Dolly was directed to sit on a row of chairs in the drafty town hall corridor. Mr. Crow’s secretary walked out of his office without even glancing in Dolly’s direction. Dolly stood up, watched the squat-legged woman disappear, carrying a thick file, then quickly tapped on the door of Mr. Crow’s office and walked in. She was through with waiting.
Mr. Crow looked up, frowning when he saw her close the door behind her. “Mrs. Rawlins, did my secretary tell you—”
“Yes, she said I could have a few moments. It won’t take any longer.”
He pursed his lips and put his hands together, as if he was praying. “I am a very busy man.”
“I’m busy too but, like I said, this won’t take a moment. I’ve come about the letter.”
“Mrs. Rawlins, the decision was unanimous. Obviously you can take private action if you wish, that is entirely up to you, but as far as I am concerned I do not at this stage feel you would be advised to proceed.”
“All I want is to make a home for kids without one.”
“I am aware of that, but it is my job to make sure any child placed into care will have not only the right supervision but also a suitable environment.”
“Is it my criminal record that went against me?”
“Obviously that was taken into consideration, and we are also aware that you have been questioned by a DCI Craigh regarding—” Again he was interrupted.
“You referring to the warrants? The house was searched, the police found nothing incriminating and—”
Mr. Crow sucked in his breath. “Mrs. Rawlins, under the circumstances, and with reference to an on-site visit to your property, it was decided that—”
“You didn’t really need one, though, did you?”
“I’m sorry?”
She leaned forward. “A visit. You already know the Manor House well, don’t you? According to Miss Freeman you were a regular visitor when it was a brothel. Isn’t that right?”
Pink dots appeared on his cheeks. “Just what are you inferring, Mrs. Rawlins?”
“That perhaps you had an ulterior motive for rejecting my application, that had nothing to do with me or my criminal background.”
“Be careful what you are insinuating, Mrs. Rawlins. You are, I am sure, fully aware you remain on license for the rest of your life and—”
“I’m just stating a fact,” she said quietly.
“Then please, Mrs. Rawlins, be careful. I have told you this was a unanimous decision by all members of the board. We do not feel that you would be the right person to be given access to young children. We do not feel that the Manor House would be suitable accommodation. It is my only intention to make sure any foster carer recommended by the social services department is both mentally and physically—”
She stood up, this time leaning right over his desk. “You know, my husband said he could never go straight because people like you, like the police, would never allow him to. Well, now I know about you.”
Mr. Crow stood up, the pink blobs spreading, no longer with embarrassment but with anger. “I’d like you to leave my office now.”
“Oh I’m going, and I won’t come back. I waited a long time to make a home for kids a reality but it was stupid, wasn’t it? I never stood a chance. Don’t worry, I won’t let on that you’re a two-faced bastard.”
She left, closing the door quietly behind her, and he could hear her footsteps on the marble corridor outside. He was shaking with anger but he was now confident that he had made the right decision. He would add to her report that she had lied to the board. Contrary to Mrs. Rawlins’s denial, Ester Freeman was still resident at Grange Manor House.
Dolly drove back to the manor. She had to wait at the level crossing for ten minutes. This time she couldn’t be bothered to talk to Raymond Dewey who sat, as usual, on his little trainspotter’s stool, jotting down his times and numbers. He waved at her but she turned toward the lake and the small narrow bridge the railway crossed. She got out of the car and walked a few paces, still focusing on the bridge. Then she turned round, toward the station and the signal box. She sauntered over to Raymond and gave him a forced smile.
“Hello, Raymond, how are you today?”
“I’m very well. This is the twelve fifteen from Marylebone.”
“Is it? You know every train, do you? All the right times and the delays?”
“That’s my job.”
“I bet there’s one train you don’t know the times of.”
“No, there isn’t one. I know every train that passes through this station, how long they take to go over the bridge and—”
“So you write them all down, then?”
“Yes,” he said, proudly proffering his thick wedge of school exercise books. “Each train has its own book.”
Dolly took one of the books with his thick scrawled writing across the front. “Mail train.” She flipped over the pages. He had listed every delivery, time of arrival at and departure from the station, plus delays at the crossing.
“You’re very thorough, Raymond,” Dolly said, as her eyes took in his dates and times. She then shut the book and passed it back to him as the lights changed and the train went by. As the gates opened, she returned to the Mini.
