He wasn’t sure she heard him.
‘Why in God’s name didn’t you go to the police in the first place?’
She didn’t answer.
‘You must have known he’d come after you. You took everything he had — plus you sent his girlfriend and baby to Australia!’
Dolly stood up and walked across the room to a wastepaper basket, dropping the torn-up tissue in. ‘I was frightened. I told you, I just wanted to pay him off, to be left alone.’
Morgan spooned sugar into his coffee. ‘Didn’t look that way to me.’
‘Well, it’s the truth,’ said Dolly.
Morgan took a sip, frowned, and added some more sugar. ‘When I found you last night, what were you going to do?’
Dolly sat down at the table again. ‘I was going to kill him.’
‘Well, that wouldn’t have been very clever, would it?’
Dolly gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘Obviously not; he wasn’t there.’
Morgan shook his head. ‘What I meant was, there are other ways of getting rid of someone. Did he get any money from you?’ He leaned across the table. ‘You said you were going to pay him off. Did he get the money?’
She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head and picked up her handbag. ‘No.’
Morgan chose his words carefully. ‘You see, there’s a friend of mine who wouldn’t mind getting his hands on your husband.’
Dolly shrugged. ‘Well, you won’t find him in that flat. He’ll have moved on by now.’
Morgan persisted. ‘There’s a big reward up for grabs, for any information on the cash missing from the underpass raid — thirty thousand.’
Dolly snapped her bag closed. ‘I see.’ She stood and picked up her coat. ‘That what all the questions are for? Reward money?’
He watched her put on her coat.
‘You’re all the same, whichever side you’re on. It’s all he ever wanted, all my husband ever cared for — money. Well, you can chase after it all you like, but don’t try using me to get it.’
She walked out. He didn’t try to stop her, but he was angry with himself for the way he’d mishandled things. At least he had a lot more information now, even though he knew for certain that Dolly Rawlins was holding something back, something big.
He took another sip of his coffee, thinking what a strange, fascinating woman she was. He’d held her half the night, held her tenderly as she’d sobbed her heart out for Linda Pirelli. Yet in the morning she behaved like a total stranger. It was going to take time before she truly trusted him.
Ray Bates was sorting through a pile of bills, tapping his pencil on the desk, when Micky Tesco arrived at the garage.
Micky leaned against the door. ‘Come on, what d’ya say? I just need a couple of motors, two Transit vans, maybe a spot of driving?’
Ray scratched his head. ‘I dunno. I been straight for a long time, Micky. I don’t want to get into anything heavy.’
Micky picked up a handful of bills. ‘Business doesn’t look too good to me. Reckon you could do with a few readies.’
Too right, Ray thought. His business was going down the drain — and at the worst possible time, with Audrey pregnant.
‘Who’s running the show?’
Micky shook his head. ‘Can’t tell you the name — but a big man, well known. And the money’s big, too. But if you’re not interested—’ he shrugged — ‘there’s plenty of people who will be.’
He turned away, knowing Ray was hooked like a big, fat salmon.
‘I’m in, Micky. I’ll do it.’
Micky smiled. ‘Good boy! OK, first off I want you to sort that Jag out for me, get a replacement...’
When Dolly finally reappeared at Shirley’s, her relief was short-lived, because Bella couldn’t stop crying. Dolly calmed her down and put the kettle on, thinking how odd it was the way everybody always offered cups of tea, not wanting to actually talk about what had happened. Eventually Bella calmed down enough for Dolly to ask her how Shirley had taken it.
Bella sniffed. ‘Yeah, she cried, you know, but I don’t think it’s really hit her yet. I think it’s the same for me. I still can’t believe Linda isn’t going to walk through the door.’
Dolly watched the kettle. ‘She isn’t coming back, Bella, and we’re just going to have to carry on without her.’
Bella badly needed someone to hold her, but Dolly made no move toward her.
‘What are we gonna do, Dolly?’
Dolly just shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know...’
It was the last thing Bella expected Dolly to say and it shook her. Dolly suddenly seemed just as vulnerable and lost as she felt herself. But without a leader, someone to organize the three of them, what were they going to do?
Shirley’s brother, Greg, was in one of the garages washing the Jag with an old, white T-shirt when Ray slid the doors open. Greg got up off his knees and held out the shirt.
‘See these stains, Ray? I think this is blood.’ He pointed at the front of the car. ‘It’s all along the mudguard. I think he must’ve hit a dog.’
Ray turned on him sharply. ‘Just do as you’re told, son, and keep it buttoned. You understand? Keep your mouth shut.’
Greg nodded.
‘Just get it cleaned up and then take it to the paint shop for a respray. Got it?’
The garage door clanged shut behind him. Greg dipped the cloth in the bucket and went back to washing the car, trying not to think too hard about what had really happened.
Suddenly everything that had happened the night before was forgotten. Shirley was perched on a high stool in front of a blue 174 backdrop in the photographer’s studio. She only had her underslip on, which had been Sellotaped to her nipples, giving her a very low cleavage. At first it had embarrassed her, having Sellotape stuck round her, having her body touched and painted, but gradually she relaxed and even began to enjoy it. The girl who had done her make-up was very chatty, helping her to feel at home, and the outrageously camp hairdresser, who spent hours putting a blonde rinse in her hair, was hilarious. He used a can of gold spray, then back-combed, teased, pulled, pushed, and now her hair was like a lion’s mane. The make-up girl had matched the hair, using glistening, golden tones and heavy black eyelashes. She’d plucked away at Shirley’s eyebrows, giving her a very high arch, molded her cheeks, and instead of lipstick she’d used a silky gloss. Shirley looked in the mirror and hardly recognized herself.
The photographer was obviously well into his forties, but didn’t behave like it — he was like an old hippie. He spent hours in the make-up room, looking at her, checking her out before photographing her. He’d decided that they should lower the slip even more, but there was nothing sexual in it — just professional. He wanted to do all the shots cut low, just neck and shoulders. The make-up girl told Shirley that he was one of the best.
‘Cost a fortune, he does. You from Marion Gordon?’
Shirley had nodded, feeling like a million dollars. This was what she had always dreamt about...
And then she remembered Linda.
‘You all right?’ the make-up girl asked.
Shirley took a breath. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
Then the photographer had come in. ‘We’re ready to roll in a minute, darling. I want you up on this stool.’
Shirley’s blondeness against the deep blue backdrop looked fantastic. Shirley went hot and cold as the lights went on, then off, and then they started work.
The photographer rapped out instructions: ‘Turn your head right, left, just relax, chin up, now chin down, look at me, now right to the camera, left to the camera, flick your head back, come on, back, back, open your lips slightly...’
Shirley felt self-conscious and slightly foolish, especially when he said, ‘OK, now I want you to look really angry — come on, come on, give me an angry look!’