“I’ll take you to her.” Then he walked out.

  Fuller couldn’t keep the look of surprise off his face. Reynolds just grinned, as if Christmas had come early. Fuller patted Resnick’s shoulder.

  “Thanks, George. I won’t forget this—that’s a promise.”

  Resnick knew Morgan was hurting. “Take care of him. He’s a great soft bastard, but he’s a good man.”

  Fuller nodded, then followed Morgan out, with Reynolds at his heels.

  Resnick drained his cup and reached for the bottle. Shame to let good whisky go to waste. He leaned forward, stretching, then felt a terrible pain in his bad arm and fell forward, crashing into the table, before sliding, helpless, to the floor. He lay there, unable to move, watching the bottle rolling slowly across the floor.

  He knew in that moment that he was never going to be back with the lads. He wasn’t going anywhere. This was his life now—what was left of it. And it was all Rawlins’ fault. He was to blame for everything.

  “You bastard, Rawlins!” he cried in agony. “You filthy bastard!”

  It was now 11:15, and Audrey was sitting in the kitchen. She wouldn’t take her coat off, and she wouldn’t drink the tea they’d made her. In one afternoon she had lost her daughter, the father of her unborn son, and even her Greg had been picked up. She stared ahead, gently rocking the pram backward and forward.

  “You’re sure you don’t want a doctor?”

  Audrey shook her head.

  It was unnerving the way she kept on slowly rocking the pram, backward and forward.

  Suddenly Audrey turned and smiled, a sweet, innocent smile.

  “I’m going to have a boy. I know it’s a boy ’cos of my age, you see, and he’s all right. They said he’s all right.”

  The door opened and the WPC stood up. Her heart went out to Audrey, but there was nothing more she could do.

  Greg was led into the kitchen by a uniformed officer. At least they’d let her son out on bail so she had someone to look after her. He looked sheepish, still in shock about Shirley, the arrest, all of it. He hadn’t been able to take it all in, and seeing his mother sitting there, her hands gripping an empty pram, made him want to run to her and cry like a baby himself. Like he’d done when he was told his dad had run off. Like he’d done whenever he’d needed her.

  But now he knew she needed him.

  “Ray not with you?”

  He shook his head. Ray wouldn’t be coming home for a long time. But he couldn’t tell her that; he couldn’t find the words to tell her anything. He walked to her side and sat down. He laid his hand on top of Audrey’s, let it rock with the motion of the pram. He could feel the tears trickle down his cheeks, but still he could say nothing. He looked to the WPC for help and she mimed a hug. Greg had to ease Audrey’s hands from the pram bar, then he put them round his neck. He could feel Audrey’s belly with her unborn baby pressing against his stomach. He stopped crying, feeling more of a man than he had ever felt before. Gently, he wrapped his arms round his mother, rocking her as if she was a baby, and at long last Audrey began to weep, deep, heartbreaking sobs, her head buried in her young son’s neck.

  The WPC could feel tears welling up, while the male officer looked away. Now they could go.

  As they let themselves out, the WPC couldn’t help but notice the large black and white photograph of Shirley Miller, standing with Miss Paddington, and wearing a “runner-up” sash on her white swimsuit. The girl was blonde, beautiful and, with her smiling face, she looked as if she knew she had the whole world in front of her. The photo had scrawled across it: To the best mum in the world, love Shirley.

  Dolly was sitting in her car, numb. She had heard the news about the diamond robbery on the radio, reporting that a model, identified as Shirley Miller, had been shot dead. Dolly had the jewels in a carrier bag and was contemplating what she should do.

  She saw Greg leaving his mother’s house and although she was shocked to the core, time was against her and there was nobody else she could trust. She waited a further fifteen minutes before she picked up the carrier bag and walked into the estate toward Audrey’s front door. She was still unsure about what she should do, but in reality she had run out of options. Her hand shook as she rang the doorbell.

