Outside, Ray Bates had done a slow U-turn round the big yard and was now waiting near the alley for the men to get into the van. The last one to be picked up would be Harvey Rintle, round at the front door.
Brian Fisk was in position right outside the kitchen exit, engine ticking over. All Micky had to do was jump aboard, then they’d be away.
Shirley slid in slow motion down the cold, tiled wall to the floor. As the two men ran from the kitchen, the chef raised his head from the floor, then gasped in horror. The front of Shirley’s dress was a deep red, the stain spreading slowly across the chiffon as he watched. He looked at the girl; from her expression she seemed to be asking him if it had really happened. She looked down at her blood-soaked dress, then back to him.
‘Dear God, he’s shot her!’
He got to his knees and crawled across to her. The girl put her hand out to him, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Dolly...’
As soon as she said the word, he knew he would never forget it. Was she pathetically asking for a child’s dolly in her last moments? He crawled nearer. She was like a doll herself, he thought, her head on one side, leaning against the white-tiled wall, her beautiful face calm, eyes wide open, the heavy make-up accentuating the toy-like appearance. The terrible red stain continued to spread, now on to the white kitchen floor.
Johnny Summers made it to the fire escape. He could see Colin Soal below him, already on the move, and way below him there was Kevin White, running from the kitchen. The bike roared as Micky Tesco shoveled the jewels into the saddlebag, then jumped on. The bike tilted for a moment, then slowly moved toward the Transit, still standing with its back doors open.
Dolly was standing by the side of the car when the first police car screeched through the ‘In’ gate of the club. Ray crashed through the gears, starting to move the van toward the ‘Out’ gate, but he was cut off by the patrol car just as Kevin White, Johnny Summers and Colin Soal threw themselves into the back of the Transit.
Seeing the hold-up in the alley, Rintle turned and made a run for it, but Frinton was quickly out of the car and right behind him, bringing him down in a crunching rugby tackle. But he couldn’t hold him. Rintle scrambled up, desperately looking for a way out, but before he could decide which way to go, another squad car pulled up and three policemen spilled out. He braced himself, but even he couldn’t beat those odds, and he was soon on his knees, the three coppers hanging on for dear life.
The men in the van saw what happened to Rintle and could hear the squeal of brakes as more police cars arrived. They knew they were done.
Micky was luckier. Brian squeezed the bike through the gap between the van and the wall, Micky’s leg scraping painfully against it, and then they were bouncing over the grass verge. They hit the curb hard, Brian made a sharp turn, almost losing his passenger before righting the bike, then opened the throttle and let rip.
Dolly and Bella watched helplessly as the bike screamed past them. Then they turned their attention to the scene of chaos outside the club. Frinton, holding a handkerchief to his bloody nose, was shouting instructions to the second group of officers, whose car was blocking the ‘Out’ gate, to move the Transit. The captured men were lying on their stomachs, with their arms and legs apart as they were searched and handcuffed, along with Rintle, who was still snorting and snarling like a raging bull.
Bella grabbed Dolly’s arm.
‘Get back in the car! We need to follow the bike!’
‘Harry, I can’t see Harry...’ Dolly was desperate, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
Bella grabbed her and shoved her into the car. ‘For Christ’s sake, they’re getting away!’
Hardly knowing what she was doing, Dolly started the car and took off after the bike.
As the patrol car was also turning to follow the bike, the chef ran into the alley, hysterically pleading for an ambulance. Seeing the men being led into the patrol cars, he suddenly made a grab for the handcuffed Kevin White and tried to land a punch, his face distorted with anger. A policeman held him off, but White ducked instinctively, hitting his head on the bonnet of the car.
Frinton approached the kitchens with two plain-clothed officers, picking their way through the discarded shotguns and helmets, the debris of a failed heist. They ran down into the basement. Immediately surrounded by hysterical kitchen staff and the traumatized security guard, it was a few moments before Frinton saw the crumpled figure, lying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. Shoving the people away from around Shirley, Frinton got down on his knees. Even before he touched her, he knew the girl was dead, but he still felt for the pulse at the side of her neck, his hand shaking. At his touch, as if brought back to life, she started to slide sideways and he instinctively reached out to cradle her in his arms. He had seen his fair share of dead bodies, but it never got any easier; there was still that sudden twist inside him. She seemed weightless in his arms, almost childlike. He could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance, but there was nothing anyone could do.
Frinton turned away from the body as two ambulance men ran down the basement steps with a stretcher. As they approached Frinton, he shook his head.
‘She’s dead.’
Bella craned forward in the seat, eyes glued to the road. ‘I can’t see them!’
Dolly couldn’t see the bike either, but she crossed Park Lane, followed the traffic round and drove into the park from Marble Arch. Then she spotted them, already turning through the big curve, moving fast, weaving in and out of the traffic.
Bella grabbed her arm. ‘Come on, Dolly!’
Dolly put her foot down. They were already doing seventy and as the needle flicked upward, they began to overtake the rest of the traffic, almost overshooting the left-hand turn into the park before Lancaster Gate, as an oncoming car shot across in front of them and skidded into the roundabout. Dolly instinctively slowed but Bella practically shoved her foot back to the floor, and they carried on, picking up more speed, Dolly gripping the wheel, her knuckles white, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she tried to keep control of the car — just managing to avoid a head-on collision with a car coming the other way, horns blaring as people stopped and stared.
The bike raced through the park, across the Serpentine, and jumped the lights at Exhibition Road before racing away — with Dolly and Bella close behind. Dolly started slowing for the lights, then changed her mind before Bella could do it for her, narrowly missing a bus coming from their right as they veered after the bike.
‘I can still see it!’ Bella screamed.
Dolly was driving like a mad thing, all sense of danger gone. Eighty-five, ninety, tires screeching as they shot between two parking meters and back on to Exhibition Road.
Hearing the noise behind them, Micky looked back over his shoulder.
‘Turn right — into Cromwell Road!’ he shouted.
The bike had to pull to the left as roadworks forced the traffic into a single line.
‘Do a U-turn!’ Micky bellowed.
Brian maneuvered the bike alongside the curb, shot across the path of an oncoming car, then made a wide U-turn. He saw the coach out of the corner of his eye and opened up the throttle to weave past it, but skidded on the new gravel from the roadworks and, hampered by Micky not leaning into the turn, slid sideways. Brian kicked out with his leg to try and right the bike, Micky leaned over, and the next thing the bike was skidding directly toward the oncoming front wheels of the coach.