Angela picked up little Sheena.
“You ever been to Switzerland?” Dolly asked suddenly.
“No, I never been nowhere abroad,” Angela said.
“Well, as soon as you get that passport, you’re gonna get us plane tickets, all five of us, with not a word to the others, because that’s where we’re going—Switzerland.”
Dolly breezed into the drawing room and was confronted by Gloria, Ester, Julia and Connie, all stone-faced.
“We want to know what the hell is going on,” Ester said angrily.
Dolly put her hands on her hips. “You sorted out that business with the video, have you?”
“You know I haven’t,” Ester snapped.
“Then when it’s done, when I’m ready, we’ll talk. That goes for all of you, all right?” She pointed a finger at Connie. “You go and get the shotguns today. You, Gloria, give them all a lesson in how to use them. Go up into the woods and don’t come down again until you can all handle them.”
“You know how to use them, though, don’t you, Dolly?” Gloria asked sarcastically.
“My husband made sure I could always take care of myself,” Dolly replied. “And you, Ester, sort that video business. You, Julia, get the muffling for the horses, and, Connie, you go to that builder, and tell him to order a leaf-suction machine. I dunno what you call them but they suck up garden leaves.”
“I can’t see him,” Connie said petulantly.
“Why not?”
“Because I hate his guts.”
Dolly turned on her, pushing her backward. “Then unhate him. Just do it. That goes for all of you. We get through today and tonight we’ll talk.”
She turned, calling for Angela and the girls to get ready.
“We’re going on a boat. See you later.” The door closed behind her.
“I think she’s bats,” Gloria said.
Ester shrugged. “Well, she’s got until tonight and then we force her to come out with whatever she’s got inside that twisted head of hers.”
Dolly began to row. She had one oar, Angela the other, and they began to propel the boat slowly to the center of the small lake, the three girls perched happily on the seat at the bow.
“Look, look, it’s a bridge,” Sheena said, pointing.
Dolly nodded. “Yes, love, it’s a bridge. Maybe we’ll see a train crossing it today.”
Neither Angela nor Dolly were adept at rowing, and it took them a while to get to the center of the lake where they rested as Dolly caught her breath. She leaned on the oar and looked at the bridge: there was a good twenty-foot drop down to the lake at the lowest point. She then glanced at the boathouse on the other side.
“Is this your boat, Dolly?” Kate asked.
“No, love, it belongs to an old man who lives not far from the manor, in one of those cottages. He lent it to me.”
“Can we come out again?” Sheena piped up.
“Yes, we can borrow his boat any time we want.”
They shouted with excitement and Dolly spotted the floating dock. “Let’s go over to that boathouse, Angela, maybe we can go ashore for a little walk.”
The innocent-looking boating party headed toward a small wooden jetty. Two speedboats were tied up, covered with green tarpaulins. Dolly made each girl remain in their seat until she herself had stepped ashore to guide each one out with Angela’s help.
“Can we go in a speedboat?” Sheena asked.
“Not today, darlin’, another time maybe.”
Dolly told Angela to take the girls for a ramble, while she remained sitting by the jetty. She began to make notes in her little black book, her eyes flicking from the jetty to the bridge, from the lake to the undergrowth, and then, for a long time, she focused on the bridge.
The women lined up with their shotguns. Gloria had showed them over and over how to load and unload before she would allow them to fire. She explained the consequences of not paying attention. She held up her left hand. “See that? Did it when I was twelve. My dad was showing me at a fairground and I wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a shotgun, it was an automatic but it snapped back and bang, me thumb was hanging . . . off.” They all looked suitably chastened. “Right, put the weight into your shoulder, left hand to steady the barrel, right index finger on the trigger, but gently, they’re oiled and you need just a light squeeze, don’t jerk it. They got a big kick, these shotguns, so be prepared for it. If you don’t hold it right, like what I’m showing you, you’ll get a bruise on yer collarbone an’ it could whack into yer cheekbone, bring tears to your eyes, I’m tellin’ you.”
