Widows

Resnick felt his insides churn. It looked like Mrs. Gulliver genuinely knew nothing about her husband’s criminal activities. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on Len Gulliver.

‘And where is your husband now?’ he asked.

Mrs. Gulliver started to cry and pointed to the dining room.

Surprised, Resnick walked over and pushed the dining room door open.

‘You’re nicked, Len!’ he roared, then stopped, aghast. There was a coffin on the table.

‘The cancer got him in the throat,’ Mrs. Gulliver explained from behind him. She was in floods of tears. ‘Thankfully it was over quickly and he didn’t suffer long.’

They were back where they started. Once outside, Fuller couldn’t stop himself. ‘You’re nicked, Len.’ Fuller mocked. ‘Gotta be a classic that... absolute classic.’

As they got into their car, Andrews told Resnick that Alice had been on the radio twice. Once to say an informant called Green Teeth had rung for him, and the second call was to say that DCI Saunders wanted to know where he was.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Resnick shouted at Fuller. ‘I told you to get me back to the station by four!’

‘Is it something important?’ Fuller asked as he started the engine, knowing full well that Resnick had arranged the meeting, not just to review the case, but to discuss his chances for promotion. Like the rest of the squad, Fuller suspected Resnick’s promotional chances were, as ever, pretty low. They’d be even lower now that he’d missed his appointment. Fuller looked in the rearview mirror and winked at Andrews.

Resnick ordered Fuller to drive to the Rawlins house so he could to speak to the officers on surveillance there. Fuller drove slowly past Dolly’s house, which was in darkness with the curtains drawn. He pulled up near the unmarked surveillance car and Resnick got out. Hawkes nearly bolted through the roof when Resnick banged his window. They had nothing to report, no movement, nothing... apart from a furniture truck that had arrived at the Rawlins property and taken out a baby’s cot and bedding along with other various nursery items. The truck had been stopped and searched up the road by a uniform patrol car, but nothing incriminating had been found.

‘Take me back to the station,’ Resnick ordered. ‘Let’s hope Green Teeth has got something more productive for me than you bunch of wasters.’

Arnie Fisher was inches away from Tony’s face, talking calmly and slowly. Tony knew it was best just to listen.

‘It was a simple job. You pick up twenty grand’s worth of booze for twelve grand, and bring it back here. No rough stuff. No shagging the wife of the bloke you’re doing a deal with. What’s in your head, son?’ Arnie demanded, poking Tony in the temple. ‘What makes you do stupid things all the time?’

Tony wasn’t fazed. ‘She was a pretty little blonde with big tits who made no complaints about me touching her up.’ A grin slowly spread across Tony’s face. ‘Her pig-ugly husband complained though! You should have seen the fat northern prick drop. One sucker punch and he was down.’

‘Then what?’ Arnie asked.

Tony shrugged. ‘Well, yes, I did hit the Jag on the way out of the car park, but the good news is that I hit it on that prick’s Beemer. Carlos will fix the Jag, no problem. Look, Arnie,’ he continued, excitement getting the better of him, ‘I had the Old Bill on my tail, sirens blaring, blue lights flashing, the whole works — and I managed to lose them. No one was hurt, the booze van got back to London OK, and I got my end away — what’s there to worry about?’

‘The fact that the Manchester guys probably won’t do business with us again,’ said Arnie, beginning to lose his temper. ‘And that is a worry — they’re bloody good customers!’

Tony lounged back in the leather swivel chair. ‘Screw the Manchester wankers! You shouldn’t be worrying about small-time northern business, darlin’, you should be worrying about big-time Rawlins business right here on your doorstep.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Arnie barked back. ‘Why did you think I sent you to Manchester? I don’t need you going off the rails here, Tony. I need calm. I need tactics and brains.’

Tony leaned forward, suddenly serious. ‘If the law get hold of them ledgers, Arnie, you an’ me go down for a fifteen stretch or more. We done three big fence jobs with that son of a bitch Rawlins and you can bet he listed every single penny we laundered.’

‘You don’t need to remind me!’ snapped Arnie.

‘Look — softly-softly’s not working,’ said Tony, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take over from Boxer. I’ll get them widows to tell us what we want.’

Arnie remained uncharacteristically silent.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tony.

‘Boxer did get one thing out of Dolly,’ Arnie said. ‘She told him Harry Rawlins is still alive.’

Tony’s mouth gaped for a second, then he laughed. ‘For Christ sake, that’s got to be a fuckin’ joke! She identified and buried him, so don’t give me that bullshit.’

Arnie was looking edgy. He sat back down behind his desk and took his glasses off. ‘We don’t know it’s bullshit.’