Bella was lolling in the bath. She loved Shirley’s fancy bath oil. It almost smelt good enough to drink. She ducked her head under the soapy water, then came up to the surface, wondering if the oil was good for her hair. She heard the front door open and close below. If that was Dolly, she didn’t want her to catch her getting too relaxed. She stepped out of the bath and grabbed Shirley’s towel dressing gown.

  Downstairs, Dolly was taking out her shopping and putting it on the kitchen table—rat poison, a torch and a loaf of bread. Bella popped her head round the door, her hair still dripping from the bath.

  “You know, as soon as Shirley gets back from her class, she’s off out again. She said as we hadn’t told her . . . It’s some fancy do; she’s got out all her frocks.”

  Dolly shook her head, banging down a tin of corned beef.

  “Guess we’ll have to do it on our own, then.”

  As he sat outside Shirley Miller’s house, his stomach rumbling, Vic Morgan could have kicked himself for not eating breakfast when he had the chance. The way things were going, he could be here for a while. He knew now that Shirley Miller was the widow of Terry Miller, killed in the underpass raid. And he had seen Dolly use her own key to enter the house—meaning the women were close friends. He sat up as a car pulled up outside the gate and an attractive blonde in a tracksuit got out.

  Well, well, he thought. This had to be the one and only Shirley Miller.

  Reynolds was beaming from ear to ear, his thin, freckled face aglow as he placed the ormolu clock on Fuller’s desk. He then laid a report in front of him.

  “Nicked three months ago from a house in Guildford, and valued at over £2000.”

  Fuller looked at the clock and smiled. “You little beauty! Now we can pull Sonny in and charge him with handling stolen property. We’ll see if that loosens his tongue a little bit.”

  Harry slipped into Arnie Fisher’s club and up the stairs to the offices. If any of the waiters preparing for the party saw him, they knew not to ask questions. They all had instructions that tonight was a private party, invited guests only, with “private” being the key word. As the trays of titbits were brought out and the bottles and glasses set up, it looked as though quite a crowd was expected.

  Arnie had been buzzing round like a bluebottle, making sure the waiters knew what they were doing, and checking the wine.

  “The good stuff when they arrive,” he reminded them. “Then switch to the plunk. After a couple of glasses they won’t know the difference.” With everything ready for the onslaught, he made his way up to his office.

  Harry looked up from the desk and then back to studying a notebook. He didn’t seem pleased to see him. Arnie hovered for a moment.

  “All set, Harry. I’m going to go and get changed.”

  “You do that, Arnie,” Harry said, still concentrating on the notebook.

  Arnie waited for a “thank you” or even just a “see you later” but nothing more was forthcoming.

  “Bastard,” he murmured as he turned to go.

  Dolly and Bella had dressed up warm for the freezing lock-up. Dolly also had a flask, sandwiches, a torch and the rat poison. She wasn’t bothered about the rats herself, but Bella clearly was, and they couldn’t risk her screaming out. They were planning on staying all night if they had to, watching to see who came and went. Then—if the coast was clear—they would break into Harry’s to find more details of the raid. To tip off the police they needed to know where and when. All they knew at the moment was how. Dolly took a deep breath. This time nothing must go wrong.

  Shirley was still soaking in the bath when Dolly tapped on the door and went in. Shirley had her hair in rollers, lying back, eyes closed.

  “We’ll just have a cup of coffee, then go. You want one?”

  Shirley pulled herself up and leaned on the side of the tub.

  “I feel bad not going with you and Bella. You sure it’s OK? It’s just that I promised him, and it’s quite a big party—something to do with his work. I’ll be meeting his boss.”

  Dolly shrugged. They’d already had this conversation, and she’d told Shirley that she needed to start pulling her weight, but despite saying how bad she felt about it, Shirley’s lack of interest was obvious. She hadn’t even shown much surprise when they’d told her what they’d found at the lock-up. Dolly could feel Shirley drawing away. Any time now, she was sure, Shirley would come right out and say that she didn’t want any part of it. But it wouldn’t make any difference: she was part of it—and that was that.

  Dolly just smiled and turned to go.