Dolly stopped rowing when they heard the shotgun blasts. She turned toward the woods and then waved to Angela to stop rowing as she took out her notebook and quickly jotted something down. Bang! the shotgun went again.
“Somebody’s firing a gun,” Angela said.
“Yeah, be up in the woods. Duck-shooting.”
“What are ducks doing in the woods?” Angela asked.
“Never you mind,” said Dolly, frowning. Bang. Bang. Damn, thought Dolly, that’s loud. Some nosy parker’s bound to start wondering what’s going on. She started rowing. “Come on, Angela, put your back into it. We need to get back to shore sharpish.”
Julia lowered the shotgun. The tree they’d been aiming at looked as if a tornado had hit it. “Maybe we’ve done enough for today.”
Under Gloria’s beady eye they unloaded and collected all the spent cartridges before they started back to the manor. The shotguns were now wrapped in their waterproof covers, and they stopped midway to stash them in the trunk of a hollow tree.
Ester had already left for London and Connie had gone to the builder’s yard. Julia was sitting at the kitchen table, cutting old sacks with a knife. “I can use these with a drawstring, pad it out with some sawdust, that should be enough.”
“Fine. Do it in the stables, not in the kitchen. And when Gloria comes back get her to help you.”
Julia snatched up the sacks. “Right, and we got a ride booked for five o’clock. I found out their key is always left under a plant pot and . . .” But Dolly was ushering the girls ahead for an afternoon kids’ program on TV, so Julia went out to the stables, closing the gate behind her. Opening one of the packets of cocaine, she took out a pocket mirror, and laid out a small amount of the powder, deftly chopping it into lines. Then she took an already tightly rolled five-pound note and snorted up each line in turn, sniffing hard, then licking the residue off the mirror. Instantly feeling better, she carefully replaced the mirror and the fiver in her pocket, then started hacking at the sacks. Stacking the squares in a neat pile at her feet, she had cut up about eight when Gloria burst in.
“Bleedin’ walked to the local shop. What a load of halfwits! They looked at me like I got two fuckin’ heads.”
Julia studied Gloria. She was wearing a pair of jeans that were too tight, a bright purple silk shirt knotted at the waist, with her tits half hanging out from some wire contraption brassiere that went out in the Fifties. Her blonde hair was in need of more bleach, the black roots over an inch long. She was also wearing a baggy man’s riding jacket. Julia laughed. “It’s the wellington boots, Gloria, they’re very sexy.”
Gloria frowned. “Piss off. I need them, having to wade through that bloody mud lane. Them potholes get you every time.” She squatted down, picking up one of the cut squares. “What’re these for, then?”
“The horses’ hoofs.”
“Oh, of course! Any fool would have known that. What you talkin’ about?”
“Dolly’s orders, Gloria, so don’t ask, just start sewing.”
Connie leaned against the hut door and peeked in. “Hi, John, how you doing?”
John looked over, then went back to opening his bills. She strolled in and leaned closer. “You were very rude to me last night—you know that, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Don’t sit on the desk, it’s got a wonky leg. What do you want?”
“Well, you’re supposed to be fixing
our roof and, like, nobody is there so Mrs. Rawlins sent me to ask when you’re going to do it.”
He scratched his head. “Tomorrow. I got a few things lined up for today and the men are all out on other jobs.”
Connie slipped onto his knee. “Well, that’s convenient, then, isn’t it?”
“What do you want?” he asked again, leaning away from her.
“What you didn’t give me the other day.”
She took his face in her hands and kissed him, teasing his mouth open with her tongue. He couldn’t resist for long and his arms were soon wrapped around her. She could feel his erection and started wriggling on his knee. “Oh, you’re very easy to please, aren’t you?” she whispered, licking his ear. He started to unbutton her shirt while she kept on licking and kissing, she was half-hoping someone would come in and he’d have to go. When they remained uninterrupted she knew he would screw her. Well, she’d been screwed in some worse places—but never for a machine that sucked up bloody leaves.
