Micky began sobbing. ‘Bastard, bastard, son of a bitch, bastard.’
But the Jaguar was still in the parking bay. Micky leaned against it and tried to get his breathing under control.
There was still time.
Harry couldn’t wait any longer. If Micky wasn’t here by now, he wasn’t coming. Something must have gone wrong. Time to cut his losses. He checked he had his passport, then picked up his suitcases, and with one look at Micky’s solitary case, he walked out.
Bella had the jewels laid out on the coffee table. She couldn’t stop touching them, and it was getting on Dolly’s nerves. She put in yet another call to Shirley’s, the ringing echoing on and on like a dirge. Where the hell was she? Surely if she’d been picked up, they’d have let her go by now?
Bella held up a diamond necklace. ‘At least we got these.’
Dolly ripped it out of her hand and threw it onto the table. ‘I never wanted those fucking things in the first place!’
If she thought that was going to shut Bella up, it had the opposite effect. One moment she was sitting looking at the diamonds, the next she was screaming at the top of her voice, jabbing a finger at Dolly.
‘If anything’s happened to Shirley, it’s your fault... it’s all your fault!’
Dolly slapped her hard across the face, and Bella instantly collapsed into a sobbing heap, like a puppet with its strings cut. At least Dolly knew now that if they were ever questioned by the police, Bella wouldn’t be able to hold out; she actually had more faith in Shirley.
She suddenly had a thought. ‘That girl, the one you rented your flat to?’
Bella couldn’t understand where Dolly’s mind was going. ‘What girl?’
Dolly walked into the bedroom, explaining it all to her as Bella followed her into the room. ‘You get her passport, then you get on a plane, get out of the country.’
‘Oh yeah? How am I gonna do that? What about my money? What about all your promises, Dolly?’
Dolly opened the case on the bed and began taking out bundles of banknotes. Bella stared at the cash in disbelief.
‘I’ll stick to my part of the bargain. It’s all legitimate cash, Bella. I’m paying you with my own money, you just get out of the country.’
Seeing the money, hearing Dolly’s voice, calm and in control, brought Bella round. She knew Dolly was right. Soon she was stacking the money in a holdall. All she wanted now was to be gone.
Frinton was still buzzing, despite his exhaustion. The statements at the club had taken up most of the afternoon, and now he was questioning each man in turn. He’d got little joy out of Colin Soal, Harvey Rintle or Johnny Summers — all old lags, all prepared to keep shtum. But with Kevin White he had an added lever: the girl, the dead girl, Shirley Miller.
Kevin White had asked for aspirins for his head; he’d almost knocked himself out when that crazy chef had gone for him. He was out of cigarettes and hadn’t been given the phone call he knew he had a right to. He was beginning to get bolshie, giving the officer on duty an earful. The officer stood impassively at the door, without looking at him, letting the stream of abuse flow over him.
‘And what about these bleedin’ handcuffs?’ White said finally, holding up his hands, showing the red weals round his wrists.
The officer looked through the small observation window. Standing outside were Detective Inspector Frinton and a CID officer.
Frinton gave the officer a wink and gestured for him to move away from the door. Then he walked into the interview room and before White could open his mouth, he was leaning over him, eyes glinting. White shrank back in the chair.
‘I’m going to say one fucking word to you, Kevin: murder.’
Frinton was so close, White could smell the cigarettes on his breath.
‘What do you—’
‘The girl’s dead, Kevin, an’ I got a witness who says you shot her. You’re goin’ down this time, and you’re never coming up again.’
Kevin started to panic. ‘I never shot anyone. It wasn’t me, honest!’
That was all Frinton needed. ‘So who was it, Kevin?’
Harry entered the underground garage and walked smartly over to the Jaguar. He opened up the boot, put his cases inside and slammed the lid down. Then he saw the blood. He stepped back from the car. The trail of blood led to the driver’s side door.
Micky Tesco, his face swollen and bloody, stared back at Harry. He held the revolver in his right hand, and it was shaking as he pointed it at Harry. His eyes were mad, staring, and when he spoke, his lips were so swollen that his voice was distorted.
‘Get in the car, Harry.’
Harry wavered. Then he saw Micky lean forward, the gun shaking. He put up his hands in a gesture of compliance, opened the passenger door and sat down.
‘Son of a bitch, you set me up.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘She’s got the jewels.’
Harry saw the arm hanging limply at Tesco’s side. He inched his hands along the seat.
‘Don’t move!’
Harry lifted his hands away from the seat and held them in the air. ‘What happened?’
Micky didn’t seem able to focus. The gun wavered and he closed his eyes for a moment.
‘You need a doctor. Your face... What you done to your arm?’
Micky started crying like a little boy. ‘My arm...’
Harry waited, his hands at the ready.
‘I trusted you... You were with her.’
Harry had difficulty making out what Micky was saying. Micky coughed, the hand holding the gun dropped onto the seat, and Harry quickly grabbed hold of Micky’s wrist.
Micky started wailing, a high-pitched screech. ‘I’m gonna kill you!’
Harry put his left hand over Micky’s mouth to shut him up, and Micky sank his teeth into the flesh between Harry’s thumb and first finger. Harry felt a searing flash of pain. He tried to rip his hand away, but Micky just sank his teeth in deeper. And now he was pulling his gun hand away...
The first shot cracked open the windscreen — then there was another, a dull, thudding boom inside the car. Harry’s body twisted and slumped against the seat.
Fuller was driving home from a squash match. He’d lost, but that was the least of his worries. Maureen had packed up and gone. In her note, she said that when he had the time to talk to her — really talk — she would see him.
Fuller hadn’t had the time. Well, maybe he had; it was just that he couldn’t bring himself to drive round to his mother-in-law’s for a scene. It would be too painful.
The newsflash on the radio interrupted his thoughts, making him almost drive into the back of an ice cream van.
Reynolds was waiting for him when he arrived at the office, still in his tracksuit. Reynolds had got a few details — as much as he could get from Kensington — but the gist of it seemed to be that DI Frinton had made the coup of all time, and his nick was bursting at the seams. Fuller slumped in his chair, head in hands.
‘Tip-off came from a woman — said that Harry Rawlins was on the raid. She had all the details — was right about most things. Except one.’