“Thank you very much, Raymond.” She smiled and waved as she drove past him. She felt strangely calm, almost as if it was fate. Had she been subconsciously thinking about it? It seemed so natural. It certainly wouldn’t be easy but, then, she had always liked a challenge. This would be one—a terrifyingly dangerous one.
A few minutes later, Dolly parked the car and walked up into the woods. From there she had a direct view of the station, the bridge, the lake and the level crossing. She spent over half an hour carefully checking the lay of the land. She could tell with one look why the police had chosen this specific station to unload the money from the road onto the train. There were only two access roads, both very narrow, and room for only one vehicle at a time. Anyone attempting to hold up the security wagon as it delivered the money to the train would be cut off. The station could easily be manned by four or five police officers and no one could hide out there. If they did, if they hit the train standing in the platform, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell of transporting the money by road as there was no access for the getaway vehicles. The tracks were lined with hedgerows and wide-open fields, not a road in sight.
Dolly studied the bridge. Fifty-five feet high, the lake beneath, no access either side of the tracks, just a narrow walkway. Surely it would be impossible. How could you hold up the train on the bridge and get away with heavy mailbags on foot? It couldn’t be done. She looked down at the lake, then back to the bridge. If you got a boat, you’d still have to reach the shore, and no vehicles could get down there. Again, there were no roads, just fields, hedges and streams.
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 but 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.
Dolly was shown into the Governor’s office. She was freaking out: being in the visitors’ section was bad enough, but this was terrifying. All she wanted to do was leave.
Mrs. Ellis had tea brought in and Dolly sipped from her cup, unable to meet Mrs. Ellis’s eyes.
“Do you have a job?”
“Not easy at my age but I’ve got a few things I’m working on.”
“I know about your application to the social services. Dolly, to run an institution requires training and people with qualifications.”
“It was just a home, Mrs. Ellis. This place is an institution. But it doesn’t matter now, I was rejected, they didn’t think me suitable, and if you don’t mind I don’t want to discuss it further.”
“If you need any help in the future . . .”
“I won’t, thank you.”
“You know, Dolly, it isn’t wise to keep up some of the friendships you make inside. It’s much better to make a clean break.”
Dolly put the cup and saucer back on the desk. “Thank you, and thank you for the tea, but I’ve got to go.”
Mrs. Ellis stood and put out her hand, but Dolly was already at the door.
“Will we be seeing you again?” she asked, still trying to be pleasant.
“No, I won’t come back. Goodbye.”
Mrs. Ellis sat back in her chair. Dolly had looked well, but there was a brittle quality to her every move, and she had not smiled once. An unpleasant woman, Mrs. Ellis mused, but then her attention was drawn to other matters and Dolly Rawlins was forgotten.
The ambulance rushed Angela to hospital. Julia accompanied her all the way to the emergency department but, once she’d been wheeled in, there was nothing more she could do. By the time Julia returned to the manor, Gloria had got over her shock at finding Angela half-dead on the floor, and sympathy had been replaced by anger. “She could have got us all arrested,” she was telling Connie.
“She’s only eighteen,” Julia snapped.
“Yeah, so was I when I first went down but I still never grassed anyone. She’s got no morals, coming here, playing us for idiots.”
“The way we all tried to play Dolly?”
“No, we fucking didn’t,” Gloria spat.
“Yes, we did,” Connie said.
“Well, it’s all going to change soon, isn’t it?” Julia said quietly.
“What you mean?”
Julia sat down. “We think she’s planning a robbery.”
Gloria gasped. “I knew it—I fucking knew it. Soon as those shotguns went missing I said to Ester, I said to her, ‘She’s got something going down,’ and I was right.”
Connie shifted her weight to the other foot. “I wish to God I’d never come here. I never done anything illegal in my entire life.” Gloria snorted. “I haven’t! I’m not like you, Gloria. We all know what you are.”
“Oh yeah, what am I? You tell me that.”
Ester had come in, unnoticed, and answered, “A loud, brassy tart. So what’s all the aggro?”
“Where’ve you been?” Gloria asked.
Ester took off her coat and chucked it over a chair. “Talking to that half-wit Raymond Dewey. Dolly wants to know the times of the mail train.”