  “Dolly . . .” Shirley was holding up her precious bath oil. “Can you have a word with Bella? Just tell her if she wants some, then buy her own? It’s not cheap, this stuff.”

  Bath oil, Dolly thought, resisting the urge to slap Shirley there and then. With everything going on, she’s worried about bleedin’ bath oil.

  Micky doused himself with cologne and checked himself in the full-length mirror. He wished he’d bought that long white silk scarf, but he hadn’t had time; Harry had him running here, there and everywhere. He glanced at his watch. Harry was probably already at the club. Better get a move on and pick her up. He’d told Harry he was bringing the model girl for him to give her the once-over but all he’d got for his pains was a brief nod, before Harry had returned to his notepad. Always jotting down notes was Harry. It was like working with a bleeding reporter.

  Dolly washed up the cups and placed them on the draining board. Time to go. Just as she picked up her bag, the doorbell rang. Bella was on her feet, but Dolly put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  “Best if he doesn’t see us,” she said quietly. They moved toward the kitchen as Shirley came down the stairs in a short evening dress, with a wrap and handbag.

  “Don’t ask him in, just go,” Dolly told her, as she shut the kitchen door.

  Shirley frowned. Dolly and her damned orders! This was her house for God’s sake! She’d been planning on sharing a cocktail with Micky before they left. She made a face and opened the front door.

  Through the kitchen door Bella and Dolly heard Shirley laughing, then the deeper tones of a man. As the front door closed, they raced out of the kitchen and into the lounge, leaving the lights off. They rushed to the window like two nosey old biddies. Bella flicked the curtains aside.

  Micky was just closing Shirley’s passenger door. He walked round to the driver’s side and got in.

  “I didn’t get a proper look at his face,” Bella said. “How about you?”

  Dolly, leaning over Bella, shook her head.

  “What sort of car’s that?” Bella asked.

  “Not sure, but it’s very flash. Tell you one thing: Shirley seems to be doing all right for herself.” As Dolly made her way out of the darkened room, she banged into the coffee table and knocked over an ornament. She swore. Bella picked it up. The Balloon Seller was now minus a couple of balloons.

  Bella laughed. “Always said you were a ball-breaker, Dolly.”

  Micky helped Shirley into her safety belt, kissed her on the neck and ran his hand down her thigh.

  “I’ve missed you, darlin’.”

  She giggled, feeling herself respond to him. She would have liked him to touch her some more, but he just gave her thigh one gentle squeeze then started the car. As they drove away, Shirley could smell his cologne, the scent even stronger than usual. Micky kept his eyes on the road; since Murphy had given him a ticking off, he’d taken more care with his driving. He could feel her looking at him and gave her a smile. When they stopped at traffic lights, he took his hand off the gear stick and stroked her leg again.

  “So where are we going?” she asked, as the lights changed to green and they moved off again.

  “Arnie Fisher’s club. You know it?”

  Shirley blinked. Arnie Fisher? She turned to look at Micky. He was still smiling; he clearly hadn’t registered her shocked expression.

  “You know the place? Little club up west?”

  Shirley kept her voice calm and looked out of the window. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Never been, though.” A warning bell was ringing in her head, and suddenly the smell of Micky’s cologne made her feel sick.

  Dolly and Bella shut the front door behind them and walked to Dolly’s car.

  Bella was shaking her head as Dolly put the car in gear and pulled out. “I can’t believe she said that about the bath oil!”

  “If I was her, I’d be more worried about all my crockery getting smashed.” Dolly laughed.

  “Not to mention her ornaments!” Bella added.

  Neither woman noticed Vic Morgan’s car pull out after them.

  Sonny Chizzel’s car, with Sadie driving, was just pulling out of their smart St. John’s Wood apartment block when Fuller and Reynolds arrived in the patrol car, blocking the exit. Fuller got out and peered through the driver’s window. He was surprised to see Sonny was wearing an evening suit, with Sadie also done up to the nines.

  “Going somewhere nice?” he asked, tapping the window.

  “If you lot will get out of the way, yeah,” Sonny replied testily.

