I have a word?” She turned to Ester. “Can you leave us for a minute?”

  Ester sloped off, and Dolly washed and dried the mug carefully, placing it back on its hook. “There’s a signal box at the station, young bloke on duty—I think there’s two of them. Can you get to know them a bit? Find out what time they come on duty, when they’re off and who does nights, that kind of thing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to.” Connie pulled a face and Dolly moved closer. “This time, Connie, if needs be you fuck them, because I want that information. I want you to know that signal box layout better than the back of your hand, understand me?”

  Connie stepped back. “Yes . . . all right.”

  “Good—but don’t tell any of the others, just get on with it.”

  Dolly went out of the back door and called Julia, who was leading Helen of Troy back into the stables. “A minute, love.”

  Ester caught Connie as she went up the stairs. “What was that about?”

  Connie looked back down the stairs. “She said not to tell you.”

  “So, what did she want?”

  Connie repeated what Dolly had told her then carried on up the stairs. Ester was about to go into the kitchen when she overheard Dolly talking to Julia. “You go and see Norma; try and find out about the security at the station.”

  “Why?” Julia asked as she pulled off her boots.

  “Don’t ask questions, just do it. If she doesn’t know, then fine, but test her out.”

  Julia felt uneasy but Dolly didn’t seem to be in the mood to take no for an answer, so she kept quiet.

  Dolly walked into the hall. She saw the drawing-room door closing. “Ester?”

  Ester popped her head out, acting surprised. “Oh! What do you want?”

  “That kid, the trainspotter. He’s got books, train times and—”

  “We can get you a timetable, you know, Dolly.”

  Dolly’s mouth was set in a thin tight line. “Yes, I know, but I want the times and details of one specific train. The mail train. Get his book off him but do it without him knowing.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard—he’s mental anyway.”

  Dolly picked up the phone and began to dial. Ester hovered a moment before she went into the kitchen.

  Julia was still there, drinking a cup of tea. “She’s planning something, isn’t she?” she said.

  Ester nodded. “Yeah. I knew it. I always knew that if she had her back to the wall she’d come up with something.”

  “Yeah, but what is it?”

  Ester leaned close, one eye on the door. “I think it’s the security wagon that delivers the money to the mail train.”

  Julia let out her breath. “Jesus Christ.”

  Ester kept her eye on the door, afraid Dolly would walk in. “She held back three shotguns from Gloria’s stash. She reckoned she was going to do something. Well, she was right.”

  Julia rubbed her arms. “Do we really want to be involved in it
, though?”

  Ester nudged her, grinning. “What do you think? Let’s just play her along, see what happens. In the meantime, we got this place, we got bed and board, so why not?”

  Dolly drove into George Fuller’s car park. A clever, iron-faced man employed by many top-level crooks, he was the lawyer who had represented her at her trial. He was expensive but he was as tough as he looked and even when he smiled he seemed to be sneering.

  “Hello, Dolly, good to see you. Sit down.”

  She perched on a chair in his immaculate office and passed over the estimates from the builders. “I’m being harassed. I want them off my back, George.”

  He nodded, then lifted his briefcase onto the desk. “Right. We can go there now and you can fill me in on the way. I’m in court at two so we’ve not much time.”

  Dolly stood up. She liked the way George got straight to the point.

  They drove to the police station in Fuller’s immaculate green Jaguar and Dolly told him exactly what had occurred since she was released from Holloway. She also asked if he would take on Kathleen O’Reilly’s case as a favor to her. He inclined his head a little, and then gave that icy smile. “If she can meet the fees, then yes.”

  “She can’t but I will.”

  Ester and Julia had already left to begin their assignments. Julia was calling at Norma’s cottage and Ester went to talk to Raymond Dewey. Connie was already at the station, watching the man in the signal box. He had a pot belly and she had a feeling he would have bad BO. She shuddered. But then, crossing to the signal box, she saw the pleasant-faced young man who had given her a lift the day she arrived. She saw him walk up the steps as the pot-bellied man came out.

  “You’re late again, Jim.”

  “Sorry, Mac, got held up.”

  “Oh yeah? Who was it last night, then?”

  Jim chuckled as he entered the signal box. Connie waited a moment and then ran out, colliding with the fat man. She was right. He was a walking deodorant advert. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped as she fell forward and then yelped. “My ankle, oh . . .”

  It didn’t take long for Jim to come down the steps with a glass of water as Connie sat at the bottom. She sipped the water and then tried to stand but had to sit down again.

  “I’m sorry, love, I just didn’t see you. Do you need a doctor?” Pot-bellied Mac looked down at her with concern.

  “I’m all right, just a bit dizzy.”

  Jim helped her up and looked at his mate. “You go off, Mac, I’ll take care of her. Maybe she should just sit here for a while.”

  Mac muttered that he just bet his mate would take care of her, and shuffled off toward his beat-up Ford Granada. “See you tomorrow, Jim.”

  But Jim wasn’t listening. He was supporting Connie, his arm around her.

  “Lucky sod,” mused Mac as he drove out. He wouldn’t have minded taking care of her—she was a cracker.

  DCI Craigh stared at the estimates then at George Fuller and at the impassive face of Dolly Rawlins. He didn’t really look at them properly—he was too edgy. Fuller declared that on her release Rawlins had, in his opinion, been harassed. If it was to be made public, not only the waste of public money but also that a woman who had served her sentence and been released with every good intention of building a home for ex-prisoners had been picked on, it would not look good for the force. Craigh tried to interrupt but Fuller was in full flow and wouldn’t let him get a word in.

