She's Out Page 3

  ‘Gregg’s doin’ a stint on one of the oil rigs,’ Audrey shouted. ‘He’s trying to go on the straight an’ narrow, there’s a postcard from him on the mantel.’

  Mike picked up the card of two kittens in a basket and turned it over. His brother’s childish scrawl said he was having a great time and earning a fortune, saving up for a motorbike. The postmark was dated more than eight months ago. He replaced the card and stared at himself in the mirror. It was then that he saw her. The thick silver frame, placed in the centre of the sideboard, a small posy of flowers in a tiny vase in front of it. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. It was one of the pictures taken when she was trying to be a model, very glamorous. Shirley smiled into his heart.

  ‘It’s her birthday tomorrow,’ said Audrey, ‘and you’ve not seen her grave.’

  ‘I’m on duty tomorrow, Mum.’

  She held on to his hand. ‘We can go now.’

  Audrey hung on to his arm. It was dusk, the graveyard empty. Shirley was buried alongside her husband Terry Miller. The white stone was plain and simple, the ornate flowers in a green vase were still fresh. ‘Tomorrow she’ll have a bouquet. They do it up for me on the flower stall, never charge me neither.’ Her voice was soft and she no longer held his arm, staring at the headstone. ‘She came to me two days after it happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  She remained focused on her daughter’s name. ‘That bitch – that bitch Dolly Rawlins came to see me and I’ve never forgiven myself for letting her take me in her arms.’

  ‘We should go, Mum.’

  She turned on him, hands clenched at her sides. ‘She was behind that robbery, she organized the whole thing. They never got the diamonds …’

  Mike stepped forward, not wanting to hear any more, but there was no stopping her. ‘No, you listen. That bitch held me in her arms and I let her, let her use me just like she used my Shirley. She had them, she had the bloody things.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The diamonds! She had them – got me to – she got me to give ’em to a fence, said she would see I was looked after, see I’d never want for anythin’.’

  Mike’s heart began to thud, unable to comprehend what he was hearing, as Audrey’s voice became twisted with bitterness. ‘I did it, I bloody did it. She got me so I couldn’t say nothin’, couldn’t do anything, and then … she fuckin’ shot her husband.’

  Mike took her to a pub, gave her a brandy, watched as she chain-smoked one cigarette after another. ‘No mention of the diamonds at her trial – they never got anythin’ on her for that robbery, they never had any evidence that put her in the frame. She got done for manslaughter.’

  Mike was sweating. ‘You ever tell anybody what you did?’

  ‘What you think?’ she snapped back at him. ‘She got me involved, didn’t she? I could have been done for fencin’ them, helpin’ her. No, I never told anybody.’

  ‘Did you get paid?’

  She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘No. Payday is when the bitch comes out. Bitch thinks she’s gonna walk out to a fortune.’

  Mike gripped Audrey’s hand. ‘Listen to me! Look at me! You know what I am. You know what it means for you to tell me all this?’

  Audrey lit another cigarette. ‘What you gonna do, Mike, arrest your own mother?’

  He ran his fingers through his hair; he could feel the sweat trickling down from his armpits. ‘You got to promise me you will never, never tell a soul about those diamonds. You got to swear on my kids’ lives. You don’t touch them – don’t even think about them.’

  ‘She’ll be out one day. Then what?’

  Mike licked his lips.

  ‘She as good as killed Shirley, I had to identify her, they pulled the sheet down from her face.’

  ‘Stop it! Look, I promise you I’ll take care of you. You don’t need any dough – but I’m asking you, Mum, don’t screw it up for me, please.’

  She stared at him, then leaned forward and touched his blond hair, same texture, same colour as Shirley’s. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, love. If you make that bitch pay for what she done to my baby, you get her locked up—’

  ‘Mum, she is away, she’s in the nick right now.’