Gloria’s jaw dropped and she drew a chair close. “Is she gonna hit the security wagon, then?”
Julia crossed to the back door. “If she does, it’s madness. According to Norma they have the place sewn up. The local police come out in force, cut off the lanes. There’s no main access, we’d never get a vehicle near, never mind one that’d carry anything away.” She pushed at the broken door and sighed. “This is crazy, you know, even discussing it.”
Ester looked at her. “No harm in it, though, is there? Unless you’d prefer to talk about Norma. Do you want to talk about Norma?” Ester repeated the name with a posh, nasal twang. Julia pursed her lips. “Oh, have I hit a sore point? Don’t want to talk about Noooorma, do we?”
“No, I don’t. And stop being childish.”
“I’m not being childish. It’s you that’s got all uptight. All I’m doing is making conversation about Norma.”
Julia glared, then half smiled. “Jealous?”
“Who, me? Jealous? Of what? Norma? Oh please, do me a favor. I wouldn’t touch anyone with that arse.”
Julia opened the door. “You don’t have to, but it’s quite tight, actually.” Ester’s face twisted in fury. “She has a very good seat, as they say in riding circles.”
Julia was out of the door, shutting it behind her, before Ester could reply, and smiling to herself. Ester’s jealousy was proof that she cared.
Dolly parked outside Ashley Brent’s electrical shop. She squinted at the meter and shook her head with disgust: twenty pence for ten minutes—it was a disgrace! She walked to the boarded-up door of the shop, rang the bell and waited. Eventually she heard a voice from behind the door.
“Who is it?”
“Dolly Rawlins.”
There was a cackle of laughter and the sound of electronic bolts being drawn back before the door opened. Ashley Brent stood in the center of his shop floor, arms wide, his glasses stuck on top of his bald head. “As I live and die. So you’re out then, gel. Give us a hug. You’re looking good, sweetheart. How long you been out, then?”
“Oh, just a few months. Takes a bit of getting used to, especially those ruddy parking meters.”
“Don’t tell me. I mean, in the old days you could find a broken one, use it for the day. Now they tow you away if it’s busted, tow you if you’re a minute over, tow you for any possible excuse. What they don’t do is tow the fuckers that block off the traffic. I’m telling you, everything nowadays is geared to get the punter, Doll. You’re screwed in this country if you got a legit business, taxed, VAT . . . It’s like we got the Gestapo after us for ten quid rates due but then you hear of blokes coining it on social. Makes you sick.”
Ashley was a man who had verbal diarrhea and it was always the same: he hated the Conservatives, hated the Liberals, the Labour Party, the blacks, the Jews. In fact, Ashley was a man who lived on his own venom and it was rumored that, when he went down for a short spell, his cell-mate had asked to be moved because Ashley even talked in his sleep. He offered tea, then more verbals about the council estate across the road and, lastly, his thankless bastard kids. Dolly looked over the equipment in the little shop, while pretending to listen.
Ashley was an electronics genius and ran a business loosely labeled as security devices and trade equipment. In fact, he sold bugs, receivers, transmitters and microphones. You name it, Ashley had it in his well-stocked shop and workroom. He ran a strictly cash business for those wanting certain items and kept no record of their purchase.
Dolly spent three hours with him and left with a briefcase and a small carrier bag. He had taken time to show her how to handle the equipment. It was mostly quite simple but a few items were more complicated. He was patient and gave good advice, but never asked what the items would be used for. Whatever else Ashley was, he was totally trustworthy. But you paid for that. Dolly gave him ten thousand pounds cash.
Susan Withey opened the door.
Dolly smiled sweetly. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Rawlins.”
Susan hesitated. “Mike’s not here.”
“Ah, pity. Well, could I come in? I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t think so, actually.”
“I do. It’s about Angela, your husband’s little girlfriend.” Susan stepped back and Dolly pushed past her. “Oh, this is very nice. You do the decorating yourself, did you?”
Susan shut the door and followed Dolly into the sitting room.
It was after seven and they were all still waiting for Dolly, not sure whether to start supper without her, and wondering what she’d been doing all afternoon.
“There’s a car coming up the drive now,” Gloria said, “but it’s not Dolly. Looks like a flash Mercedes or somethin’.”
Ester ran into the hall and looked through the broken stained glass in the front door. She raced back.
