Dolly shrugged.
‘I see, until he shows, right?’
Dolly nodded. ‘I have to go. No, please, don’t get up, I’ll practice with the door myself.’ She wiggled the doorknob once, opened it with a click, and left.
Morgan leaned back in his chair and began whistling between his teeth. He swiveled round and played back the rest of the messages on the answering machine. Nothing important, one Mrs. Windsor wondering if he would call her at his convenience. Then the bleep, bleep of someone hanging up, then another call from Mrs. Marsh, again inquiring if Trudie had made it to the airport. She was certainly very persistent, and determined to get that woman out of England and as far away as possible in Australia. He looked hard at the photograph Mrs. Marsh had given him, then turned the answering machine off.
He tapped the photograph with his finger. Where had he seen this face before? When he suddenly remembered, he shot forward in his chair. Of course, Harry Rawlins.
Morgan picked up the phone, dialed and waited.
‘Detective Inspector Resnick there?’
The reply came back that Resnick was retired.
‘I see. D’you know where I can find him?’
Shirley just about hit the roof when she saw the state of her house. It looked as though it had been used as a Salvation Army doss-house for six months. Every room was a mess, especially the one where there were two rolled-up sleeping bags. Greg had shuffled and sniffed, and said all he was doing was looking after the place. He was going to get it all tidy, he just didn’t know when she was coming home, that’s all.
Shirley had made herself hoarse screaming at him as she marched from room to room, each one more of a tip than the last. ‘I can’t tell you how disgusted I am. You and your lousy friends are nothing but layabouts, lazy, no-good—’
‘All right, all right.’ Greg went and got a duster and some spray polish and started cleaning up in a half-hearted manner.
Shirley opened the fridge. She couldn’t believe the stench — rotting bags of carrots, onions, cabbage, food that must have been left for weeks. She put on a pair of rubber gloves and began chucking them into a black plastic bin bag. She opened the crisper at the bottom of the fridge, which was packed tightly with videotapes. She took a handful out and looked at the labels. Big Boobies and Suspenders, Flesh and Sex of a Superman, Supergirl and Supersex.
Shirley stormed into the hall. ‘Greg, what are these doing in the fridge?’ she yelled. ‘They’re pornographic!’
Greg shrugged and carried on polishing. ‘Nah, they’re educational!’
‘Oh, sure, “Big Boobies and Suspenders”! I’m gonna burn these!’
Greg put his duster down. ‘Aw, leave it out, Shirl, they’re Ray’s.’
Shirley looked at him. ‘Ray? Ray who?’
Greg shrugged. ‘You know, Mum’s boyfriend. They’re his.’
‘Oh, they’re Ray’s, are they? Right, I’m going round there.’
Linda and Bella’s flight from Rio had been an excruciating experience. Bella had refused to speak for most of the journey, and when she did, it was only to bite Linda’s head off. So Linda had tried watching a film, and mercifully had eventually fallen asleep.
Now she was sitting miserably by the luggage turntable, while Bella went off to get a trolley.
Linda’s head was throbbing, her eye hurt, she was feeling nauseous all the time. She watched the suitcases going round and round, then spotted Bella lugging the cases off the turntable. Linda looked round the baggage section — and then gasped. Heading almost directly toward her was Harry Rawlins, carrying a small holdall. He was wearing a creamy linen suit, and had dark glasses on, but Linda was sure it was him. She was frozen with terror, unable to move as he walked within ten feet of her — and straight past, looking neither left nor right, toward the ‘Nothing to Declare’ channel. As he reached it he removed his dark glasses and slipped them into his top pocket. He looked round him, and for a moment Linda was sure he had seen her. She needed to warn Bella.
At that moment, Bella appeared with the trolley, laden with all their cases. Linda jumped up.
‘Bella! Don’t look round, but Harry Rawlins is here — he’s going through Customs!’
‘You’re imagining things, Linda.’ Bella turned and stood with her hands on her hips, scanning the passengers going through Customs. ‘Must have been someone who looks like him. Come on, grab your case and let’s get out of here.’
It was late at night, and on the other side, there were only a handful of people waiting at the arrivals barrier. Leaning casually against the barrier, one man in particular stood out. Blond and handsome, his muscular physique bulging under his fashionable Italian suit, Micky Tesco glanced at the arrivals board, and the flashing light told him that Flight 432 from Rio had landed.
He checked his watch and looked slowly round the terminal. A good-looking red-headed airline stewardess caught his eye and he gave her the once-over, from the top of her head down to the heels of her shoes. She turned toward him, as if she’d felt him looking at her, and smiled. She was fit, all right, and he knew he could pull her, easy. But he turned back to the arrivals gate without returning her smile. He had other fish to fry.
Harry came down the walkway in a scruffy suit and in need of a shave. Micky Tesco did a double-take. No way that tramp could be the man he was waiting to meet — the man, Mr. Harry Rawlins. He looked over toward the lounge, wondering where the redhead had gone to.
At the same time, Harry spotted Micky and made his way over. He sidled up behind him while he was looking the other way and quietly said one word: ‘Tesco.’
Micky jumped round, startled. Rawlins nudged him forward. ‘Keep moving to the end of the barrier. Any minute now, two women, one white and one black, will be coming through Customs. I want you to stay on their arses, find out where they’re staying.’
They spoke for a few more seconds, and then Tesco handed Harry a set of keys, and Harry quickly made his way out of the building.
Tesco walked back to the arrivals gate, just in time to see Linda and Bella emerge from the Customs Hall. Linda was leaning heavily on the trolley. Very pale, she looked as if she might pass out, while Bella just stared dead-eyed, her lips pursed. It was very easy for Tesco to slip quietly behind them and follow them to the exit and out to the taxi rank, neither paying any attention to the blond man sauntering along behind them.
If Dolly Rawlins’ rented flat was threadbare and seedy, it was luxurious in comparison to the flat Micky Tesco had rented for Harry. But at least it had a phone, and the first thing Harry did when he arrived was put in a call to Gordon Murphy.
Gordon Murphy was an old-timer. Quiet, a bit of a loner, he’d spent most of his life in and out of prison, though right now he was living with his mother. He’d worked for Harry for years and Harry knew he could trust him. Gordon had a great respect for Harry and, even if the man called from the grave, Gordon Murphy wasn’t going to ask any questions.
As Harry replaced the receiver, Micky Tesco let himself in. Harry hadn’t realized he had his own set of keys.
‘You could have knocked first,’ he said irritably. ‘How d’you make out, then?’
Micky dropped the keys with a shrug and sat down, putting his feet up on the rickety coffee table, showing off his shiny cowboy boots. Harry didn’t like his manner. A bit too self-assured; a bit too cocky.
Micky took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and looked at what he’d written: The white chick got dropped off at a basement flat in Kensington. The black girl went on to a place up west, Phoenix House, behind the theater.