Ester leaned forward to the taxi driver. “Okay, I’m going in this house here. I want you to wait. If I’m not out within five minutes, will you ring the doorbell? And keep this for me.” She passed over the envelope with the tape. He looked at it, then at Ester. “Five minutes.”
“Okay, but that’s all, no more.”
They were parked outside a large, elegant house in The Boltons. Ester stepped out, adjusted her dark glasses and walked slowly up the canopied entrance. She stood for a moment on the steps, noticing the two security cameras before ringing the bell. Part of her was saying what a stupid bitch she was to come here and do what Dolly had told her, but if it kept the old cow quiet, why not?
Hector opened the door and instantly beamed. “Surprise, surprise! Ester Freeman herself!”
She stepped in and he shut the door behind her. She raised her arms as he frisked her for a weapon, spending more time than necessary patting her down. “Poor way to get your rocks off, isn’t it, Hector? Here, look in my handbag. I’ve not got the cash for a gun, darlin’.”
Hector searched it. “What do you want?”
“To get off the hook.”
He smirked at her. “You got a lot of bottle, Ester. Either that or you’re fucking stupid.”
“Look, you prick, right now I’d go down on you for fifty quid, I’m that broke, so let’s stop the crap and talk.”
Hector ushered her along the thick-piled cream carpet into a double-doored drawing room filled with china cabinets and more Capo di Monte than they have at Asprey’s. “Sit down.”
“Look, I got five minutes. If I don’t walk out that cab driver out there will be knocking on the door.”
“That really scares me. Sit down.”
She sat on a peach-silk-covered chair and crossed her legs. “I’ve got the video, the only copy. You can have it but I just want to know that you’ll leave me alone.”
Hector perched on an identical chair, twirling a set of gold worry beads round his finger. “What you done with the Saab? You nicked it, didn’t you? Rooney was screaming about it.”
“You must be joking. I wouldn’t touch any motor of his, more than likely hot as shit. He’s just a liar—but he got his heavies to give me a proper going-over anyway. He gave me the money for a taxi. That was the last I saw of Rooney.”
“So what you after? If it’s money, you’re even more stupid than I thought.”
“To give you the video of your boss’s kids screwing two of my girls. You can have it back and for nothing. I just want to know that it’s over.”
Hector chortled. “Don’t be so fucking stupid. You’ve been a naughty girl, and you know he won’t let you off the hook. You shouldn’t have been so greedy—you got paid a lot of dough.”
“I also did three years and I’m telling you, you beat me up, knock me around, and I’ll go straight to the cops. This time I’ll give them names, all right, and he won’t get off with his diplomatic immunity this time.”
Hector was about to hit her when the door opened. Even though Ester couldn’t see who was behind it, she knew, from Hector’s face, it was the boss.
She saw the cameras at the corners of the embossed ceiling—the whole place was monitored so every word they said must have been overheard. She waited as the two men whispered outside the half-closed door, and began to get a little uneasy, afraid Hector might come back and beat the hell out of her. She was putting a lot of trust in the cab driver.
Hector gestured for her to join him. “Your lucky day. The tape.”
“I’ll go and get it but then it’s over, Hector.”
“Yeah. Like I said, it’s your lucky day. Come on.”
They came out just as the driver was getting out of the taxi. Ester got into the back. “Give him that envelope, love.” The cabbie looked at Ester, then at Hector, and reached in for the envelope.
Hector snatched it out of his hand and pulled down the passenger window. “Ester, this had better be the only copy. If it isn’t, you won’t just get a rap round the head, you’ll get taken out, understand?”
Ester rapped on the glass between her and the driver. “Marylebone Station.” They drove off, Hector watching from the pavement, as the cabbie eased back the partition.
“I won’t ask what that was about, darlin’.”