  Audrey prodded his hand with her finger. ‘But one day she’ll be out, and I keep a calendar. She’ll be out, rich and free. I don’t care about the money, all I want is … ’

  Audrey never said the word revenge but it was blatantly obvious, and Mike made a promise. It sounded hollow to him but he had no option. He promised that when Dolly Rawlins came out of Holloway, he would get her back for her part in the diamond robbery. Five years later, the promise was to haunt him, because his mother never forgot it. She called him and asked him to come round. As if unconcerned, she suddenly suggested he look in the left-hand drawer of the side table. Audrey was tut-tutting over some character’s downfall on the TV. Every single newspaper article about the diamond robbery was stacked in the drawer. Calendars, one year, two years, three years, scrawled in thick red-tipped pen. He eased aside the news-clippings and there was an old black and white photograph, taken at some West End nightclub. He had never seen Dolly Rawlins, wouldn’t know her if he was to come face to face with her in the street, but he knew which one she was: she had to be the blonde, hard-faced woman sitting at the centre of the large round table. She had a champagne glass in her hand, a half-smile on her face, but there was something about her eyes: unsmiling, hard, cold eyes … The handsome man seated next to her had almost an angry expression, as if annoyed by the intrusion of the photographer. Mike recognized his brother-in-law, dead before Shirley. Terry Miller always looked like he never had a care in the world: his wide smile was relaxed and he exuded an open sexuality, unafraid of any photo, one arm resting along the cushioned booth seat as if protecting or guarding his pretty, innocent, child-like wife. Shirley Miller.

  The TV was turned off and Audrey turned to Mike. ‘You read them, have you?’ She pointed to the black and white picture of Dorothy Rawlins. She was crying, clutching a sodden tissue in her hand. ‘You never seen her, have you, love?’

  The big headlines screamed out her name and beneath her picture was a smaller one of her husband: ‘Gangland Boss Murdered by his Wife’. Harry Rawlins had been a notorious criminal: a handsome, elegant, cruel-faced man, yet his picture made him look like a movie star. In comparison, the hard gaze of his wife made them appear an incompatible couple but they had been married twenty years. Harry Rawlins was one of the biggest gangsters in London, a man who had never been caught, never spent a day behind bars, and yet had been questioned by the police so many times his name was known by most of the Met officers. He had always been too clever to get arrested. He had lived a charmed life until his wife shot him. The newspaper article stated that Dorothy Rawlins had killed her husband when she had discovered his betrayal, that he had a mistress and a child. There was no mention that he had instigated a robbery where Shirley Miller’s husband had been burned to death, and the news coverage only talked about the shooting. They had nicknamed Dolly the ‘Black Widow’ because throughout her trial she had always been dressed in black.

  Audrey prodded Dolly’s face in the paper. ‘Eight years. Eight years. Well, she’s out, any day now,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

  What Audrey had never told Mike about that last visit from Dolly was that she had been pregnant and had lost the baby she was expecting. She blamed that on Dolly Rawlins as well, and she could see her, as clearly as if it were yesterday. Audrey even remembered the coat – stylish. Funny, she could recall the coat but little of what was said apart from the promise. Dolly had not sat down but stood in the small hallway, her head slightly bowed, her voice a low whisper. ‘I’m sorry about Shirley. I am deeply sorry for Shirley.’

  Audrey had been unable to reply, she was in such a state.

  ‘Nothing will make up to you for her loss, I know that.’

  Still Audrey had been unable to reply. Then Dolly had lifted her h
ead, her pale washed-out eyes brimming with tears. ‘You’ll get a cut of the diamonds, that I promise you. Just hand them over to Jimmy Donaldson. Jimmy’ll keep them safe. When this is all over, I’ll see you’re taken care of, Audrey.’

  Then it went blank. Audrey couldn’t recall anything else they had said or not said but Dolly had eventually walked out. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly. Mike looked over the cuttings and she wondered if she should tell him but she was scared. Everything had changed after she had read in the paper that a small-time fence called Jimmy Donaldson had been arrested for dealing in stolen property. Audrey had then done something she would have believed herself incapable of. She had done it all by herself and, having done it, she had been terrified. But the weeks passed and gradually she grew more and more confident that what she had done was right. She deserved it. But now she was scared, really scared, because Dolly Rawlins was coming out and she didn’t know if she should tell Mike or not. But she knew one thing: Dolly would come out looking for her, she was sure of that.

