She's Out (31 page)

He pushed her away. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t do anything that’ll throw any suspicion on me. Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? I’ll just have to wait, see what she wants.’

‘Maybe she won’t want anything.’

Mike looked at his mother contemptuously. ‘Bullshit. She’ll want something, question is what?’

Audrey broke down and sobbed. ‘It’s not fair, is it? Some people get away with murder. You know she killed that poor Jimmy Donaldson, just as she as good as killed our
Shirley.’

Mike swung round and grabbed his mother’s arm. ‘I don’t want to hear her name again. If it wasn’t for Shirley I’d never have got into this mess. I mean it, Mum! And
I don’t want to see or hear from you either. You got me involved in this, Mum, and I got to get myself out of it so leave, go away, get the hell out of my sight.’

He was almost at the car when he stopped and leaned against a brick wall. He started to cry – he couldn’t stop the tears. He hadn’t meant to say all that about Shirley. He
sniffed, wiped his face with the back of his hand, then forced himself to get angry.

She was to blame, whatever way he looked at it, whatever guilt he felt. She’d married that cheap villain Terry Miller, she . . . Shirley was dead and buried, he had to get his life sorted,
he had to straighten out. He was losing it, he was blowing everything that was important to him and if he didn’t get hold of himself there was no one else to prop him up.

By the time he got into his car he was calmer and in control. He didn’t look back to the lit-up window of his mother’s flat. He truthfully never wanted to see her again.

Audrey was all packed. She’d earmarked a few items for shipping out but now she was taking down the little personal items, the photographs from the gilt mirror above the
mantel. She read her younger son Gregg’s last postcard, looked at the stupid kittens, and sighed. Well, he’d just have to ask around for where she was, they would tell him down the
market. She tossed the card into the trash can. She didn’t have the energy to worry about Gregg, or anyone but herself. Now she could even blame Dolly Rawlins for her son walking out on her.
Everything was Dolly Rawlins’s fault and Audrey, in a fit of rage, cursed. But then she straightened herself out: she’d be in Spain this time tomorrow, with a villa and a few quid in
the bank. At least she’d beaten that bitch over the money. At least she had something to show for poor Shirley. She turned towards the sideboard as if to confirm everything was all right but
she’d packed Shirley’s photograph, there was nothing there, no sweet, smiling, beautiful Shirley. Audrey felt the tears, not of anger or fury or revenge: the tears were tinged with
guilt because she knew she had thought about and cared more for Shirley after she was dead than when she was alive.

D
olly was directed to sit on a row of chairs in the draughty town hall corridor. Mr Crow’s secretary walked out of his office. She
didn’t even glance in Dolly’s direction. Dolly stood up, watched the squat-legged woman disappear, carrying a thick file. She reckoned she’d at least have a few moments so she
tapped and entered Mr Crow’s office. She was through with waiting.

Mr Crow looked up, frowning when he saw her close his door. ‘Mrs Rawlins, did my secretary tell you—’ He was interrupted.

‘Yes, she said I could have a few moments. It won’t take any longer.’

He pursed his lips and folded his hands together, priestlike. ‘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 the right 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—’ Another interruption.

‘You didn’t really need one, though, did you?’

‘I’m sorry?’

She leaned forward. ‘Well, you know the manor house well, don’t you? According to Miss Freeman you were a regular visitor when it was run as a brothel. I am correct, aren’t
I?’

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 licence 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, yet again interrupting him, 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, I know about you.’

Mr Crow stood up, the pink blobs spreading. His whole face seemed redder, although this time not with embarrassment but with anger. ‘I’d like you to leave my office now.’

‘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 make sure there were no repercussions and 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 towards the lake and the small narrow bridge the train moved across. She got out of the car and walked
a few paces, still focusing on the bridge. Then she turned round, towards 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 cross 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 – but it would also be 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 layout of the land. She could tell by one look why the police had chosen this specific station to unload the money from the road on to 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 as few as four or six 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, and the train would head across the
bridge, travelling at up to eighty miles an hour.

Dolly studied the bridge. Fifty-five feet high, the lake beneath, no access either side of the tracks, just a narrow walkway. She knew 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. Then she looked down at the lake, 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 she spun round in shock when she heard twigs cracking, 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 towards 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 behind Dolly, resting her arm round her shoulders.

Dolly slowly petted Helen’s nose again. ‘That Norma . . . she said this 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, not even aware 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 traces of blood,
no body tissues. 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, that’s for starters. The Super’s getting his knickers in a twist, and
we’re gonna have to 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. All would have to be costed
and all they had to date was one arrest. Kathleen O’Reilly.

Craigh tugged at his hair. ‘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, as Craigh had said, she was unforthcoming and had only admitted to her name and
the previous charges. 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, sidled round and tried to make himself invisible when Craigh nabbed him. ‘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 that’s been sorted, understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Craigh walked away, and Mike wandered to his desk and sat down. His heart was thudding in his chest. Had he got away with it? Or was that call from Rawlins going to be some kind of threat? He
felt sick to his stomach and when he reached for his files his hand was shaking as if it didn’t belong to him. He was scared that Rawlins would put him in the frame. If she did, he was
finished.

Kathleen was as non-committal 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 harassing
her, that’s what you’re doing.’