  Fuller frowned. “I’m sorry to spoil your evening, Sonny, but I’d like you to come down the station. I’ve got a few more questions for you.”

  “I’ve said everything I’m going to say. Unless you’ve got an arrest warrant, you can whistle.”

  Fuller pulled out the warrant with a flourish. “This do, Sonny?”

  Sonny paled visibly.

  “Get out of the car, Sonny. There’s a good lad.”

  Chizzel bent over and kissed Sadie on the cheek, patting her shoulder. Fuller heard him say something about “sorting out these wankers.” Fuller opened the door and yanked Sonny out of the car.

  Colin Soal had been arguing with his wife all evening. First she’d complained that she hadn’t had enough warning—she would have liked to have gone to the hairdressers at least. Then she had taken her moth-eaten old wrap out of the wardrobe and complained she had nothing to wear. Along with the moth-eaten fur came all the old nagging.

  Ten years ago he had cheated on her with a cocktail waitress, a leggy blonde with big tits. He was only away for the weekend, and he had come home with his tail between his legs after the waitress’s boyfriend had given him a thrashing. Muriel had bathed his cuts and bruises, swallowing his story about being mugged in Brighton on one of his business trips. Until someone had informed her otherwise, and then she went ballistic. Colin had never lived it down. Any argument always ended up revisiting that one miserable weekend in Brighton.

  And now it was being thrown in his face yet again. If they ever had any money, she chided him that he would no doubt prefer to throw it at some cheap barmaid, rather than give his wife a decent thing to wear. The row continued all the way to Arnie’s club, his wife driving and the Mini rattling along to the sound of her droning voice. As they pulled up, Colin got straight out and took a breath of air.

  “Oh, thank you very much, yes, I can park it, no, I don’t need your help,” she called out sarcastically.

  Colin was about to get in again when she roared off in first gear.

  Arnie stood at the club’s entrance. He looked as if he was sweating.

  “You seen Murphy? He hasn’t shown. Not that havin’ him on the door does me any favors. I’ve got my regular punters to think of. How’re they going to feel coming out for a good knees-up, and they can’t get into their own club? Some ape on the door telling you to piss off home?”

  Colin thought what a wonderful couple his wife and Arnie would make, but then remembered Arnie’s preferences were on the other side. Now his wife came marching round the corner, mouth in a thin, tight line. She whipped off her stole and tossed it to Arnie.

  “Don’t bother with a ticket. I hope someone does nick it; the only way I’m gonna get myself togged out in somethin’ new is with the insurance money.”

  Colin gave a sigh of resignation and followed his wife into the club, leaving Arnie holding what looked like a dead cat in his arms.

  Taxis pulled up, dropped their passengers off and moved on. The club was filling up. Micky Tesco guided Shirley in by her elbow, a little too tightly for her liking. He seemed in a hurry to get into the club. Shirley stopped and pulled her arm away.

  He looked at her. “What’s the matter now?”

  “No need to push me. I’ve got high heels on.”

  “Sorry. Big night, you know? Getting a bit edgy.”

  They entered the club and joined a sea of people waiting at the coat check, men queuing one way, ladies the other. They pushed through into the main area, where waiters were waltzing round with trays of drinks and titbits while partygoers chatted animatedly. They were still trying to get their bearings when Micky was grabbed by an agitated-looking Arnie. Micky pushed Shirley gently in the direction of the ladies’ cloakroom, then turned back to Arnie.

  “Murphy’s not bleedin’ shown—I got no one at the door . . .”

  Micky nodded, patted Arnie’s sleeve and said he’d take care of it. He was looking round at the faces; some he knew, but a lot he didn’t. He smiled greetings at everyone all the same.

  “Where’s the guv’nor?”

  Arnie nodded to the stairs, then bustled back to the main entrance as yet more people entered. The club was becoming packed and there was a traffic jam building up round the cloakrooms.

  One person who didn’t want to be relieved of her coat was Audrey. The mink coat Dolly had given her was not only luxurious, it also hid her pregnancy. Audrey had thought about flogging it on more than one occasion, but something always held her back, and now she was enjoying it in all its glory. In fact, Audrey felt wonderful, happier than she could remember, and it wasn’t just the coat. Ray was getting embarrassed, and was trying to shush her as she shouted and waved at old familiar faces, people she hadn’t seen for years. She spotted Muriel Soal over by the ladies’ room and yelled over.

