She's Out (7 page)

Donaldson pursed his lips. Well, that would be telling. I mean, you gonna let me see my wife?’

Craigh became tougher, prodding him with his finger. We make the deals, Jimmy, not you. You’re lucky we’re not gonna slap more years on for not coming out with this at your
trial.’

‘Fuckin’ hell, you bastards, you just been stringing me along. Well, no more, no way, I retract everythin’ I said, I dunno anythin’.’

The truth was that Craigh was in no position to offer a deal until he had spoken to the prison authorities and to Donaldson’s parole officer to see if they could get him moved. Mike was
eager for them to make any promise and he was the one who asked Donaldson if Dolly Rawlins had contacted him since she had been in Holloway.

‘No, never – she’s not stupid. But a few times I sort of felt a finger on the back of the neck, so to speak.’

Donaldson never divulged that Dolly Rawlins had quite a hold over him because of all the other times he had fenced stolen gear for her husband. Donaldson would have been put away for a lot
longer than five years. Dolly had known about his background and his work for Harry and she had virtually blackmailed him into holding on to the diamonds. Now he felt almost relief because they
seemed to want to put her away again and it would mean he was free of her.

‘How is she going to collect the diamonds?’

‘Well, she’ll call me. She was never arrested or charged for that gig, was she? I mean, nobody knows she’s got them, do they?’ Mike Withey was also relieved. At no point
had Donaldson mentioned the part his own mother, Audrey, had played.

Still not knowing the location of the diamonds, Craigh and Palmer talked it over with the Super and decided to take Donaldson to his home and give it a few days to see if Rawlins made
contact.

When Donaldson knew he was going home, would see his wife – even if a police officer was to be with him at all times – he told them where the stones were hidden. His wife still ran
his junk and antique shop and the main wall had a four-brick hideaway; if they removed the bricks, they would find the gems.

Craigh and Palmer thumped each other; it had worked like a little jewel up to now and there was, or had been, a whopper of a reward out for the return of the stones. They congratulated Mike, who
was well chuffed because if it did pan out, if Dolly Rawlins contacted Donaldson, if they got the diamonds and had Donaldson handed them over to her, they could arrest her and have her sent right
back to prison. Rest in peace, Shirley Miller.

Dolly stood outside her old house in Totteridge. She stared at the new curtains, the fresh paint. It no longer was or had any part in her life but for the twenty years of her
marriage that was where she lived. She had always been house proud, and it had been a show palace. Harry entertained regularly and she had always set a nice table with good, home-cooked food. She
had thought she was happy, had believed he was, too, but nothing had prepared her for his betrayal and, as she stood there, she clenched her hands, not wanting to break down, refusing to after all
these years. He had forced her into a grief-driven fury – she had even buried him when all the time he had been alive. Alive and cheating on her. It was so bizarre, so insane what she had
done, what she had become. She had confronted him, and even when he faced her, knowing that she knew everything, he had still been so sure of her love for him that he had opened his arms and said,
‘I love you, Doll.’

She had pulled the trigger then, almost nine years ago, and she had served the sentence for his murder. She was free now. She walked back to the waiting chauffeur and he opened the car door for
her.

‘That was my home,’ she said softly.

He helped her inside the car.

‘Now it’s someone else’s.’ She seemed so sad and lost he felt sorry for her, but she suddenly gave him a sweet smile.

‘Can I use this portable phone, then?’

Ester grabbed the phone after two rings, knew it had to be Dolly. Only she knew the new number: she’d got it when the phone had been reconnected. She was right. Dolly was
on her way. Ester sighed with relief and then hurried into the dining room.

The table was almost ready but Gloria and Kathleen were having a go at each other. ‘She’s drinking, Ester. I keep telling her not to get pissed.’

Ester snatched up one of the bottles as Kathleen shouted that all she was doing was getting them ready for the decanters, recorked the bottle and banged it on to the table. ‘She’s on
her way, and as soon as those lads are finished we’d all better have a talk, get us all sorted. She’s not stupid so we got to make this look good. Where’s Connie?’

‘I’m here. I’ve been repairing my nails. I’ve chipped two already – they’re not supposed to be in too much water, you know.’

