She's Out (5 page)

Governor Ellis rose to her feet from behind the desk as Dolly Rawlins was ushered into her bright, friendly office. She offered tea, a usual ritual when a long-serving prisoner
was leaving. Mrs Ellis was an exceptionally good governor and well liked by the inmates for her fairness and, in many instances, her kindness and understanding. Rawlins, however, seemed never to
have needed her on any level and as she passed the floral china cup to her, Mrs Ellis couldn’t help but detect an open antagonism that she had never sensed before.

She eased the conversation round, discussing openings and contacts should Dolly feel in need of assistance outside, making sure she was fully aware that she would, because of the nature of her
crime, be on parole for the rest of her life. When she asked if Dolly had any plans for the future she received only a hushed, ‘Yes, I have plans, thank you.’

‘Well, I am always here if ever you need to talk to me, or ask my opinion. You must feel there is a network of people who will give you every assistance to readjust to being outside. Eight
years is a long time, and you will find many changes.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ Dolly replied, returning the half-empty cup to the tray.

Barbara Hunter remained with her back to the door, staring at Rawlins whose calm composure annoyed the hell out of her. She listened as Mrs Ellis passed over leaflets and numbers should Rawlins
require them. She kept her eyes on Rawlins’s face, wanting to see some kind of reaction, but Dolly remained impassive.

‘You have been of invaluable help with many of the young offenders and especially with the mothers’ and children’s ward. I really appreciate all your hard work and I wish you
every success in the future.’

Dolly leaned forward and asked, bluntly, if she could leave.

‘Why, of course you can, Dorothy.’ Mrs Ellis smiled.

‘Anything I say now, it can’t change that, can it?’ Dolly seemed tense, her body arched.

‘No, Dorothy, you are free to go.’

‘Good. Well, there is something I would like to say. That woman . . .’ Dolly turned an icy stare to Barbara Hunter who straightened quickly. ‘You know what she is, we all know
it, and I’ve got no quarrel with anyone’s sexual preferences so don’t get me wrong, Mrs Ellis. But that woman should not be allowed near the young girls comin’ in. She
shouldn’t be allowed to get her dirty hands on any single kid in this place, but she does, and you all know it. She messes with the most vulnerable, especially when they’ve just had
their babies taken from them. You got any decency inside you, Mrs Ellis, you should get rid of her.’

Mrs Ellis stood up, flushing, as Dolly sprang to her feet, adding, ‘I know where she lives.’

Mrs Ellis snapped, ‘Are you making threats, Mrs Rawlins?’

‘No, just stating a fact. I’ll be sending her a postcard. Can I go now?’

Mrs Ellis was infuriated. She pursed her lips and gave a nod as Hunter opened the office door. Dolly walked out, past Hunter, and never looked back. Two more officers were waiting outside for
her as the door closed.

Mrs Ellis sat down and drew prisoner 45688, Dorothy Rawlins’s file towards her. She opened it and stared at the police file photographs, then slapped the file closed. ‘I think
we’ll be seeing Dorothy Rawlins again.’

Hunter agreed. ‘I’ve never liked her or trusted her. She’s devious, and a liar.’

Mrs Ellis stared at Hunter. ‘Is she?’ she said softly.

‘Jimmy Donaldson was in the canteen two nights ago and I was next to him, I couldn’t help but hear.’ Francis Lloyd looked right and left, lowering his voice.
‘He said that he was holding diamonds for Rawlins, that you lot copped him for peanuts compared to what he’d got stashed at his place. Diamonds . . .’

Mike leaned back in the chair. ‘You sure about this, Francis?’

‘Yes, on my life. Diamonds, he was braggin’ about them, honest. Said he’d held on to them for eight years, diamond robbery, I swear that’s what he said.’

Mike leaned forward and pushed two packs of Silk Cut cigarettes forward. They’d been opened and there was a ten quid note in each.

‘Thanks, thanks a lot.’

On his way back to the station, Mike went over everything he had picked up and started to knit it together. Coincidences always needled him, and with Angela first and then
Francis, it was certainly food for thought. By the time he’d parked his car in the underground car park at the station he was feeling very positive, and even thinking that maybe, just maybe,
he would be able to get Dolly Rawlins put back inside. He couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when he told her, but first he had to go by the book and run it by his governor.