  As soon as Greg had left the house to go to the pub, Audrey got out of bed. She needed a drink as much as her son, and had already had half a tumbler of gin when the doorbell rang. She was certain it was Greg coming back to check up on her, and he certainly wouldn’t approve of her inebriated state. The last person she expected it to be, or ever believed she would see again, was Dolly Rawlins.

  Audrey stepped back from the open door to let Dolly in.

  “I had no one else to turn to, Audrey . . . I need to talk to you.”

  Audrey could not even bring herself to speak.

  Dolly continued. “Can we go into the kitchen? I don’t have long . . .”

  Audrey was dumbfounded at the audaciousness of this woman who she so despised, but she led the way to the kitchen.

  Dolly put the carrier bag down on the kitchen table, not looking at Audrey. Her voice was hoarse.

  “I’ve just heard about Shirley . . .”

  Again Audrey remained speechless.

  Dolly bowed her head and, barely audible, whispered, “I am so sorry . . . I am so sorry . . .”

  It was so unexpected when Dolly reached out with both arms and drew Audrey close to her, hugging her tightly.

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Audrey was tight-lipped, her hands clenched into fists as Dolly stepped away from her.

  “I need you to do something, Audrey . . . But it’s up to you. I want you to take this bag to a man I know I can trust, Jimmy Donaldson.” Dolly pulled out a note from her coat pocket. “This is his address. You want to instruct him to keep this bag safe for me. He is not to open it, and must find a good hiding place. He’ll do whatever you ask because Harry controlled him, and he still does—so he’ll be too afraid not to go along with it. I could get him put away for life.”

  Dolly looked at Audrey.

  “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

  Audrey spat her reply. “Am I all right, you two-faced bitch! How dare you show your face here! I’ve got a good mind to call the cops! I’d like to take a carving knife to you myself . . .”

  Dolly took her by the shoulders and gripped her tightly. “Listen to me, Audrey: I don’t know the facts about what happened.”

  Audrey pushed her away. “What happened is you got my daughter killed, you two-faced bitch!” she shrieked.

  Dolly took a few deep breaths before she replied. “Audrey, I can walk out of here now if you want me to. But if you do what I ask you to, I’ll get you a cut of the diamonds and you’ll be secure for the rest of your life.”

  It was only then that Audrey realized the carrier bag contained the stolen diamonds.

  Years later, she would be unable to recall the rest of their conversation. In the space of one night she had lost her daughter and the father of her unborn child was going to prison, probably for the rest of his life. She hadn’t agreed to Dolly’s request straight away, and would never forget the fact that Dolly’s icy blue eyes were brimming with tears.

  After Dolly left, Audrey had another half tumbler of gin and opened the carrier bag. She put the note with Jimmy Donaldson’s address in her handbag, and then carried the bag up to her bedroom and hid it under her mattress.

  Mixed emotions flooded through her, but the words “you’ll be secure for the rest of your life” made her wonder just how great that security would be.

  Vera had made up the sofa bed in their lounge. Trudie had arrived exhausted and had done nothing but cry and was refusing to tell Vera what on earth was going on. She just asked Vera if she would look after the baby as she needed to get some sleep and she would explain everything once she had had a rest. Vera sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea and a cigarette, pushing the baby in a stroller up and down with her foot. She had seen the luggage tag on Trudie’s suitcase. Bloody Australia, that’s where she’s been. Vera was determined that she was going to interrogate Trudie when she woke up. She had become quite hysterical when told the man had called again but had left no number. It definitely wasn’t her husband, and whoever it was made Trudie repeat, “Thank God, thank God.”

  Vera would be thanking God when Trudie left as she had two children of her own and her husband was not happy with this arrangement. It was only a small, overcrowded council flat, after all.

  Morgan watched as Fuller and Reynolds went over Dolly’s flat. A few clothes still hung in the closet, some sweaters and underwear in the chest of drawers. There was also a suitcase on top of the wardrobe. It didn’t look as if she had gone, but there was no sign of Rawlins, no men’s clothes, nothing. If she had been working with him, he hadn’t been living with her.

  A withered bunch of flowers, dead, their petals stiff and dried, were in a small cracked vase. He remembered when he’d given them to her.

