Kathleen pushed him toward the kitchen. ‘Go and occupy yourself, George. Keep an eye on the dinner for me. Go on. Scoot.’
Kathleen finished her phone call five minutes later and returned to the kitchen, where George was picking out bits of bacon with a fork from the liver and gravy and eating them. Kathleen smacked the back of his hand and pursed her lips.
‘Stop picking. And don’t lie to my friends just because you’re waiting on an imaginary phone call.’ As she stirred the dinner, she could see that her words had upset him, but she believed in telling the truth. ‘You’ve retired, George. Go and play golf or paint the hallway like you said you were going to.’
Resnick’s face looked like an abandoned bloodhound.
‘Oh, you are stubborn!’ Kathleen continued. ‘Call them if you want to.’
‘It’s my case. They’ll call me.’
‘It’s not your case, George. Not anymore.’ Kathleen drained the potatoes and got the masher from the drawer. Resnick snatched it from her and started to take his frustration out on the pan of potatoes, smashing them into oblivion. Kathleen watched him. She’d never liked her husband being a policeman. He wasn’t the sort who could leave his work at the station; he brought it home with him, all knotted up in his stomach, and he was awful to live with at times. But, she thought, George out of the police force was far worse than George in the police force. She hated seeing him so angry but she couldn’t be bothered to placate him anymore.
As Resnick continued to massacre the potatoes, he shouted at Kathleen. ‘I told them! I told them these robberies were all connected. All masterminded by the same bloke. Bloody Rawlins! I warned them not to underestimate him. You can never underestimate Harry Rawlins.’
‘Harry Rawlins! Harry Rawlins!’ Kathleen screamed back at him. ‘That’s all I’ve heard for years. Anything and everything that went wrong in your career was always the fault of bloody Harry Rawlins! It couldn’t possibly be your fault could it, George?! No! It’s the fault of a dead man.’
Resnick threw the masher into the sink, spraying flecks of potato across the kitchen tiles. He stormed into the hallway to get his hat and coat.
‘You have to let go, George!’ Kathleen shouted after him. ‘I’m not going to stick around to see you in an early grave, do you hear me? I won’t do that.’
‘Don’t then!’ Resnick shouted back as he slammed the front door behind him.
He got into his old battered Granada and made his way to the Rawlins’ house. He didn’t know why he was going there; the car just seemed to drive itself. Deep down, he knew that no one from his office would call. Why should they? He was a has-been; his opinion had meant nothing for years now. He hoped that all hell was breaking loose at the Yard and that Saunders would get a size-ten boot right up his arse. He smiled at the thought of Saunders being brought down a peg or two.
It suddenly crossed his mind that maybe Saunders and the others had wanted him out so they could take over the case and reap the glory when they found and arrested Harry Rawlins. The more Resnick thought about it, the more he convinced himself he was right. They’d deliberately blocked him along the way because they wanted him out! Well, now he’d show ’em the old two-fingered salute. He’d bloody well sort it out himself! ‘There’s life in this old dog yet,’ Resnick muttered to himself. ‘I’m the one who’s going to arrest Harry Rawlins. Harry Rawlins is mine.’
Chapter 34
Eddie adjusted the wing mirror of Jimmy Nunn’s car. Bill Grant was slouched in the passenger seat beside him, snoring. Eddie was watching a car pull in and park about fifty yards behind them. The driver got out, lit a cigarette and walked slowly toward them on the opposite side of the street. His pace was too slow to be heading anywhere in a hurry and Eddie was worried. He nudged Bill awake.
‘Some bloke behind us is clockin’ Harry’s place. I can’t make his face out yet.’
‘Keep looking straight ahead,’ Bill ordered. ‘Shift your wing mirror so I can see him under the next streetlight. Hurry up.’ Eddie did as he was instructed. ‘Shit!’ Bill whispered as the man’s face was temporarily lit up under the streetlight. ‘It’s bloody Resnick! He put me away for that last stretch. And he’s always had a wasp up his arse about catching Harry.’
‘Shall I drive off?’ Eddie asked.
‘No. Duck your nut so he can’t see your face.’
Resnick had spotted the hand adjusting the wing mirror, but he didn’t recognize the car. As he walked past, he paused and looked at the sole of his shoe, as if he’d just trodden in dog shit. Resnick only got a side view of the passenger’s face and, although he thought it rang a bell, he couldn’t place him at all. But the driver had glanced his way for a split second and he felt sure it was Eddie Rawlins. Resnick made a mental note of the number plate before continuing along the street and past the Rawlins house. The light in the front bedroom was on, but the rest of the house was in darkness.
After looping round the block, Resnick came back to the street where Eddie and Bill were parked, got into his own car and drove away. He pulled up round the corner and wrote down the car’s number plate. ‘What you up to, Eddie?’ Resnick whispered to himself. ‘And who you working for? Anyone we know?’ He put a cigarette between his grinning teeth and lit up.
‘We should scarper, in case he comes back with more coppers.’ Eddie whimpered as Resnick drove off.
‘What’s he gonna do? Arrest us for sitting in a car? I’ll go and see Harry. He’ll tell us what to do.’ Bill got out of the car and stretched his back out, cracking the bones. ‘Stay awake till I get back.’
‘Get a cab, otherwise you’ll be ages.’
‘Walking for miles in a straight line is a luxury I ain’t had for years, mate. Don’t worry. I’ll borrow Trudie’s car to come back.’
Eddie didn’t feel safe being left alone, but he guessed he felt safer than being with the man who’d crushed Boxer Davis to death without batting an eyelid.
After visiting the travel agent, Dolly had picked up some food before heading home just after dark. She was so exhausted she hadn’t noticed Eddie sitting in Jimmy Nunn’s car outside her house. And when Resnick arrived, she’d been in the back garden with Shirley.
The two women had looked at the small mound of freshly dug earth, topped with a bamboo cross and a flower. ‘I didn’t know if he liked flowers...’ Shirley said, not really knowing what to say.
‘He liked pissing on ’em,’ Dolly said. Shirley saw a small smile creep across her face. ‘Especially next door’s roses.’
‘Shall I go and nick one for him, then?’ Shirley asked.
Dolly looked at Shirley. She did say some stupid things, but Dolly loved her for that. ‘No, darlin’. That one’s just fine. Thank you for looking after him for me. I could never have buried him.’
‘That’s OK.’ After a moment, Shirley asked, ‘I couldn’t have a bath, could I? I’m a bit smelly and dirty after all that diggin’.’
By 9 p.m., they were both exhausted. After her bath, Shirley changed into a nightdress and dressing gown Dolly had loaned her. She looked out of the Dolly’s bedroom window through a small crack in the curtains, checking the street.
Dolly came out of her en suite bathroom and crossed to the bed. ‘Everywhere locked up?’
Shirley nodded. ‘I’ve bolted every door and window. And made your milk.’ She pointed to the bedside cabinet. Dolly picked up the glass, got a sleeping pill from the bottle in the top drawer and swallowed it.
‘Want one?’ she asked. ‘It’ll help you sleep with that bad ankle.’