Widows

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.