  “Maybe we’ll hang around for a while, see what turns up,” Fuller said.

  Morgan wanted to get out. He watched Fuller sifting through the waste bin. He felt uneasy, as if he had betrayed a confidence. Still he refused to believe that Dolly would have lied to him.

  “You mind if I push off?”

  Fuller shrugged. “Just be sure you call me if she gets in contact.”

  Dolly had driven away from the house, unsure if she had been right to rely on Audrey. She still couldn’t believe that Shirley was really dead and wondered whether perhaps the news report she had heard on the radio was inaccurate. Now she was making her way to the only other person she needed.

  Dolly rang and rang Morgan’s doorbell, then peered through the letterbox. Where could he be? She rang again, and was just about to turn and go back down the stairs when she heard footsteps, slow and heavy. He rounded the bend in the stairway and stopped.

  “You said if I ever needed you . . .” Dolly began.

  Morgan smiled. He took out his keys, noticing that she had no luggage, just her handbag. He pushed the door open.

  “You’d better come in then, hadn’t you?”

  Dolly followed him into his flat.

  “You hungry?”

  Dolly hadn’t realized it until now. She hadn’t eaten all day.

  “Yes.”

  Morgan slipped off his jacket, walked ahead of her into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  “Omelette OK?”

  Dolly nodded. She felt a real warmth toward him, but she still didn’t really know how far she could trust him. How far she could go. She made an effort to relax, following him round the kitchen as he busied himself whisking the eggs.

  “I do need you to do something for me, actually,” she said finally. She took a deep breath. “There was a robbery this afternoon. It was me that gave the tip-off, and . . . there was a girl. Shirley, Shirley Miller. I need to know if she’s been arrested. She had nothing to do with it, she just happened to be there, and . . .”

  Morgan listened to her talk as he heated butter in the pan, trying not to show any reaction.

  “Would you know where she is? Could you find out for me?”

  Morgan stood over the stove, the omelette mixture in a bowl.

  “I know where they’ve taken her, yes.”

  Dolly moved closer. Her hands were twitching, and it was obvious to him she was trying desperately not to show how tense she really was.

  “Where?”

  Morgan wanted to shock her, to see her reaction. He poured the omelette mixture into the pan, where it started sizzling. Then, shaking the pan, he said just one word: “Morgue.”

  Dolly said nothing. Then she began to retch, heaving uncontrollably, her whole body shaking.

  Jackie Rawlins was still waiting for Harvey Rintle to call her. She had put his bike and holdall in his apartment as instructed, and he’d promised to ring her at five. Now it was gone midnight. The kids had really been giving her a hard time. She had let them watch a video of Werewolf of London, then they wanted to see another. Her youngest had cheekily said that as the werewolf had been so frightening, he had to watch something funny or he wouldn’t be able to sleep. They’d sat through some weird comedy about a talking VW car that Jackie couldn’t make head nor tail of. Then, at long last, they had gone to bed. She was just about to follow when the back door opened. She guessed it was Harvey—he often slipped in that way. She turned, smiling.

  Harry Rawlins closed the door behind him, locked it, then turned to her with a smile.

  “Didn’t have the change to ring, sweetheart, so thought I’d come in person.”

  Jackie, hands on hips, looked at him coldly. “Thought you might appear eventually.”

  He gave her a puzzled look.

  “Dolly’s called here twice asking for you. Said she’d keep on trying, but I told her you . . .” Jackie stopped mid-sentence when she caught sight of Harry’s right hand. It was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.

  “Called here? Dolly?”

  Jackie realized he hadn’t been expecting a call from Dolly, and almost chuckled. Harry began to unwrap his hand.

  “What you done?”

  He held it out. She could see the deep teeth marks.

  “Mad dog went for me. You got some Dettol?”

  Jackie noticed there was more blood on Harry’s jacket. He was taking it off, making himself at home.

  “I don’t want you here, Harry. I got kids. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Harry ignored her and began to take off his shirt. He took a passport and wallet out of his jacket pocket and put them on the table.