  Mike was feeling depressed and uneasy. It was back again, that constant undercurrent of guilt whenever he was with his mother. He had made that promise, but what could he do? He held on to his temper. ‘Mum, there is nothing I can do—’

  ‘You’re a ruddy police officer, aren’t you? Re-arrest her. She did that robbery, Mike – I know it, you know it. She as good as killed our Shirley, never mind her bloody husband.’

  The tears started again. He was due at his station in half an hour; he wished he’d never called in. ‘Look, Mum, the main problem will be if it implicates you – and it could.’

  Audrey clung to him. ‘I’ve got an offer. Friend’s got a villa in Spain, I can stay as long as I like. That way I can’t be involved.’

  ‘Look, I’ll see what I can do but I can’t promise anything.’

  Audrey kissed him. ‘Let her sleep in peace, let my little girl sleep in peace.’

  Mike sighed and turned on the ignition of the car but the last thing he felt like doing was going into the station. He checked his watch again and then drove to Thornton Avenue in Chiswick. He knew that he was making a mistake, that this was a stupid move, but he needed to get his head straightened out. He parked the car and walked up the scruffy path. He was about to ring the front doorbell when he heard someone calling his name.

  Angela was running up the road, waving. Her face was brimming with a big wide smile. ‘Mike, Mike …’

  Mike turned as she threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly as she kissed his neck.

  ‘I knew you’d come and see me again, I just knew it.’

  He walked hand in hand with her to his car, already wanting to kick himself for coming to her place.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, hanging on to his arm.

  Mike released his hand. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have come, Angela. It was just … I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, please stay, please. Me mum’s down at the centre, there’s no one in the house, and, please, I got something to tell you, please …’

  Mike locked the car and followed Angela into her mother’s ground-floor flat. It was dark and scruffy and kids’ pushchairs and toys littered every inch of the floor. Angela guided him towards the small back bedroom, and all the time he kept on saying to himself that he was dumb, he was stupid to start this up again. Angela began to undress as soon as she shut the door but he shook his head. ‘No, I can’t stay, Angela, I’m on duty in an hour. I just …’

  She slumped on to the bed. ‘I been waitin’ for you to call for weeks. You know the way I feel about you. Why did you come here, then?’

  He shook his head. He was feeling even worse. ‘I dunno, I was over at my mum’s place and she starts doing my head in over my sister, and I just …’ She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his face. ‘No, don’t, Angela, I shouldn’t have come.’

  She broke away. ‘Well, get out, I don’t care, I’m goin’ away anyway.’

  ‘Where you goin’?’

  ‘Friend’s place, just a few days, bit of work.’

  Mike looked at her, shaking his head. ‘What kind of work?’

  Angela plucked at her short skirt, her face puckered.

  ‘You’re not going back on the game, are you?’

  ‘No, I am not,’ she shrieked.

  Mike sat on the bed and rested his head against the wall. He closed his eyes.

  ‘I was never on the game and you know it. You of all people should know it. I just worked as her maid, Mike, I swear I did.’

  ‘This Ester Freeman, is it?’ he asked.

  Angela crawled on to the bed to sit next to him. Mike had been on the Vice Squad when Ester Freeman had been busted for running a brothel. Angela was one of the girls who had been arrested along with twelve other women but they had all, including Ester, insisted that little Angela was not on the game, just serving drinks. Mike and Angela, who was then only fifteen, had begun an affair, a stupid, on-off scene that he constantly tried to break. He never saw her regularly, once a month, sometimes twice, over the years, but he was very fond of her. He even gave her money sometimes but he had no intention of ever leaving his wife. She had been a useful relaxation and he didn’t really believe she was in love. If it hadn’t been for Mike, she might have been sent to an approved school, and whatever excuses he made regarding his friendship with Angela were just excuses. The sex was good and he simply refused to admit that that was what he used Angela for.

  ‘Ester called yesterday. I’m to go to her old manor house.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? She back running another brothel?’