“Get rid of them. They’ll want me. You tell them I don’t live here anymore. Get rid of them, Gloria.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re so good at it.” Ester shot into the kitchen, pushing Julia back just as the doorbell rang.
Gloria opened the front door. Standing there was a swarthy, handsome-ish man, with dark heavy-lidded eyes, a slightly hooked nose and thick oiled-back hair.
“Yeah?”
“Ester here?”
“Ester who?”
“Freeman.”
“No. Sorry.”
Gloria tried to shut the door but he kicked it open. “Hey! What you doing?” Gloria shrieked.
“I want to speak to Ester.”
“She don’t live here, well, not anymore. She sold this house.”
Gloria was lifted off her feet and hurled against the wall. She screamed as he gripped her face between his hands and pushed her head hard into the wall three times until she was too stunned to scream any more. She just stared wide-eyed.
“You tell Ester we need to speak to her, understand?”
Gloria nodded as he slowly released her and then as if to make sure the message was understood he slapped her with the back of his hand and she fell to the floor. She didn’t try to get up until the front door closed behind him. Then she slowly staggered to her feet as Ester peered out of the kitchen.
“Well, thanks a fuckin’ bundle for that,” said Gloria, touching her nose. “He whacked me into the wall, whacked me in the face and you friggin’ let him do it.”
“Was it Hector?” Ester asked as she peered out of the broken window.
“I dunno who it was—he was too busy whacking me to give me his fuckin’ name. Look what he done to me face.”
Julia held Gloria’s face between her hands and pressed her nose. “It’s not broken.”
“Oh, great, I should be grateful for that, should I?”
They all jumped as a car tooted and Ester shrank into a corner. “Shit, are they back?”
Connie went over to the door.
“Don’t open it,” Ester hissed.
“It’s Dolly,” Connie said. “She’s driven on round to the back yard.”
“Don’t say anythin’ about this, Gloria,” Ester pleaded.
“Well, she might just notice me nose is red and bleedin’ and me blouse torn,” Gloria retorted furiously.
“Look, they want money. I haven’t got it so just cover for me—you know how she can get.”
Dolly called out, and they all turned toward the door. They couldn’t believe their eyes.
Kate and Mary were twins aged nine and Sheena was five. They all had bright curly red hair like their mother, round white faces with blue eyes, and were dressed in an odd assortment of charity-shop clothes. They were sullen-faced, as if they had been crying, and clung tightly to each other.
“These are Kathleen’s kids. They’re moving in.” Dolly held up her hands. “Don’t anyone say anything. They’re here, there was nothing I could do about it, so let’s make the best of it. Can someone get a room or two ready? Do you want to sleep together?”
The three little girls nodded in unison and clung even tighter together. “Right, let’s get your coats off. Connie, bring their cases in from the car and someone put some supper on and get a room aired . . .”
Gloria turned away. “I’ll do it. I just fell down the stairs and hit me nose so I need to go and wash me face.”
Mike charged in. Susan was sitting on the sofa, clutching a handkerchief.
“Has she left?”
“Yes. I went into the hall to call you and when I went back she just said she had to leave.”
Mike paced up and down. “What did she want?”
Susan stood up and slapped him hard. “She told me about you and that Angela. She’s pregnant, did you know that? That bloody tart you’ve been screwing is pregnant.”
Mike closed his eyes and sank down onto the sofa.
“Well? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“What else did she want?”
“Isn’t that bloody enough?”
Mike leaned back. At first it was just sticky mud he’d felt round his ankles, then it felt like cement. Now it felt like someone had fitted him with a straitjacket. Susan waited but still he didn’t say a word. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, and he stayed there, eyes closed, head back, trying to assimilate everything, sort it out in his head. What did Dolly Rawlins want? He never even gave Angela a thought—he was too concerned with himself.
Beneath the coffee table, which was placed against the wall, was a 13-amp adaptor. A table-light plug was fixed into one but in the other socket was a plug, not connected to any electrical appliance. The switch was turned on. The plug was a transmitter, that Mike was even paying for. Not that he ever imagined anyone would be bugging him. But Dolly was. She had inserted the plug the moment Susan had left the room.