Detective Chief Inspector Ronald Craigh was a flash good-looker, well-liked and hungry. He was a high flyer and a sharp officer, with a good team around him. His other sidekick was Detective
Inspector John Palmer, steady, cool-headed and a good personal friend. The pair of them often joked about Mike being over-eager but that was not a stroke against him – far from it. Craigh
listened attentively as Mike discussed the information he had received that day.

‘I have a good reliable informant who told me Rawlins is going to a big manor house. There’s a bunch of ex-cons waiting for her. I then get a tip-off from my informant in Brixton
nick.’

Craigh leaned forwards. ‘Hang about, son, informant this or that . . . are they on record? They in my file?’

‘Yes, it’s Francis Lloyd – he’s in Brixton.’ Mike made no mention of Angela. She was not on the governor’s informant list but he skipped over that. He was
excited as he presented the old files on the diamond robbery, explaining how he believed that Dorothy Rawlins would be out any minute and would, he estimated, go for them.

‘Well, that’ll be tough, won’t it?’ Craigh smiled. ‘If Jimmy Donaldson is holdin’ them for her and he’s banged up, how’s she gonna get to
them?’

Mike paced up and down. ‘What if we were to bring him out, talk it over with him, see what he has to say? I mean, we might be able to have a word with his probation officer or the Governor
at Brixton, see if we couldn’t get him shipped to a cushy open prison.’

‘No way,’ Craigh said.

Palmer held up his hand. ‘We might be able to swing something that’ll make him play with us.’

Craigh shook his head again. ‘Come on, you know we got no pull to move any friggin’ prisoner anywhere – and if we get him out, then what?’

We get the diamonds,’ Mike said, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘One, there’s still a whopper of a reward out for them, two, we clean up that robbery – nobody was
pulled in for it. What if it was Rawlins all along the way? We’ll find out if she contacts Donaldson. It’ll be proof she knows about the diamonds.’

Craigh was still iffy about it. ‘According to the old files, it was suspected that Harry Rawlins was behind it.’

‘She shot him,’ Mike interrupted.

‘I know she did. What I am saying is there was never any evidence to connect her to that blag.’

‘There is if she goes for those diamonds.’

Craigh sucked on his teeth and then picked up all the old files. ‘Okay, I’ll run it by the Super, see what he’s got to say about it.’

Mike followed him to the door. ‘She’s out today, Gov.’

Craigh opened his office door. ‘I know that, son, just don’t start jumping over hurdles until we know what the fuck we’re gonna do.’

Mike looked glumly at Palmer as Craigh slammed the door. ‘It’s just that she’s out, and she might call Donaldson, find out he’s in the nick and . . .’

‘Maybe she knows already,’ Palmer said, doodling on a notepad.

‘Maybe she doesn’t,’ snapped Mike, eager to put the cavalry on to it, eager to get cracking.

But Palmer yawned. ‘Just sit tight. If the Super gives the go-ahead, we’ll see what they decide. In the meantime . . .’

Mike sighed. He knew that he had a load of reports he had to complete so he took himself off to the incident room. As he reached his desk, his phone rang. It was Craigh. They were going out to
talk to Donaldson, if he wanted to come along. Mike grinned; it was going down faster than he’d thought.

Ester ordered the six boys from the job centre to collect every bottle and piece of broken glass and clear the place before they started to hoover and dust. A florist’s
van had arrived with two massive floral displays that were propped up in the hall. Julia was using a stiff brush to sweep the front steps when she saw the taxi at the open manor gates.
‘Someone’s coming now,’ she called out.

The taxi drove slowly down the drive, skirted the deep hole in the gravel and stopped by the front steps. Kathleen O’Reilly peered from the back seat. She had boxes and cases and numerous
plastic bags. ‘Hi. You moving in or on the move, Kathleen?’ asked Julia.

Kathleen opened the car door. They’re all me worldly possessions. I had to do a bit of a moonlight but Ester said I could doss down here for a few days. Will you give the driver a fiver?
I’m flat broke.’

Kathleen: overweight, wearing a dreadful assortment of ill-matched clothes – a cotton skirt with two hand-knitted sweaters on top of a bright yellow blouse. She had dyed red hair spilling
over a wide moon face and big wide blue eyes. Her false teeth needed bleaching as they were yellow with tobacco stains but she had a marvellous, generous feel to her, an open Irish nature. Julia
delved into her pocket to pay off the driver as Kathleen hauled out her belongings. ‘They said this was closed down,’ she bellowed as she staggered into the hallway. Kathleen dumped her
bags in the hall and looked around. ‘Holy Mother of God, what a dump! Is that chandelier safe, Julia?’

