Widows

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.