“I’ve tried calling her,” she said.

  Morgan got up and handed her the phone. “Why not try again?”

  Dolly stalled for time. She hadn’t worked it all out yet. What she didn’t want was the police brought in—not yet. He could slip through the net again.

  “My husband’s very clever. How many men do you know, living like he did, who’ve never been sent down—not once. Only for six weeks when he was a kid. Harry is careful and he’d smell a set-up. The thing is . . . I have the money, and right now he must need it.” She looked at him. “He’ll come to me.”

  Harry finished the quiche and pushed his plate aside. He had shaved, but was still wearing only his boxers. He got up and began to put on one of Eddie’s shirts. The phone rang. It was now 2:15 in the morning. Jackie looked to him for instructions. He gave her a nod and she picked up the phone.

  Harry kept his eyes on her. She didn’t even speak, just listened and then covered the mouthpiece.

  “She’s asking for you.”

  Harry took the phone. He glanced at the closed door.

  “Kid’s crying.”

  Jackie gave him a look and left the kitchen.

  Harry spoke in his gentlest voice, almost caressing. “Hello, Doll. So . . . you got the jewels, then?”

  Morgan was standing right behind her. Dolly nodded to him, whispered, “He’s there,” then, turning her back, she spoke.

  “Hello, Harry . . .”

  After she hung up, Dolly was still shaking like a leaf. Morgan put his big hands on her shoulders and gave her some time to compose herself.

  “So?”

  Dolly let out a breath. “I said let’s meet up west somewhere, but he wasn’t having any of it.”

  “Where then?”

  “Kenwood House, on Hampstead Heath, by the old footbridge.”

  Morgan nodded to himself. “Smart. Plenty of cover. Hard for anyone to run him to ground. OK, what time?”

  “Four o’clock,” Dolly said.

  Morgan smiled. “Well, at least that gives us plenty of time to set something up. What we’ll—”

  “No,” Dolly interrupted. “Four in the morning. Today. Now.”

  “Crikey. Right. I’d better get on it then. Dolly, you stay here in the flat and don’t move until I’ve arranged things. My God, they’ll have to move fast. And don’t worry, I’ll cover for you—do a deal if I can. After all, you gave them the tip-off in the first place. Call me at the Yard.” He paused and held her face in his hands. “I can trust you, can’t I? Because it’s me on the line too.”

  In answer, Dolly kissed him, a gentle kiss on his lips.

  “We’ll go on, Dolly, you and me—that’s a promise.”

  Dolly touched the big man’s cheek and smiled up into his face. “We can only go on with Harry caught.”

  She brushed the shoulders of Morgan’s jacket, just like his wife used to do before he went off for an important meeting. Then, at long last, the door closed behind him, and Dolly leaned against it, her eyes closed.

  She knew that Harry had chosen that specific place because it was where he had proposed marriage to her, all those years ago. He’d taken her there on a picnic and they had walked round the house together. She’d been surprised, not thinking that tearaway Harry Rawlins would even know about such a place. There had been a concert playing in the outdoor theater—classical music. She had liked it, and from then on they’d begun to listen to classical music together.

  She pulled herself together. It was now 3:15. She didn’t have very long to get to Kenwood House.

  Harry knew Jackie was upstairs and made sure the door was closed. This was the last time he was going to attempt to talk to her. He dialed the number and waited. Vera snatched up the phone and snapped “Yes.” This was getting to be ridiculous. It was three o’clock in the morning.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said softly. “Is Trudie there?”

  Vera told him to hang on. She went into the sitting room and roughly pushed Trudie to wake her. “That bloody man is on the phone again. I don’t know if either him or you can’t tell the time, but it’s 3 a.m.”

  Trudie pushed Vera away and ran from the room to pick up the phone in the hall. Harry was about to hang up. “Is that you?” Trudie said. “Is it really you? Dear God, I’ve been waiting for you to contact me for so long.”

