Dolly continued, ‘Give me the route, your seven-grand debt goes away and, when the job’s done, you get this ten grand in cash. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity. The Fisher’s won’t be so kind.’ She opened the passenger door and got out, taking the briefcase with her, glancing very obviously at the baby seat as she slammed the door.
Marshall’s mouth trembled as he squeezed the leather steering wheel. Dolly walked away, her stride was even and controlled: she didn’t give a damn about him or his family. He found his hand on the car key in the ignition. It would be easy to knock the bitch down, steal the briefcase and disappear for good. The thought was fleeting — Marshall was a coward.
Taking the brandy flask from his pocket again, he drank it down, thinking of his wife and kids. The tears welled up and the pressure in his head was almost painful. Then he heard that voice inside, the one that spoke every time he took a drink. Everything was all right, his brother-in-law was insured, he was the family drunk, the charity case. No one would expect anything less even if they did find out. And he desperately needed that money! Ten thousand pounds... He could pay off all his debts with it; maybe even start up his own business.
As Dolly got back to her Merc, her heart was beating so fast she thought she was going to faint. God knows how she had walked so calmly across the endless car park, but she couldn’t let Marshall see how worried she was. ‘Stay upright, Dolly,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘Stay upright.’ As she got to her car, she put the suitcase on the roof and leaned her back against the door. From where Marshall was parked, it would look as though she was relaxed, waiting for his decision. In reality, she was leaning against her car to stop herself from falling over. Little Wolf watched Dolly from the passenger seat, probably wondering why she wasn’t getting back in beside him.
On the other side of the car park, Marshall didn’t move. Come on, Dolly thought. Come on. Had she been too threatening? Not threatening enough? What if he called her bluff and drove away? Perhaps it would have been better to cajole Marshall, be nicer to him, lie to him tell him that Harry respected him. Come on, Marshall, come on!
The Rover’s engine started up. Dolly held her breath; the direction Marshall took would decide her future. He pulled out of his parking space and headed for Dolly. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she composed herself. The Rover pulled up neatly beside her and Marshall handed Dolly the envelope he’d brought with him.
‘The routes, dates and times for the next month are all in there, but I want the briefcase with cash up front now and your assurance the gambling marker is over and done with.’
Dolly took the envelope and handed Marshall the case. ‘Be assured, Mr. Marshall, if the details in the envelope are correct and if the police remain unaware of the plans, then the Fishers’ marker will stay with me and you’ll be in the clear. You have my word.’
Once Marshall was out of sight, Dolly climbed into her car and succumbed to a buzzing sense of excitement. She had the plans! She planted a massive kiss on Wolf’s little head. He stood with his feet on her chest and listened as she told him, ‘Daddy would be proud of us, darling. So proud. And the girls will be so excited! It’s all coming together, Wolfie. It’s all coming together, just as Harry planned.’ The words stuck in Dolly’s throat. It was not just as Harry planned at all. Very, very far from how Harry had planned.
She hugged Wolf tight and took a moment to recollect just how Harry’s plans had gone so terribly wrong. She had the strength and the motivation now to finish what he’d started. Then she cleared her mind of all bad thoughts and filled it with thoughts of her girls. They were so close to the finish line... Yes, Linda still had to get the blocking truck and they still had to get used to the guns, and the padded overalls, and the chainsaw, and now they would have to learn the exact route on the day of the big run — but they’d come so far from those weak, crying, grieving widows who had met in the sauna all those months ago. Now, they were a team. Dolly smiled. Regardless of their faults and their moods and their inexperience, they were a team. Her team. And nothing and no one was going to stop them now.
Chapter 25
Resnick and Andrews had been waiting outside Fat Fran’s house in an unmarked car since nine o’clock. It was now 10:15, and although the heater was on it was still cold. The car was full of cigarette smoke, Andrews was red in the face and could hardly breathe; no sooner had he opened the window to let some fresh air in than Resnick barked at him to close it again. Andrews hated working alone with Resnick. At least when Fuller was there, he had some support. Alone, he was open to all kinds of abuse from Resnick if the mood took him. The station was in some chaos after the Mayfair heist and the botched raid on Carlos’s garage and the chase that had led to his death. With so many officers writing up notes, processing evidence and doing door-to-door, someone from Resnick’s team had to stay desk-bound and help with all the extra paperwork. Andrews imagined Fuller sitting with his feet up in a warm, smoke-free office, sipping on a cup of tea.
‘Sir!’ Andrews pointed out of the car window. Fat Fran was heaving her bulk down the road. Every ten yards, she paused to put her shopping down and get her breath back before waddling on again at a snail’s pace. As she got nearer, they could both hear the chinking of the bottles in her carrier bags.
‘Stone the crows,’ Resnick said. Fran’s heaving bosom almost fell out of her blouse as she bent to pull her sagging tights back up into position round her crotch. ‘Close your eyes, Andrews. That’s no sight for an innocent like you.’
Andrews spoke without thinking. ‘I have seen breasts before, sir.’
‘Not like them you haven’t.’ Resnick opened the car door, flicking his cigarette butt into the road before heading after Fat Fran.
They followed her as she turned into the scruffy overgrown path, the already open gate hanging by one rusty hinge. Leaning against the front door, she took out her key.
‘Oi!’ Fran jerked her head round at Resnick’s voice, loud behind her. ‘We need another word with you, Fran.’
The stench in Fat Fran’s flat was overpowering: cats, stale beer, food and body odor. The living room was dusty and dark; the heavy moth-eaten curtains looked as if they hadn’t been opened in years. Resnick helped her off with her coat, while Andrews picked up the bottles of booze from the floor and put them by the door to the adjoining dining area.
‘Sit yourself down, love. How are you feeling?’ said Resnick. He didn’t give a damn how Fran was feeling, but he did want her to co-operate. He folded her coat neatly, placed it on the back of a dining chair, then sat on a pouf in front of the low easy-chair she was now slumped in.
Fran still had bruising over her right eye, although it was now a yellowy-purple color rather than the deep blue and black of a few days ago. Plasters covered the cuts, which made her face look even worse than before, and one side of her head had been shaved at the hospital so they could stitch the wound.
Andrews glanced at his watch. Whenever Resnick did his ‘good cop’ routine, the attending officer always timed it. Whoever witnessed him last more than sixty seconds would win a tenner off the others.
‘Now then, love, isn’t it about time you told us who did this to you so we can lock ’em up and keep you nice and safe?’ Resnick asked gently.
Fran smiled and patted Resnick’s hand. ‘You’re a lovely man,’ she said. Her cold and clammy sausage fingers tickled the back of his hand and he desperately wanted to pull away. ‘I wish I could tell you, my love,’ she went on, ‘but I just can’t remember. I ain’t lying to you. I’ve had a bump to the head. I can’t picture the fella at all. I think I blocked it, you know. Trauma does that, the doctor said so. It blocks things you don’t want to remember.’