A short distance from the main crowd, Detective Sergeant Fuller leaned against a tombstone, making a mental note of everyone there. My God, he thought, it’s like looking at the mug shots down the Yard. All the villains were there — the old timers and the new blood. A diligent young officer out to impress the powers that be, Fuller was pissed off to have been sent on what he considered a fool’s errand. His boss, Detective Inspector George Resnick, had been obsessed with catching Harry Rawlins for longer than Fuller had been alive. ‘There’ll be something, Fuller,’ Resnick had barked to Fuller and Detective Constable Andrews that morning. ‘Every criminal in London will be in that graveyard today, either to pay their respects or to make certain Rawlins doesn’t come back from the dead. So, there’ll be something. And I want to know what.’
DI Resnick had always believed that Harry Rawlins was the ringleader behind three armed robberies on security vans. His attempts to prove it became an overwhelming obsession — and had been a constant irritation to Rawlins. Eventually Rawlins took action. Resnick was photographed accepting an envelope from a known criminal and, when the story was leaked to the News of the World, he had found himself under investigation for corruption. It took him months to prove his innocence, and by the time Resnick returned to work, the stigma had ruined any hopes of promotion. The irreparable damage to his career fueled Resnick’s festering hatred for Rawlins and he swore that one day, no matter how many years it took, he would see Harry Rawlins behind bars. Death had beaten Resnick to it, but it was an obsession that seemingly extended beyond the grave.
Fuller didn’t care about Resnick because he didn’t believe for a second that Resnick cared about him — he had put nothing and no one above catching Harry bloody Rawlins. However, they both cared what the Fisher brothers were up to and who they were talking to, so Fuller watched them like a hawk. Fuller was ambitious to climb the ranks, and the Fishers had been on every copper’s most wanted list ever since he was a uniformed recruit. They’d be the catch of the century, now Rawlins was dead!
After the mourners dispersed, Fuller threaded his way between the gravestones toward the exit. He was about to get into the waiting police car when he noticed the mud on his £40 shoes and, irritated, wiped them on the grass verge. DC Andrews grinned at him from the driver’s seat. Fuller was not amused, particularly as he also had mud on the hem of his best trousers.
Fuller opened the car door and sat down heavily inside. He took a clean, white, perfectly ironed and folded handkerchief and spat on it before wiping the mud from his right trouser leg.
‘See anything interesting?’ Andrews was making conversation. He’d watched Fuller looking bored shitless for the past hour.
‘That prick Resnick can ruin his own career if he wants to, but he’s not ruining mine.’ Fuller snapped back.
‘I remember reading about him in the News of the World.’ Andrews was on top of all the gossip. He thought it impressed the female officers at the station. ‘Suspended from duty for taking bribes. The crooked cop who took a pay-off.’
‘Am I supposed to care?’ Fuller snarled. He slammed the car door shut and jerked his head for Andrews to drive.
‘He got two Commissioners’ Commendations for bravery before he was even a sergeant,’ said Andrews as he put the car in gear. ‘He was a good officer.’
‘Well, he’s not now!’ Everyone knew that Resnick’s chances of promotion were scuppered — he’d kept his rank as DI by the skin of his teeth but, every time his name was mentioned for promotion, someone dragged up the dirt and he was passed over. It was only recently that DCI Saunders had persuaded the CID Commander to let Resnick have an operational posting again, and he had been reluctantly given a small cold crime investigation team to run.
‘Every copper associated with that chain-smoking dinosaur is seen as just as big a joke as he is. I’m not taking that lying down, Andrews, I can tell you that much.’
Fuller flipped open his ever-present notebook and stared down at the list of names he had taken at the funeral. ‘Now, he’s a fool chasing ghosts. Our attentions should be on the living.’ As the car moved off, Fuller turned and stared at the throng of people waiting in the car park, looking for Arnie Fisher, but he had already left. Fuller frowned and tapped his book.
‘Let’s take a look at Rawlins’s do, see who’s at the wake to pay their last respects to that bastard.’
Chapter 2
Dolly sat in the plush velvet chair watching Boxer carefully pour her a brandy. He was drinking orange juice, trying to make a good impression no doubt. Why on earth had she let the big stupid idiot in? Why him, of all people? But she found his presence strangely comforting; in his own funny way he seemed genuinely moved by Harry’s death. She slipped her hand down to touch Wolf, sitting as always close to her side. The tiny dog looked up and licked the tips of her fingers. She felt lonely, terribly, terribly lonely.
Boxer was a waste of space, but he’d thought a lot of Harry and considered him to be a friend. Harry wasn’t Boxer’s friend of course; Harry had simply chosen to look after Boxer and give him the odd handout, not because he liked him, but because he could manipulate him. Boxer followed Harry like Wolf followed Dolly; the difference was that Wolf was smart enough to realize he was truly loved back.
They drank in silence. Boxer, who was still standing, seemed ill at ease, as if unsure whether he should move his bulky body into one of the chairs. Dolly nodded and he sat down, holding his now empty glass on his knee. Dolly was tired, her head ached, she wanted him to go, but he just sat there. Eventually he coughed and touched his collar.
‘They want Harry’s ledgers,’ he blurted out.
‘They?’ Dolly hid her frown as she looked at him. She was giving nothing away.
Boxer got up again and paced the room nervously. ‘I’m working for the Fisher brothers now, Dolly... they... they want Harry’s ledgers.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.
‘They’ll pay good money for them.’ Boxer’s voice trembled slightly. He was trying to sound serious, but not demanding.
Dolly’s apparent lack of interest was making Boxer anxious. She knew him well enough to know that making him anxious also made him careless. He’d tell her everything without even realizing.
‘Harry’s ledgers,’ Boxer continued. ‘He was famous for them. He named names, Dolly, you know he did. Every lag he ever came across and maybe some he hadn’t yet, but knew he would. If the filth gets hold of them ledgers, there won’t be a decent villain walking the streets of London.’
‘I told you, I don’t know—.’
Quick as lightening, Boxer was beside her, bending down, his big moon face close to hers as he pointed at her with his index finger. Dolly didn’t flinch. He wasn’t angry — he was frightened.
‘Yes, you do! You do know! So, where are his ledgers, Doll?’
In a flash of uncontrollable anger, Dolly sprang to her feet. Boxer backed away. ‘Don’t you call me that, you hear me? Only Harry ever calls me that! I don’t know nothing about no ledgers! And what’s it got to do with the Fisher brothers anyway?’
Boxer gripped her upper arms as he desperately tried again. ‘The brothers have taken over his patch. They sent me and if I go back empty-handed it’ll be Tony visitin’ you next, so do yourself a favor and tell me where they are!’
Dolly stepped back, face twisting with rage as she clenched her fists, nails cutting into her palms. ‘I only just buried him, for Christ’s sake!’ For a split second, Dolly’s grief surfaced at the thought of Harry being replaced so quickly by lowlifes like the Fishers.