“Neat, isn’t it?” Dolly said, as she showed the women the second 13-amp adaptor she’d bought. She then showed them two pens that were also transmitters, pens you could even use to write with. They stared like a group of kids at all the equipment: the tiny receivers, the black box and, lastly, the briefcase that would enable Dolly to open up three electronic channels and record anyone she had bugged.
“What’s all this for?” Ester asked.
“What do you think?” Dolly said, as she studied the leaflets.
“You planning on bugging us?”
“Don’t be stupid, Connie. I’m going to put these to good use.”
Dolly glanced up at the ceiling as she heard a soft cry. She said to Gloria, “I thought you told me they were asleep.”
“They were last time I looked in but it’s a strange house, Dolly, and, well, they’re scared.”
Dolly hurried upstairs and along to the room set aside for the kids. She eased open the door and could see them lying huddled together. The twins were sleeping but little Sheena was mewing like a kitten. “What is it, darlin’?”
“Dark,” came the whimpered reply.
Dolly fetched her own bedside lamp, and covered it with a headscarf. “There, how’s that, then?” Sheena’s eyes were wide with fright. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
The little girl nodded, so Dolly opened one of the cheap plastic suitcases and took out some dog-eared books.
“Which one is your favorite?”
“Three Little Piggies,” Sheena whispered.
“Okay, Three Little Piggies it is. Oh, you’re all awake now, are you? Well, cuddle up and I’ll read you a story.”
Dolly read until one by one they fell asleep. Even so, she went on until she’d finished the book then whispered, “No one will blow my house down, no big bad wolf. This is my house.”
Downstairs, Gloria picked up a transmitter. “She’s obviously serious about it. This gear must have set her back a few quid.”
They heard Dolly coming down and started to make conversation.
“What time did Angela leave?” Dolly asked as she walked in.
“She went out in style,” Gloria said, then told her what had happened, and Julia added that she had called the hospital and Angela was off the danger list. They were unsure, however, if the baby would be all right.
Dolly sighed. “You go and see her tomorrow, Julia, take her a few things. Just check on her.”
“You won’t get me bringin’ her in grapes; she deserves all she gets, the nasty little snitch,” Gloria said.
Dolly yawned.
Ester sat next to her. “So, you gonna tell us what all this gear is for?”
“It’s the train, isn’t it?” Connie said.
Dolly slowly got up. “Yes, it is.”
“The mail train?” Ester asked, springing to her feet.
“That’s right.”
Julia was resting one foot on the fireguard. “You’ll never do it, Dolly. I spoke to Norma. She said the security for the drops is really tight and there’s no access by road. You’d never get a truck or a car up there without the cops knowing. That’s why they chose this station: for its inaccessibility.”
“We wouldn’t be doing it by car.” Dolly was on her way to the door.
“On foot? How the hell could we carry big fat mailbags?”
Dolly cocked her head to one side. “We wouldn’t carry them and we wouldn’t be going by car, or on foot.”
Ester smirked. “Helicopter, is it?”
Dolly opened the door. “We hit the train on horseback.” They fell about laughing. Gloria snorted like a braying donkey. Then they saw that Dolly wasn’t smiling. She looked from one to the other, her voice quiet, calm, without any emotion. “Julia gave me the idea, so from tomorrow we all start learning to ride. Every one of us. If we can’t do it, then we look for something else. There’s a local stable within half a mile of here. They’ve got eight horses. We’re all booked for the early-morning ride so I don’t know about you lot but I need to get some sleep. Goodnight.”
She shut the door behind her.
“I’ve never been on a horse,” Connie said lamely.
“Me neither—well, nearest I got was a donkey ride on Brighton beach,” Gloria said.
“It’s bullshit, isn’t it, Julia?” Ester said flatly. “She’s joking.”
Julia prodded the fire with the poker. “I don’t think so. One, she’s laid out for all that equipment; two, she was up by the woods, checking out the station. I think she’s serious. That’s why she’s made Connie, me, even you, Ester, start checking it out.”
Overhead, the chandelier creaked as Dolly paced the floor above them. Long shadows cast from the fire loomed large across the big dilapidated room. One after another they opened their mouths as if to say something but nothing came out. They were all thinking the same thing. Was Dolly serious? Was the robbery for real? But it was Julia who broke the silence, laughing softly. “She’s pulling our legs. Let’s have a drink.”