  “Just need to get cleaned up, Jackie, then I’m off. You got any cash about?”

  Jackie laughed. “If you’re after what you gave Harvey, you’ve got another think coming.” She found a bowl, and then fetched some Dettol and a bandage.

  Harry now had his shirt off. He put his hand in the water. “Christ almighty!” He winced.

  “You’ve been bleedin’ like a pig. It’s all over you.”

  Harry said nothing. He wasn’t about to tell her whose blood it was.

  “I won’t be staying long. I just need a change of clothes. And I need your car. Then I’m going to catch a plane.”

  “I don’t believe it! She’s going with you, is she? Dolly? After what you done to her, I don’t believe it.”

  Harry studied his hand, the blood still flowing from the punctures. They would stay with him for life, in memory of Micky Tesco. Harry remembered something that Micky had said. Could Dolly and the black girl somehow have got their hands on the jewels? Surely not. But what Dolly did have was money, and a lot of it. Perhaps Jackie’s idea wasn’t completely mad. If Dolly called again . . . The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

  Jackie went upstairs to get some of Harry’s cousin Eddie’s clothes. She knew they’d fit. Most of poor Eddie’s stuff had been Harry’s cast-offs in the first place.

  “You got Eddie’s shavin’ gear handy?”

  Jackie threw the clothes at him and walked out. She wasn’t about to let him upstairs. As Jackie passed the boys’ bedroom on the way to the bathroom, she looked in. They were sprawled on the bunk bed, the duvets hanging off. She gently covered them. The youngest, cheeky as he was during the day, looked like an innocent little cherub at night, clutching an old toy submarine. She eased it out of his hands and tucked them under the duvet. She wouldn’t let Harry anywhere near her kids, especially this one, Jason. She’d often wondered if Eddie had spotted it, but he hadn’t. But then Eddie couldn’t see anything right under his nose. But as Jason grew older, it became more obvious to her: he was Harry’s double, right down to his dark, brooding eyes. It almost amused her, gave her at least something over the bastard; she’d got the thing he’d most wanted. Poor old Dolly had tried to give him a son and lost four, all boys—lost them at four months. Perhaps that was why she’d loved that wretched little dog so much—a child substitute. It was Jackie’s secret, but there, sleeping, was Harry Rawlins’ son, ten years old now, and one hell of a handful.

  Jackie went downstairs and handed over Eddie’s shaving gear. The brush looked as if it had been used to clean the floor; it more than likely had, by that little bugger Jason.

  “Bit peckish,” he said. “You think you could fix me somethin’ to eat?”

  Jackie sighed. “You go right after, yeah? I’ll feed you and clothe you, but that’s it.”

  As she went into the kitchen, she glanced back. He was staring at his face in the mirror. He caught her watching him and gave her a wink. Shivers went up and down her. His expression at that moment was identical to her son’s.

  She opened the fridge. “I’ve got a quiche Lorraine and some salad. You want some quiche?”

  Morgan had listened without interrupting as Dolly had told him everything, right from the moment they had begun watching Harry’s lock-up. She left out any mention of their part in the aftermath, and made no mention of the jewels. But she didn’t lie.

  Morgan sighed. He wanted more than anything to believe her, and she did sound as if she was telling the truth. When he asked why she hadn’t gone to the police, she smiled sarcastically.

  “I gave them the times and the name of every man I knew on it, and they still didn’t catch him. That’s why.”

  “Do you know where he is?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “I’m not sure, but there’s one place he might go, one place . . .”

  Then somehow it all came tumbling out. How Jackie and her husband had had an affair eleven years ago. She’d known about it but ignored it, like she’d ignored a lot of things, lots of “bits” he’d had on the side. Although she’d never said anything, Jackie and Eddie had never been invited to her home after that, and everybody except poor old Eddie had sussed out why; Eddie just thought that Dolly didn’t like him. Harry had never mentioned Jackie’s name in front of Dolly again. But maybe if he needed a place to lie low . . . just maybe he would go to Jackie.