Выбрать главу

‘Mind if I sit here?’

‘Feel free.’

Andrews held a bunch of white grapes in his lap. They were already seeping through the paper bag and he didn’t know quite what to do with them. ‘You got a bowl, guv’nor?’

Resnick was still holding the check Kathleen had given him. ‘Look at this. One thousand, five hundred pounds. Not bad for twenty-five years, eh?’

As Resnick folded the check, Andrews noticed his right hand was stiff and seemed to pain him a lot. There was an embarrassed pause as Andrews desperately thought of what to say, but Resnick came to his rescue.

‘How’s it going, son?’

Andrews shifted his weight in the chair. His hands were now sticky from the grapes. ‘Oh, fine... er... I’m still in uniform. Looks like I’ll be there for quite a while yet.’

Resnick nodded. There was another awkward pause, then both men spoke at once, Andrews starting to say how nice the conservatory was, then stopping to let Resnick continue.

‘I hear Fuller’s gone up a peg or two.’

Andrews nodded. Fuller had been made inspector.

‘Always was a sharp little arse, wasn’t he?’

Andrews nodded again. Fuller was certainly that, as well as being a two-faced bastard, but he had to admit he was very good at his job, and was going to rise to the top, whereas Andrews still wasn’t sure whether he should stay in the police force at all.

Resnick patted him on the arm. ‘Thanks for coming. I appreciate it.’

Andrews smiled. ‘’S’OK, sir.’

Resnick felt a pang. Sir, guv’nor — he was going to miss it, and he didn’t know what the hell else he could possibly do.

‘Any word on Rawlins? Anybody picked him up?’ he asked.

Andrews shook his head. ‘I’m not on that division anymore. No idea what’s going on. There’s a thirty thousand pound reward for any information on the underpass raid, I do know that.’

Resnick nodded. ‘Yeah, so I hear.’

‘And you know Eddie Rawlins’ cousin got five years, along with Bill Grant?’

Andrews wasn’t sure Resnick heard him. He seemed miles away. Andrews could feel the grapes getting stickier and stickier through his fingers as he tried to think of something else to say. Then, to his relief, the bell went. He saw people beginning to shift themselves and got to his own feet.

‘Well, better be off. Matron looks a bit of a dragon.’

Resnick nodded. He lifted his hand, but Andrews didn’t want to cause him any pain by shaking it. Instead he patted Resnick on the shoulder.

‘I’ll come again soon, sir.’

Resnick nodded. ‘I appreciate it, son, I appreciate it. None of those other fuckers have shown their faces.’

Andrews flushed with embarrassment and was already halfway to the doors before he realized he was still holding the grapes. He hesitated for a moment and then just kept going, leaving Resnick sitting like an old man in his wheelchair with a tartan rug tucked round his knees.

Maria opened the door without knocking, walked in and stood holding the white linen suit on a hanger. It looked as if she’d pressed it well, and Rawlins took it from her with a nod of thanks. She gave him a strange look. He knew she didn’t like him, but there was definitely something sexual in it, and Rawlins was sure, even though she was six months’ pregnant, he could have her. She turned and left the room and Rawlins took the suit off the hanger and got dressed.

Jimmy looked up as Harry entered the lounge. Beer cans littered the table and he was holding a fresh one in his hand. He stood up and gestured for Harry to follow him. Jimmy quietly opened the door to an adjacent room and pointed to the double bed. There, lying curled up, fast asleep, was a little boy of about four or five. With his black curly hair and olive skin, he didn’t look much like Jimmy, but Jimmy beamed and whispered, ‘My kid.’

Harry watched Jimmy creep over to the bed and gently touch the child’s head, before bending over and giving him a sloppy, wet kiss from his beer-soaked lips.

He looked up at Harry. ‘Great little feller, isn’t he?’

Harry nodded. It was the way Jimmy looked at him, as if to say, ‘Here’s something that you haven’t got, Harry — a son,’ that made it come out, and Harry heard himself saying, ‘I’ve got a kid.’

Jimmy looked surprised. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry walked out of the room.

‘Oh.’ Jimmy tucked the little boy in, gave him one last adoring look, and followed Harry out.

Again, Harry had the feeling that Maria was watching him from the kitchen through those wretched plastic strips. He checked his face in the small, cracked mirror by the front door.

‘Where’s the bank?’

‘Can’t miss it, Harry — right in the square. You want me to come with you?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’ll find it.’

As he walked down the stairs he could hear Maria starting in again on Jimmy, shouting at him in Portuguese. No wonder the man was always drinking.

After a few minutes walking in the oppressive heat, it was a relief to walk into the bank, with the airy coolness of all the marble. Harry straightened his tie, checked his reflection in one of the cashiers’ windows, and asked for a withdrawal form for one of the private banking accounts. The cashier handed him the sheet without even looking up, and Harry sat down and quickly filled it out, having done it many times before, and brought it back.

The cashier was tapping away at a calculator. He flicked a look in Harry’s direction, muttering, ‘Um momento, um momento, senhor,’ before resuming his work: click, click, click.

Harry slipped the paper underneath the railing in front of the cashier, who snatched it up with a grunt of annoyance and marched off before Rawlins could hand him his identification. He watched as the cashier started talking to a colleague, waving the form about in his hand. He then looked down at the form, glanced back at Harry and murmured something to the clerk. Then they turned their backs to him and murmured some more. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looked at his watch and waited. The clerk then took the form and walked toward him with an embarrassed look on his face.

‘May I inquire if you are a relative of the deceased?’ he asked in perfect English.

Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘I’m sorry?’

The clerk repeated the question and Harry gave an uncertain nod, even though the question made no more sense the second time round.

‘You have requested withdrawals from accounts 441880EJ and 4456880. That is correct?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yes, but what’s all this about being a relative of the deceased?’

Even in the cool of the bank, he could feel himself starting to sweat, the drops trickling down his neck and under his arms.

The clerk seemed to choose his next words very carefully. ‘Mr. Rawlins’ widow, a Mrs. Dorothy Rawlins, provided a Certificate of Probate.’

Rawlins swallowed hard. ‘She’s... she’s been here?’

The clerk nodded. ‘Mrs. Rawlins withdrew all monies from her late husband’s accounts.’

It took every ounce of Harry’s willpower to control himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the sweat in the palms of his hands, as a dapper little man in a black suit emerged from the manager’s office and started walking purposefully toward them. Even from a distance, Harry could feel the man’s eyes boring into him, and he was suddenly conscious of the sweat running down his forehead and soaking through his shirt.

The man in the suit stood beside the clerk and gave Harry a polite nod. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

Harry nodded back, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘I would... very much like to contact her... Mrs. Rawlins. Do you have an address, by any chance?’