Gloria raised her eyes to heaven as Connie showed off her false-tipped nails. Ester told her to start bringing up extra chairs from the cellar. She had to show her the way and as they walked
down the hall, Connie pulled her to one side. ‘What were they in prison for?’

Ester told her that Gloria had been in for a long stretch for fencing stolen guns and Kathleen was in for forgery and kiting.

‘And what about Julia? What was she in for?’

Gloria appeared, overhearing. The doc was in for sellin’ prescriptions. She was a junkie.’

Connie flushed with embarrassment.

‘I heard you, Ester. I wasn’t done for the guns, that was a total frame-up. I was stitched up.’

Ester sighed, already sick and tired of Gloria. She ushered Connie along to the cellar door, which led down to saunas, steam rooms and the old laundry. There was also a gymnasium, showers and
changing cubicles, all from the days when the manor had been a health farm.

Connie went down to inspect the chairs as most of the ones in the dining room were broken. Confronted by banks of mirrors, she couldn’t resist looking at herself and pouting, and jumped
with nerves when the droll voice of Julia asked what she was doing. Connie squinted in the semi-darkness, looking over the stack of chairs. ‘I love to work out, I do it whenever I can –
it’s like a fix.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I meant, you know, not
fix
fix but like . . . er . .
.’

‘I know what you mean. You worked for Ester, right? What were you, then?’

‘I’m a model. I don’t do any of that kind of thing now, not any more.’

Julia smiled. ‘Well, I don’t use drugs, you’re not selling that lovely body, so we both seem to have improved our lives, don’t we?’

Julia banged out and Connie sighed. She hated it when anyone insinuated she was or had been a prostitute. But that was what she had been, like it or not. Then when Lennie, who she had trusted
– believed had loved her – had tried to make her go back on the game it had hurt because she had dreamed of being a model, a proper one, one that kept her clothes on. She had written to
agents and now, with all the work done on her face, she reckoned she might even get a TV commercial. She had big plans for herself: she would have a big-time photographer do a good contact sheet,
send out a portfolio. She was sure she could have a chance. Lennie had laughed and told her she was too old, told her that was the reason he had paid for her surgery, so she could make money on her
back, but she had refused. Connie sat down on one of the dusty chairs and started to cry. He didn’t touch her face, at least he didn’t ruin that, but her body was still covered in
bruises and she had said she would do whatever he wanted, just for him to leave her alone. The following morning Ester had called, not to ask her to go on the game as she had first thought, but to
give her a chance of cashing in on a lot of money. Connie had grabbed the chance, thrown a few things into a case and done a runner. She knew Lennie would be going crazy, knew he would be out
looking for her: he’d want his money back for the surgery at the very least, but Ester had said that she’d have more money than she would know what to do with so she had packed up and
run for it. Now she wasn’t so sure about all this big money. She’d never really met Dolly Rawlins.

‘What the hell are you doin’ down here?’ yelled Gloria.

Connie picked up the chair and walked out, past her.

‘You see any big trays around here? Ester said we need one.’

Connie hadn’t, so Gloria began to burrow around the odd bits and pieces of furniture in the gym. She was filthy and she sighed when she caught her reflection. Then she inspected the black
roots of her hair. She needed a tint badly, had to have it done before she went to see Eddie.

Eddie Radford was serving eighteen years for arms dealing and armed robbery. He was going to be away for so long that sometimes Gloria wondered if it was worth going back and forth to the
prisons. He’d spent most of their marriage in one or another. They were two bad pennies, as she had been in and out for this and that since she was a teenager. Eddie was trouble –
she’d known it when she first met him. He was even worse than her first husband. Now he’d got a stash of weapons hidden at their old house with two of his bastard friends trying to get
them. She had no money and Eddie kept telling her he’d arrange a deal, that she just had to sit tight and wait until he’d made the contact. Gloria was behind in the rent, and the
council had told her to leave. It seemed like everyone was always telling her what to do and it always ended up a mess. She was scared of handling such a big stash of guns, scared of his so-called
contacts and she was sick to death of always being on the move, always looking over her shoulder in case one of Eddie’s bastards tracked her down. When Ester called, it was like a breath of
fresh air. The thought of getting away from that pressure, away from Eddie’s bloody heavies, was like a God-given present. And with the promise of big money tied in with it, who could refuse?
Not Gloria Radford.