  Ray gave her a look. “Keep it down, can’t you? You’re making a spectacle of yourself, girl.”

  Audrey seemed not to hear him. She waved at Muriel and Muriel gave her a little wave back. Muriel gave her husband a dig in the ribs, and Audrey saw her mouth the word “mink!” several times.

  Audrey smiled to herself. She was sweating under the coat, but she wasn’t going to take it off.

  A nervous-looking Micky came up and pulled Ray aside.

  “Any word on where Murphy is?”

  Ray shook his head. “Last time I spoke to him he was on his way home to get changed.” They looked over at the door, where Arnie was doing his best to cope with the influx of guests while keeping an eye on everything that was going on.

  Muriel made her way over to Audrey and they fell into each other’s arms, kissing each other’s cheeks daintily. Muriel surreptitiously felt Audrey’s coat. It definitely wasn’t fake. Audrey then let out another yell as Shirley came out of the cloakroom, earning another warning tap on the elbow from Ray.

  Shirley pushed her way toward her mother, surprised by how pleased she was to see her. Micky seemed to have disappeared, so Audrey did the introductions.

  “Come on, Mum, you must be boiling with that coat on!” Shirley exclaimed, helping her off with the mink. Muriel’s mouth gaped open when she saw Audrey’s bulging stomach.

  “Oh my God! You having a baby, Audrey?”

  Audrey flushed, then roared with laughter. “I thought it was wind to begin with—until I realized it wasn’t going away with just a burp!”

  Shirley looked round again for Micky, while Ray made his way toward the cloakrooms carrying Audrey’s coat.

  “You be careful with that, Ray!” Audrey bellowed after him. “That’s ranch mink, that is.”

  Muriel swallowed. God almighty, ranch mink! All she’d got was a bit of old moleskin her mother had left her.

  “Don’t you let any of the thieving so-and-sos in here swipe it!” Audrey added for good measure.

  Upstairs, Micky was standing to attention while Harry leaned back behind Arnie’s desk.

  “Right, Micky. You can start showing them up one at a time.”

  “I’ll try and make it quick,” Micky joked. “The rate this crowd are knocking back the booze, we’ll have run out pretty soon.”

  Harry gave him a thin smile. “And put in a call to Murphy while you’re at it. It’s unlike him to be late.”

  Harry looked down the list of names again. There were a lot of old faces downstairs, enough to put a crack team together. He just had to let them know he was back, fighting fit, with cash in his wallet, and the promise of a big score.

  The first man through the door was Geoffrey Barker: thin, cheap gray suit, crumpled tie—Barker had made no effort to dress for the occasion. But beneath the thin material of the suit you could tell that although Barker was well into his fifties, he still had the physique of a heavyweight boxer. Barker had been used by Harry on a number of gigs. He was a hammer man, a good front man; when he went in shouting and waving his hammer round, you didn’t want to mess with him. He was just what Harry needed.

  Barker stared intently at Harry and walked over to the desk.

  “Have a drink, Geoffrey.”

  “All right. I’ll have a scotch.”

  Barker sat down, watching Harry pour him a generous double from the tray of bottles and glasses on the desk, his face expressionless. Harry handed him the glass.

  Barker looked Harry in the eye and said coldly, “To absent friends.” Then he knocked back his scotch in one.

  Harry was prepared for Barker’s attitude. He and Joe Pirelli had been like brothers. They’d even served time in the same cell. But he was confident he could talk him round. At the end of the day, money talks. And whatever happened . . . well, that was all in the past now.

  Barker, however, didn’t give him a chance. He put the empty glass down, then turned and walked to the door without another word. Harry didn’t try to stop him.

  Harry sat back in his chair, looked at his list and put a line through Barker’s name. He sighed. Maybe Colin Soal had been right: some people didn’t care how much money was on offer; they weren’t going to work for Harry Rawlins, not after what happened with the security van heist.