  He interrupted very quietly. “I haven’t got long, Trudie, but make sure you never mention my name to anyone. The police are very close, but everything is going to be fine. I’m going to be a rich man. I will call you first thing and we’ll go and you, me and my son will start a new life. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want?” she screeched. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Trudie could hardly catch her breath. She felt hysterical, but before she could say anything the phone went dead. She turned to her sister and said, “Everything is going to be all right now, Vera. I’ll be leaving.”

  Vera couldn’t believe it. Trudie was like a kid, spinning around the hall laughing and crying at the same time.

  Harry rested his hand on the phone. Just hearing the way she reacted made him doubt very much that he could keep his promise. In reality, if she did not have his son, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her. He knew he could easily get rid of her if he needed to and take the child.

  He went back to check his appearance in the mirror and straightened his tie. Standing behind him, Jackie watched. She couldn’t believe Dolly was meeting him, after all he had put her through. And what’s more, Harry seemed to be dressing himself up for it like a date he had waited for, longed for. He had changed his shirt twice, even put on cologne.

  “Do you still love her, Harry?”

  He was whistling. Even at this hour in the morning he was fresh, bursting with energy. But he didn’t reply to her question.

  He took her car keys. She’d tried to persuade him not to, but he had made her a promise that she would have the car back, and a lot more besides. She knew he was probably lying; he had said he was going abroad, and he would have to stay away for a long time. In a way, it was a relief; she could live with Harvey in peace, without having to worry about Harry ever coming back, ever having contact with Jason, the son he didn’t know he had. Jackie just wanted him gone, and when the door finally closed behind him, she almost collapsed with relief.

  Now all she wanted was for Harvey to come home. She had no idea that at that moment he was sitting in a cell, charged not only with robbery but with the murder of a security guard.

  Harvey Rintle would not be seeing Jackie for a very long time.

  Dolly let herself out of Morgan’s flat. She’d remembered that when he had taken the gun from her—the one Linda had gone to the lock-up for—he had put it into one of the little drawers on the top of the dresser. And there it was, nestled between his handkerchiefs and socks.

  She picked it up and put it in her bag.

  Reynolds had been having an uncomfortable kip in one of the interview rooms, his head resting on his coat, when Fuller started barking from the doorway.

  “Get your arse up to the office! Things are moving.”

  Morgan was sitting smoking. He had laid out the deal. Dolly had arranged to meet Harry Rawlins on the footbridge at Kenwood House, Hampstead, at four o’clock. She wanted the police there, and she wanted Rawlins picked up. It had been Dolly who had given the tip-off, and Morgan was able to give Fuller the exact time Kensington had received the call to verify her story.

  Morgan took another drag of his cigarette. Time was running out. Fuller was still skeptical. He couldn’t just go on a story from Morgan; he wanted Dolly Rawlins brought into the Yard. What if he got half the police force surrounding the place and nobody turned up?

  “I’m giving you my word that she’s straight.”

  “Then why won’t she come in?”

  Morgan rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “Don’t you want him? She won’t come in. She’s willing to tell you where the bulk of the underpass raid cash is. She’s willing to set her husband up. Don’t ask her to come in, because she won’t do it.”

  Fuller sucked his teeth. “So what’s in it for you, then?”

  Morgan shrugged wearily. “There’s still the thirty grand reward money up for grabs, isn’t there? A piece of that would do nicely.”

  “You got something on with this woman?” Fuller asked. “Resnick insinuated that you had.”

  Morgan stood up. He’d had enough. He looked at his watch and his heart missed a beat. It was 3:55. He grabbed Fuller’s phone and dialed, standing there, ashen-faced, as it rang and rang.

  Harry drove carefully, unused to Jackie’s old Morris Traveller. He switched on the radio.

  “And now, still climbing up the charts at number four, ‘Widows’ Tears.’” Harry turned the volume up.

  He chuckled. Well, the night was almost over, and he and Doll were going to meet again.

