Resnick waddled over to a whiteboard with a sheet over it and jerked his head. Like a bunch of schoolboys, they hurriedly clustered around him.
‘We solve one, we solve them all.’ Resnick announced as he pulled the sheet away like a magician, revealing a detailed drawing and crime scene photographs of the failed robbery in the Strand underpass. With a red felt-tipped pen Resnick ringed a picture of a bread truck. ‘A truck like this was seen by a witness in front of the security wagon.’ Next he ringed the raiders’ Ford Escort van. ‘This is the van that exploded, killing the three men inside.’ Jabbing the circled bread truck with his finger, he hammered his theory home. ‘In every single one of these robberies—’ Resnick pointed to the scattered files on his desk — ‘they use that same formation: four men. The solo driver up front — that’s the man we want. He’s our link to everything else.’
Feeling Fuller’s watchful eye on him, Resnick had a sudden desire to belt him one, but controlled his urge and stepped aside to leave the other officers absorbing the crime scene photographs. Helping himself to the remains of Andrews’s coffee, he watched Fuller making copious notes in his CID issue notebook, failing to notice the coffee dribbling down his own shirt front.
‘Why haven’t we found that driver, Fuller? Or the bread truck? It can’t be difficult to trace a vehicle that size that delivers in the West End,’ Resnick said. He was enjoying watching Fuller’s mouth twitch with anger.
Fuller knew Resnick was trying to rile him. He struggled to hide his resentment. ‘The lads have been searching night and day,’ he said. ‘The fact is, we only got a sketchy description of the truck from one witness. It might not even have been a bread truck — could have been any large white delivery vehicle. And, more to the point, it might have had nothing to do with the robbery.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I said about MO? And if you’d bother to read all the statements from the failed raid, you’d see a witness who was driving in the other lane thought the large white vehicle in front of the security van suddenly stopped. Now, why do you think that might be, Fuller?’
‘Well, maybe the car in front of the supposed bread truck stopped suddenly and in turn...’
Resnick cut him off. ‘The bread truck driver’s our link, our only link — the one that got away! Mark my words, Fuller, that driver is part of the whole thing. He deliberately stopped suddenly to block the security van.’
Fuller wasn’t going to get into an argument. ‘If you say so... sir.’
Resnick detected the beat before Fuller said ‘sir.’ He let it ride but frowned. ‘My gut feeling says so, Fuller. The driver of that bread truck will know everything and everyone involved, even the back-up team. Harry Rawlins was rumored to keep details of all his crimes and associates in ledgers. If it’s true, then whoever drove that truck away has to know about them and maybe even where they are. We find those ledgers and we’ll clear up God knows how many robberies, and make a shedload of arrests. I want every man that ever came into contact with that bastard Rawlins questioned, along with anyone who comes within pissin’ distance of his wife. I want round-the-clock surveillance on Rawlins’s widow. Get it organized pronto, Fuller.’
‘What about the other two widows?’ Fuller asked.
Resnick caught the twitch at the right side of Fuller’s mouth, but chose to ignore it. ‘They’re not worth following for more than a couple of days. I can’t see them knowing anything of any use.’
‘And the Rawlins antique shop?’
‘Bollocks to it! That place is a cover, a front for funding the robberies and laundering the proceeds. The business ledgers from that place will be squeaky clean. It’s his criminal ledgers I want!’
Resnick strode to his office door and farted loudly as he left, imagining that stiff prick Fuller’s face twitching. Bellowing with laughter, Resnick stomped off down the corridor as they all rushed out of his office after him, holding their breath.
Back in the main CID office, Fuller grabbed hold of Andrews. ‘You know Rawlins never spent a single day in the nick or got charged with anything while he was alive? All we know for sure is that he was running a legit business. If he was the man behind all those armed robberies, where’s the dough? We searched Rawlins’s house, we got his and his widow’s personal bank details and there’s nothin’ — not one thing that puts him in the frame.’
Andrews nodded. ‘Maybe Resnick’s wrong about the bread truck driver. We’ve made loads of inquiries at bakeries, shops and supermarkets, so it seems strange that we haven’t traced the van or its driver.’
‘’Course he’s bloody wrong!’ Fuller exploded. ‘But we have to prove it to him — so get Hawkes to carry on with that and you get yourself and Richmond settled outside the Rawlins home. See what the widow’s up to.’
Chapter 4
From behind the lace curtains of the master bedroom, Dolly checked herself in the dressing table mirror one last time. Her immaculate appearance hid a variety of emotions, all of which she had brought under control in order to do what she needed. The police in the unmarked car in the street outside couldn’t see her anywhere near as well as she could see them, but right now, she needed to lose them and get to Sloane Street. Harry’s safety deposit box was waiting for her. She resented their constant intrusion, their self-righteous assumption that she’d slip up in her ‘weakened state’ and lead them to something that could ruin Harry’s name and reputation. In fact, their presence ensured the exact opposite: although Dolly was dying inside, Harry’s instructions had galvanized her. By following them, she was keeping him alive.
Dolly set off confidently on one of her regular journeys to Myra’s hair salon on St. John’s Wood Road. A glance in her mirror en route confirmed she was being followed by the unmarked car from outside her house. When she parked her Mercedes near the salon and walked down the road, she recognized Detective Constable Andrews, stuck in the middle of two women arguing as to who had seen a free meter first.
Myra’s was a boutique place frequented by a very regular, well-to-do clientele. The atmosphere was ‘home from home’ and Dolly loved being pampered here on her twice-weekly visit. The decor was plain and elegant, and the mirrored walls allowed for easy socializing without turning your head. Myra herself was a very astute businesswoman underneath her rather brassy appearance, and Dolly was happy to pay over the odds for her service. Myra knew that cups of tea and coffee, biscuits and the odd glass of wine turned a cut and blowout into an afternoon out — she earned loyalty from her clients and, in return, they earned loyalty from her.
Today, when Myra greeted Dolly at the door as she always did, Dolly got straight to the point.
‘Can you do me a favor?’ She handed little Wolf over. ‘Take care of him for me for an hour.’
‘What about your tint, Mrs. Rawlins?’ Myra asked.
Dolly smiled and kissed Wolf on the head. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pay you.’ And with that, she took a headscarf from her handbag and slipped out the back door.
At the end of the alleyway, Dolly hailed a cab on the main street. DC Andrews was still trying to find a parking space with a clear view of Myra’s salon.
The corridor that led to the safety deposit boxes seemed to go on forever and every pair of eyes seemed to be on Dolly. Unnerved and strangely excited, she found herself almost swaggering along the marble floor, eyes fixed on the sharp-suited young man waiting for her at the other end. She needed to convince him — and herself — that she belonged to this world of locked-away secrets. That’s all anyone ever really put into safety deposit boxes: secrets.