“Good,” she said, slamming it shut. She sat back in the seat. Maybe it was for the best. It just pissed her off that if she’d had the right back-up, if she’d been able to afford a few heavies, she could have made a lot of dough out of that video. As it was, she didn’t have more than a few quid to her name. She was still in debt to the bank up to her eyeballs, but that didn’t concern her—that kind of debt never did. She’d just move on. What did concern her was where she would move to. She gazed unseeingly from the cab window. If Dolly really was serious about the robbery, she would live abroad, maybe Miami. All she needed was a break and a lot of cash—she’d always needed both, but she’d never got them. When she’d had the cash she never got a break because she’d been busted so many times. Ester had spent much of her life in prison, all over the country, busted if not for prostitution, then for kiting and dealing in stolen goods. At one time her only ambition was to be top dog in prison and she had achieved it, taking more punishment or solitary than any other con.
Sitting in the cab, remembering, she decided she wasn’t going to take any more of Dolly’s shit. Either she came clean about the robbery, or she’d let her have it.
Chapter 17
Mike was late getting back on duty after the meeting with Dolly and Angela. When he passed the main desk, the duty sergeant looked up at him, wagging his finger. “You’re in it, mate. DCI Craigh’s been in and out looking for you.”
Mike pulled a face and went into the incident room. “Hear DCI Craigh’s looking for me, anyone know where he is?”
Palmer looked in at the door. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I was at home, then I got sick and—”
“Never mind that. The Super and the Chief are in with the Gov, and they want to see me and you. I think it’s coming down.”
Mike slumped into his seat. “What they want?”
Palmer looked over to the door and back to Mike. “Well, that bloody ten grand claim from Mrs. Rawlins started it all. Now, well, they’re digging into everything.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, all over us, so get your act together.”
Mike began to get out his files as Palmer was tannoyed to go to the main conference room immediately.
“Is it gonna stay internal?” Mike called after him.
“I bloody hope so,” he said as he disappeared.
Craigh stood hands clasped nervously in front of him. He had been explaining why they had begun the investigation into the diamond robbery while the Chief listened, tight-lipped.
“I’m not interested in a robbery that went down eight, nine years ago. One minute you got her with a stash of diamonds, the next with weapons . . .”
“W
e had a reliable tip-off,” Craigh insisted.
The Chief shook his head. “You call Eddie Radford reliable?”
Craigh sat back in his chair. He didn’t look up, listening to the flick, flick, flick of the pages as the Chief went through one file after another, and then slapped the top one.
“You want to tell me about DS Mike Withey?”
Craigh loosened his tie. He had tried to cover for Mike, but it was pointless now.
“I am referring to the fact that his sister, a Shirley Ann Miller, was shot in the armed raid that you and your team have been trying to—”
“Sir, I have to say that at the outset of my investigation I was unaware that Withey had any personal grievances against Mrs. Rawlins. But that said—”
“That said, Detective Chief Inspector, Rawlins was never accused in relation to that robbery. She was never accused because there was never any evidence to connect her with it.”
“Yes, I know, sir, but—”
“But I am suggesting that your DS, because of his personal motivation—”
“He believed that Rawlins did, in fact, have something to do with it, sir.”
“Her husband might have, before she shot him, but dead men can’t talk.”
“Nor can dead girls,” interjected Craigh.
The flick, flick, flick of the stack of files and reports continued for at least three minutes before the Chief spoke again. “There is still not one shred of evidence to link Dorothy Rawlins to that robbery, and it’s verified by not one but six members of the social services that she was actually being interviewed by them at the time of this man Donaldson’s unfortunate accident.”
Craigh looked at his Super, who remained stony-faced with his head bent low, refusing to look at him.
“When questioned about Donaldson, Mrs. Rawlins admitted that she had made contact with him. She also admitted that he was holding certain items for her to collect on her release from Holloway Prison, and I quote, ‘Mr. Donaldson was keeping two Victorian garden gnomes for me. They had been in the garden at my house in Totteridge.’”
“That really is bullshit, sir.”
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