Ester checked the table. It was looking good. As it grew darker it was harder to see the dilapidation, and she had bought boxes of candles and incense sticks, plus room sprays,
so gradually the stench of mildew was disappearing. Gloria said it smelt like someone had farted in a pine forest but it wasn’t that bad.

The food had been delivered on big oval throwaway platters, and all they had to do was heat it up. The Aga was on, the boiler was working and fires were lit in the dining room and drawing room.
Julia had cut logs and carried them in, and slowly the firelight and the candlelight gave warmth to the old house. The kids from the job centre had gone and only the women remained. Ester shouted
for them all to meet up and have a confab as Dolly would be arriving in a couple of hours.

The doorbell rang and Ester swore, looking at her watch. It couldn’t be her yet . . . Then she remembered Angela.

‘You took your bloody time getting here. I said this afternoon. It’s almost six,’ she snapped.

Angela dumped her overnight bag. ‘I had to bleedin’ walk all the way from the station, it took hours. And I missed the train so I had to wait . . .’ She looked at the bank of
candles. ‘Eh, this looks great, I thought it was wrecked.’

‘It was, it is, we’ve done a good bandage job.’

Angela hadn’t seen the old house for years, not since it was busted, so she was impressed by the big floral displays in the hall, the banisters gleaming from the hours Kathleen had spent
polishing.

Gloria walked out from the dining room and glared at Angela. ‘Who’s this? What’re you doing?’

Ester said that Angela was a friend who had come to serve the dinner.

‘Oh yes, we cut this any more ways and there’s not gonna be much to go round, you know.’

Ester pushed Gloria against the wall. ‘She doesn’t know anything, she doesn’t know Dolly and she’s not in for a cut. She gets fifty quid to wait on us at dinner. Now will
you get the others in the dining room so we can have a talk?’

Angela went into the kitchen. Ester pointed to the food, what needed heating, what was to be served cold and showed her the low oven of the Aga for the plates to be heated. Angela looked around,
nodding, and trailed after Ester to the dining room.

There’s a room ready for you. Dump your bag. Did you bring a black dress and an apron?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Angela.

‘Okay, all of you read these.’ Ester handed round old newspaper clippings she had xeroxed. They were clippings about the diamond raid: there were photographs of
Dolly Rawlins after the shooting of her husband and several of Shirley Miller.

‘Holy shit, you read this?’ said Gloria. ‘“Diamonds worth more than two million were last night stolen in a daring raid.”’

Julia grabbed the clippings. ‘Gloria, we can read it for ourselves, okay? There is no need for you to read it aloud.’

Gloria picked up another. ‘Fuckin’ hell, says here, headline, “Criminal murdered by his wife”. Oh, listen to this, “Harry Rawlins was last night shot at point-blank
range by his wife. His body was discovered in an ornate pond in . . .”’

Julia snatched it from her. ‘Shut up, just shut up.’

They read in silence, one clipping after another. Kathleen looked at Ester. This was some raid. Did she set it up? Dolly?’

‘She was never shopped for it if she did.’

Gloria frowned. This was no doodle at Woolworth’s. Look at the gear they got away with, and guns. See this?’ She held up a cutting. ‘“Shirley Miller, aged twenty-one, was
shot and killed during a terrifying armed raid that took place at a fashion show last night. The models were wearing
over two million pounds’ worth of diamonds
. . .”’

Julia glanced at Ester in exasperation. She couldn’t stand Gloria reading aloud. She had put up with it when they shared the same prison cell and she was about to intervene for the third
time when Ester held her back.

If they were worth two million nearly nine years ago, you can double the value now.’

Kathleen let out her breath in awe. Gloria’s face was puckered in concentration. ‘I mean, I know there were rumours, Ester, but, like, she might have started them. How can you be
sure she’s really got these diamonds?’

‘Because nobody ever found them after the raid.’