  He parked on the edge of the heath. He would walk across it toward the house and the footbridge; walk the pathways like he had when he was a kid, on the day trips his mother had brought him on. Walking over the fields in the darkness, he thought about his old lady, the way she had taken him round Kenwood House, showing him the paintings, her favorite Gainsborough, even the cases with the old household bills and accounts. He had been bored to tears, but it must have meant something to him, because this is where he’d brought Dolly.

  Doll—she’d been such a shy one, unlike the rest of them. But there had been something about her that he’d gone for: her class, her style. He reckoned you could never teach that; style was something you either had or you didn’t, and Doll had always had it. She liked the best, whatever it was—clothes, furniture. She’d been the one the whole street talked about, who’d got in to university with more “O” and “A” levels than anyone else had ever had from round their way. But she’d given it all up for him. He remembered the rumpus it had caused in her family. Her mother cried, her father threatened to have him done in; his girl was going to make something of herself, not marry the local bad boy doted on by his mother. Well, he’d shown them. It was a shame they were no longer alive when they’d got the house in Totteridge; he’d have liked to shove the cut-glass decanter down her father’s throat. Harry had always borne a grudge against him; Dolly had simply never seen him again after the marriage. She was like that, Doll—stood by him through thick and thin.

  As Harry picked his way through the bushes, he gave no thought to what he had done to her; it was in the past, as if it had never happened. He wasn’t thinking about the way he betrayed her, the child he’d had with Trudie Nunn; he was actually thinking about what a good woman Dolly had been and that with all the cash she’d got, maybe they should try again. She’d proved she was one in a million. He never allowed himself to imagine she wouldn’t want him. He was Harry Rawlins, the guv’nor, and he was a rich man again. Not only would he have the money from the underpass raid, but the cash from the sale of his house, his businesses . . .

  It was a pleasant walk and even the nagging pain in his hand had stopped bothering him. It was a fine, clear night and the air felt cool and fresh.

  He stopped suddenly and wondered if he’d made a wrong turning—maybe things had changed on the heath. Then he got his bearings and went on, vaulted over the small wire fence and was finally in the grounds of Kenwood House.

  Dolly felt like kicking herself when she found the gates leading to the house were locked. Of course they were—it was four in the morning! Actually, it was after four and she was late.

  How long would he wait for her?

  She turned the car round and headed back toward the heath, then remembered a short cut from close to Whitestone Pond, just past the Spaniard’s Inn. Dolly parked the car at the side of the road and began running, afraid that he wouldn’t be there. The gun felt heavy in her pocket.

  Harry stood on the footbridge and looked at his watch. He was late and suddenly felt a moment of panic that he had missed her. He found the emotion interesting. Had she come and gone? No, not Dolly. Then he saw her, some distance away, the moonlight shining almost ghostlike on her cream-colored coat. She seemed younger, her face flushed as she came nearer. She wasn’t carrying a bag or holdall, but then of course she wouldn’t: the jewels would be in the car. She was walking quickly now, pushing aside the bushes. One caught in her sleeve and she stopped and unhooked it. She was only twenty-five yards away. He lit a cigarette, his face illuminated for a brief moment in the reddish flame, and she saw him.

  Harry flicked the match into the water. Seeing her now had churned him up somehow. It wasn’t like seeing her on the heath that night, and he was reluctant to turn toward her in case she could read his feelings on his face. The truth was he needed her, he needed this woman. And she belonged to him. She was his.

  Now he turned. It was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He needed her. He almost thrust his arms out toward her, but held himself in check. What if she didn’t want him back, was still afraid of him, wanted another deal?

  Dolly knew that she had been right to come alone, knew it the moment the match flickered and she saw his face. It wasn’t the same feeling this time, not like the night Linda had died. She had felt her whole body lurch when she’d seen him then, standing, smiling, fooling round at the Jag as he showed her that there was no gun up his sleeve, no gun in his pocket, nothing in the car.