  ‘No way. She’s holding some kind of party, for a woman called …’

  Angela frowned as she tried to remember, and then grinned. ‘Oh, I dunno, but she was in Holloway wiv her, shot her old man, you know. She was famous. He was a big-time villain. Anyway, she’s comin’ out of the nick and Ester is arranging a group of old friends to sort of welcome her, you know, give a party, and she wants me to act as a waitress.’

  Mike fingered the knot in his tie. His mouth felt rancid. It couldn’t be – couldn’t be who he thought it was, could it? ‘Dolly Rawlins? Is that who it is?’

  ‘Yeah, she was in Holloway with Ester.’

  Mike leaned against Angela, undoing the buttons of her shirt. ‘Who else is going?’

  ‘I dunno, but it’ll be some kind of scam, you can bet on it. I got to wear a black dress an’ apron. Ester never did nothin’ for nobody without there being something in it for her. She’s a hard cow but I need the cash. Said she’ll pay me fifty quid.’

  Mike eased back Angela’s shirt, slipping his finger under her lace bra. ‘She say anything else about Dolly Rawlins?’

  Two young prisoners peeked into Dolly Rawlins’s cell, looking at the small neatly packed brown suitcase, a coat placed alongside it. Apart from these two items the cell was empty.

  Footsteps could be heard on the stone-flagged floor. The two girls scuttled back down the corridor as Rawlins, with a prison officer, headed towards her cell. Whatever they were expecting to see, they were disappointed. The infamous Dolly Rawlins seemed pale and worn, like a schoolmistress. They didn’t get a look at her face, it was just her manner, the way she was walking, and her short, grey hair. The officer hid the rest of her as she stood outside the cell waiting for prisoner 45688 to get her case and coat.

  The corridors were strangely silent, with faint whispers. Nearly all of the women were waiting, hiding, whispering.

  The Tannoy repeated a message that Rawlins, prisoner 45688, was to go to landing B. They all knew that was the check-out landing. She was almost out.

  The coat was too large since she had lost so much weight but it was good quality: she had always liked the best. She did up each button slowly and then reached for her case. She refused to admit to herself or show that she was sad: none of the girls had spoken to her or said goodbye. She looked to the officer and gave a brief nod. She was ready.

  As Dolly headed towards landi
ng B, the singing began, low at first, then rising to a bellow as every woman began to sing.

  ‘Goodbye, Dolly!’

  They bellowed and stamped their feet, they called out her name and clapped their hands. ‘Goodbye, Dolly, you must leave us …’ They screeched out their thank yous for the cigarettes, for her radio, her cassettes, for every item she had passed around. Some of the girls were sobbing, openly showing how much they would miss ‘Big Mama’. One old prisoner shouted at the top of her voice, ‘Don’t turn back, Dolly, don’t look back, keep on walking out, gel …’

  She could feel the tears welling up, her mouth trembling, but she held on, waving like the Queen as they walked on to the landings. They continued to sing, their voices echoing as she was ushered along the corridor towards the Governor’s office. She was almost out. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Mike thumbed through the files and then sat, drumming his fingers on the mug shot of Dorothy Rawlins. He had read so much on Dolly Rawlins and her husband that he knew that if the diamonds existed she would go after them. He thought about Angela on her way to Ester Freeman. He wondered about a lot of things, trying to think if there was any possibility of doing something for his sister, for his mother – if he could get Dolly Rawlins back inside.

  Mike checked the files over and over again, then went through Harry Rawlins’s files. Then he received a phone call, nothing to do with Dolly Rawlins, nothing to do with his mother or his sister. It was from Brixton Prison: a boy called Francis Lloyd wanted to give some information.

  A lot of police officers have their private snitches in the prisons, someone wanting to do a bit of a trade. Lloyd was a youngster Mike had arrested on a burglary eighteen months ago. He had been sentenced to two years because of a previous conviction. He was a likeable kid, and Mike had even got to know his mum and dad, so he returned the call – and for the second time in one day he heard the name Dolly Rawlins. Francis had some information but he didn’t want to talk about it over the phone.