  “We obviously know that a Mrs. Kathleen O’Reilly was arrested at Mrs. Rawlins’s establishment but she was unaware of any of the outstanding charges leveled at Mrs. O’Reilly and all the women resident at the manor are, as you must be aware, ex-prisoners. As Mrs. Rawlins was attempting to open a home to give these unfortunate women a chance to straighten out their lives, then it is only to be expected that residents would be, like herself, ex-prisoners. To my mind this has been a flagrant misuse of police resources. If it were to get into the papers, I’m sure it would cause an outcry.”

  Fuller hardly drew breath. His quiet, steely voice firmly hammered home each point until finally he dropped in his ace. “Also, it is possible that one of the men in your team, Detective Chief Inspector, has a private vendetta against Mrs. Rawlins. Not to mention the fact that you have accused Mrs. Rawlins of being associated with a James Donaldson, who, I understand, recently died while in your custody.”

  Craigh felt the rug being pulled from under him but he remained calm. His hands tightened into fists on the desk as he gazed ahead at a small dot on the wallpaper.

  “So if you would please give the estimates your due care and attention, I would be most grateful if Mrs. Rawlins could receive payment for the damage to her property as soon as possible.”

  Fuller rose, and gestured to Dolly to accompany him to the door.

  “Thank you for your time, Detective Chief Inspector.” Fuller closed the door after him. Craigh ground his teeth; it had been tough keeping his mouth shut. He would have liked to punch the bastard. He glanced down at the list of damage done to the manor during the two raids: deep freezers being turned off, banisters and rails damaged, the front door, the rear door. Then his jaw dropped as he read the total figure.

  Ten thousand quid? Ten grand?

  Dolly was rigid as she waited for Kathleen to be brought into the visiting section. Coming back inside made her feel ill, the hair on the nape of her neck standing up as she kept her eyes down, refusing to look in the direction of any of the prison officers. All she wanted to do was to say what she had to say to Kathleen and get out.

  Kathleen was led through the door from the prisoners’ section. She was wearing a green overall, her own shoes, and an Alice band that someone must have given her to keep her curly red hair off her face. She looked tired, defeated and bloated.

  Dolly reached over and held her big raw hand. “Hello, Kathleen love.”

  Kathleen smiled ruefully. “Well, I’m back. I knew it’d happen one day but you know I just hoped we’d make some cash so I could get me and the kids to Ireland. It was just a dream, really. I should have known I’d be picked up. I’m just sorry it was at your place.”

  “So am I, but I’ve got you books and there’s money between the pages. Give a few quid out to some of the girls, ones that knew me. Rest you use for whatever. I got George Fuller taking on your case, I’ll find the money to pay him.”

  “I never said nothing, you know, Dolly.”

  “I didn’t think you would, Kathleen.”

  “I’m no snitch.”

  “It was Angela. We found out she’d been knocked up by that young copper.”

  “The bastard.”

  “She’s no better. We’ve chucked her out on her ear.”

  Kathleen flicked through the pages of the paperback novel, seeing the neatly folded fifty-pound notes. She suddenly looked at Dolly, her eyes dead. “I could have said something, though. I could have said about the diamonds, even the guns, but I didn’t.”

  Dolly waited, knowing she was going to be hit for more money. It just surprised her that Kathleen would try it on, after she’d hired her a bloody lawyer.

  “I’ll get at least five this time,” Kathleen said without any emotion. Dolly made no reply, waiting as Kathleen fingered the paperback. “I want my kids taken care of, Dolly. Sheena, Kate and Mary. They’re in a convent but they’ll be split up soon, I know it. Not many places can take three kids, three sisters, they’ll split them up, so . . .”

  Dolly looked at her, hard. “So what, Kathleen?”

  “You take them, Dolly. I’ve written to the convent, made you their legal guardian. You just got to sign the papers. I want you to look after them until I get out.”

  “I can’t do that,” hissed Dolly.

  “Yes, you can. You wanted kids in that place—well, now I’m giving you mine. You take them, Dolly, please. Please don’t make me talk to the coppers about you, just take my kids.” Kathleen bowed her head, as big tears slid down her pale cheeks. “I was a lousy mother b
ut I’d turn grass for them. I would, Dolly. They’re all I’ve got that’s decent. Please, take them, keep them together for me.”

  Dolly gripped Kathleen’s hand tight.

  Just after Dolly had left the manor, Gloria marched up the stairs and banged on Angela’s bedroom door. “Oi, what you doin’ in there? We want you out. Come on. Angela?” She tried the door. It was locked but the key was not on the outside.

  “Angela?” She banged on the door, turned the handle and pushed hard, but it was securely locked from the inside.

  Gloria darted out to the stables and picked up a hammer. Connie appeared and asked her what she was doing.

  “That Angela has locked herself in so I’m gonna break down the door and drag her out by the scruff of her neck.”

  She went back upstairs and hit the lock hard, while Connie pushed. It eventually gave way and they stumbled into the little box room. Angela was lying on the floor by the bed, face down. Beside her was a bottle of bleach. When the two panic-stricken women turned her over her face was blue, her mouth burned—but she was alive.

  Julia was walking up the driveway when Gloria screamed at her out of the window to hurry. She raced up the stairs three at a time and burst into the bedroom. They’d lifted Angela onto the bed.

  Gloria hovered. “She’s drunk bleach, Julia,” Gloria said quickly. “I dunno how much but look at her mouth!”

  Julia barked orders, to call an ambulance, get jugs of water, then pulled Angela into a sitting position, feeling inside her mouth as Gloria and Connie hurried out, glad to be told what to do.

  “Angela, can you hear me? Angela? It’s Julia.”

  The girl lolled forward. Julia tested her pulse, which was very weak, and began to pour water down her throat from a jug Connie had brought in.