Widows

‘I thought Fran was the key? Last week, Boxer Davis was the key. The week before, Len Gulliver was the key.’ Saunders shook his head. He’d heard enough; he wasn’t going to back down. ‘I’m acting on orders that come from higher up, George. Your case is closed.’

‘You’re giving up on me!’ Resnick snapped.

Saunders snapped his pencil in two. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘How dare you? How bloody dare you? You were given the Rawlins case on my recommendation. Not one senior officer bar me thought you were up to it, but I fought your corner and got you the case. The case you’ve wanted to close for your entire career. But all you’ve found, George, are dead ends. No useful leads or evidence. My hands are tied.’

Resnick bowed his head in a mixture of shame and despair; he knew the system well enough to understand where Saunders was coming from, but he still hated it.

‘I know what that bastard Harry Rawlins did to you,’ Saunders continued, ‘but now you’re carrying a personal grievance too far. Give it up George and move on for your—’

Resnick interrupted him. ‘What personal grievance?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

Resnick leaned over the desk and slammed his fist down again. ‘The man’s a bloody villain and—’

‘The man’s dead!’ Saunders shouted, shocking Resnick into silence. ‘Andrews told me what happened with Fran. He told me about the photograph of Harry Rawlins. You were wrong, because she admitted it was Tony Fisher who assaulted her. I hate to say it, George, but you’re becoming obsessed and need to face facts — Rawlins is dead and buried.’

Resnick opened his mouth, but Saunders held up his hand to stop him. ‘If you don’t want to move to the Mayfair robbery, might I suggest you take time off? The Chief Superintendent will approve your leave.’

Resnick stared at Saunders. ‘Sounds as if you know that for sure. You’ve already asked him, haven’t you?’ He held Saunders’s gaze. ‘I expect he’s already approved my transfer if I want that as well, has he?’

‘He approved your transfer months ago, George. I’ve been fighting to keep you here, on the case you want, doing the job I know you were excellent at.’

‘Were?’ This single word from Saunders cut like a knife. ‘Then I expect it’s pointless me asking if the Super’s read my application for promotion?’

Saunders chose to ignore Resnick’s last question. He waffled on about what a good officer George was and how he was sure this time he would get the promotion, perhaps to a quieter station where he could serve out his time. He said he knew that, by rights, George should be sitting where he was.

‘Then why aren’t I?’ Resnick snapped.

‘Because of the bloody Rawlins case, George! This personal—’

‘It’s not personal! He’s just a villain.’

‘A dead villain,’ Saunders said, hammering this home one more time.

‘Dead or not, he’s responsible for dozens of unsolved robberies and I’m this close to solving all of them,’ Resnick repeated. But he’d heard enough. He hated being patronized. He stood up and stabbed his finger at Saunders. ‘You are too right, sonny. I should have been sitting where you are long ago. You, me and everyone in this bloody place knows I’m not because of Harry Rawlins. It was personal, you’re right — how could it not be? But it’s not anymore. Now, it’s about good solid police work. I want his ledgers, I want the fourth man and I want the woman on the phone. Because that’s how we clean up London! And, just so you know, sir, people with their ear to the ground, people in the know, don’t think Rawlins is dead at all.’

Resnick took a deep and rasping breath, taking in oxygen to calm himself down. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his warrant card and threw it down on Saunders’s desk. ‘You can stuff my promotion application and I resign from the Met.’

Saunders sighed and stood up. This wasn’t what he wanted, but Resnick had overstepped the mark and Saunders had had enough of trying to appease him. ‘I think you had better take your resignation up with the Chief Super.’

‘I’m taking it up with you! People in the know... you remember that: Boxer, Green Teeth, me. The Fishers — they’re running scared from someone bigger and nastier than them! You mark my words; you haven’t heard the last of Harry Rawlins. He’s out there somewhere, alive and well... I know it. And it won’t be me he comes back to haunt, it’ll be you!’

Saunders was now convinced that George was losing it. ‘Please, George, just go home and rest. Don’t make any rash decisions here and now.’

‘My resignation will be on your desk first thing in the morning. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? Well, I hope yours and everybody else’s heads bloody well roll when you all see I was right.’ Resnick stormed out of the office.