Julia dropped one of Kathleen’s cases. ‘Ask Ester – she’s running the show.’

At that moment Ester moved down the stairs. ‘Hi, there. You made it here, then?’

‘Well, of course I did.’ Kathleen embraced her. ‘I was glad you called, darlin’. I was in shit up to me armpits, I can tell you, with not a roof over my head. So . . . is
she here, then?’

Julia turned, listening.

‘Not yet, and I hope she won’t be for a few hours. We’ve got to get the place ready in time.’

Kathleen plodded to the stairs. ‘Well, let me unpack me gear, darlin’, and I’ll give you a hand.’

Ester instructed Kathleen to use one of the second-landing bedrooms and passed into the kitchen, squeezing past the boys as they scrubbed the floor. Julia picked up the broom again, trying to
remember what Kathleen had been in prison for, but she couldn’t recall and her attention was diverted by yet another car making its slow progress down the driveway.

Connie Stevens sat next to the railway-station attendant, a nice man who, seeing Connie outside the small local station waiting for a taxi, had offered her a lift. Men did that kind of thing for
Connie: she had such a helpless Marilyn Monroe quality to her, they went weak at the knees. She even had a soft breathy voice, blonde hair dyed to match her heroine’s, and recent plastic
surgery gave a dimple to her chin, tightened her jaw and removed the lines from her baby eyes. She worked hard to retain her curvaceous figure as she was already in her mid-thirties, not that she
ever admitted it to anyone – she had been twenty-five for the past ten years.

Julia watched as the flushing man lifted an enormous case on wheels from the boot of his car.

‘Thank you, I really appreciate this so much,’ Connie cooed. The station attendant returned to his car, offering her a lift any time she needed it, but seeing Julia’s amusement
made him even more embarrassed so he drove out as fast as he could, hitting the pothole as he left and all but killing his suspension.

Ester leaned out of an upstairs window. ‘Hi, Connie, come on in. Kathleen’s already arrived.’

Connie dragged her case towards the steps. Julia tossed away the broom and took her case by the handle. ‘Here, lemme help, Princess.’

Connie gave a breathy ‘aweee’ as she looked at the hall. ‘It’s changed so much since I was last here.’

Ester jumped down the stairs and embraced Connie warmly, then held her at arm’s length to admire her new face. ‘You look good –
really
good. Just drag your case upstairs
and get into some old gear. We’ve got to clear the place up and make it ready for Dolly.’

‘How many more are coming?’ asked Kathleen. ‘I mean, are we gonna cut it between us all?’

‘I don’t know. Like I keep saying, Ester’s in charge, ask her. She hasn’t told me what she plans on doing.’

Kathleen moved closer. ‘They’re worth millions, the diamonds, everyone used to talk about them. Are you certain she’ll be coming?’

Julia picked up the broom and started sweeping the steps again. ‘Ester seems to think so, that’s why she’s got us all here.’

Kathleen returned to hoovering with venom. She certainly hoped this wasn’t all a waste of time. She needed money, a lot, and fast. She was in deep trouble: the thought of a cut of all
those millions had been like a raft to a drowning woman . . . Kathleen was drowning and her three kids had been taken into care. Dolly Rawlins’s diamonds would be her only way out of the mess
she had got herself into.

Way down the lane, Gloria Radford threw up her hands in fury. She’d been down one dead end after another, up on to the motorway three times, and still not found the manor
house. She slammed out of her dilapidated Mini Traveller and headed towards a man on a tractor in the middle of a field. ‘Oi, mate, can you direct me to the Grange Manor House?’

The old farmhand turned in surprise as Gloria, small, plump and wearing spike heeled shoes over skin-tight black pants, waved from the field gates. Her make-up was plastered on thick:
lipgloss-smudged teeth, mascara-clogged lashes with bright blue eye-shadow on the lids, like someone stuck in a time-warp of the late sixties. Gloria Radford was a real hard-nosed character and was
in a fury as she wafted the hand-drawn map Ester had sent her. The old boy wheeled his tractor towards her.

‘Down there.’ He pointed.

‘I been down there and I been back up there and I keep gettin’ back on the bleedin’ motorway.’

‘Ay, yes, they cut off the access road. Just keep on this slip road and you’ll get to it. The manor’s off to the right.’