  She instinctively removed her hand from the cold gun in her pocket. There was no lurch now, no searing pain. At long last the pain had gone.

  She walked toward him, this time unafraid. He had hurt her, almost destroyed her, but he couldn’t anymore: it was over.

  Harry hitched himself up to sit on the bridge, one leg resting on the ground, the other swinging. He took a heavy pull on the cigarette and tossed it into the water behind him. She was just yards away.

  “Hello, Doll. You’re looking good. Come here.”

  His voice sounded coarse, with a sexual edge. He patted his knee, held a hand out to her.

  Oh God, no . . . Please, no, she thought.

  It was the coarseness that repelled her. She could smell him, the stink of cheap cologne, and now it was as if he was drawing her toward him by a thin, transparent cord.

  “Money safe, is it? Ah, my girl’s clever. Come here, Doll.”

  She moved closer. Money: she knew that was all he had ever loved. The knowledge helped her keep moving toward him.

  Then he surprised her.

  “I love you, Doll. I need you. It won’t work without you. Go for it again with me, one more time. I’ll get down on my knees, just like the first time.”

  Dolly knew he might be acting, being flippant, but there was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen for a long, long time, and she knew what it was—love. He’d always tried so hard to act like the “guv’nor” with her, but at this moment she was stronger than him, she knew it—stronger because of the undying love she had held on to during all the years she had devoted to him, guided him, cared for him, tried to bear his children. For him, those years had meant nothing. He had only now, right now, realized he needed her.

  He said it again, and this time the sound was as raw as the helpless look on his face. “I love you, Doll.”

  She was so close, she could put out her hand and touch him.

  “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” he said.

  He was what she had wanted, from the age of seventeen. She had never loved anyone else. The tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak; just one more step and she would be in his arms.

  Vic Morgan drove his Rover straight at the heavy white gates at the main entrance to Kenwood House. The impact sent shock waves up his spine, but the gates remained closed.

  Fuller and Reynolds ran from their patrol car. Morgan was now slamming his shoulder into the gates—and one finally gave way and swung open. Morgan ran back to his car and drove through.

  “Crazy son of a bitch.”

  Fuller ran back to the patrol car and followed Morgan through, up the driveway to the house, which was suddenly lit up starkly by their headlamps. Morgan was already running to the back of the house, Fuller and Reynolds close behind.

  Morgan stopped at the top of the hill and looked. He could see Dolly, alone on the footbridge, looking into the water.

  Fuller took a hold of his arm. “I’ll take it from here, Vic.”

  Morgan threw him off and started running down the hill toward Dolly. As he reached the flatter ground, Fuller caught him up.

  Morgan kept his voice low. “I think she’s got a gun. Go round to the right. Come from behind her.”

  Fuller knew it was pointless to argue. He waited for Reynolds to join him, then they split up, moving round the lake to approach the bridge from the opposite side.

  Where the hell was Rawlins?

  Morgan stepped onto the bridge. Dolly turned to face him. She didn’t seem surprised.

  “Hand over the gun, Dolly. Please, just give me the gun.”

  She lifted her arm, holding the gun out. Then she dropped it, her arm remaining stretched out to him for a moment.

  Morgan stared at her. His mouth twitched.

  “Why?”

  Dolly turned away, facing the water.

  Morgan moved in closer. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He picked up the gun and put it in the pocket of his overcoat.

  Again he asked her, “Why? Just tell me why?”

  Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, a stranger, distant, expressionless. “We didn’t stand a chance. It was the only way.”

  She was shivering. He thought he heard her whisper she was sorry. He was sorry too. He felt such a fool; she had made him look such a bloody fool, but then that’s what he was.

  He looked down and saw the body floating in the filthy water. Harry Rawlins lay face down, arms outstretched, as if reaching for the safety of the bank.

  Morgan looked up. Fuller was standing at the opposite end of the bridge. Morgan walked over and handed him the gun. He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.