Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,20

recalled hearing the engine. They all disappeared like ghosts. But it had to have been a decent sized gang based on the sheer volume of cash. I mean, a million is a fair weight, so twenty-seven million would need some muscle to shift it and hide it in less than forty minutes. That’s how long they had before we started closing all the main roads into Aylesbury. And we were searching properties by the early hours of the following morning.’

‘How well did you know Norma Walker?’ Jack asked.

‘She wasn’t the armed robber on horseback, if that’s what you’re asking.’ Bill was adamant. ‘Norma was as honest as they come. I think someone took advantage of her property, nothing more than that.’ He paused. ‘May she rest in peace. Cancer’s a bloody horrible way to go.’

Jack flinched, but pushed on. ‘Took advantage in 1995 when Norma still lived there, or took advantage once it became empty after she died?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Bill said. ‘But I can tell you, whatever happened, and whenever it happened, Norma was not involved with the mail train robbery.’

Despite Bill’s vehemence, every member of Ridley’s team noted down Norma as a potential suspect for the armed, mounted rider who had brought the train to a halt so that it could be robbed. She was an experienced horsewoman, and she lived on the spot, so it didn’t make sense to rule her out.

Oblivious, Bill continued. ‘Imagine . . . imagine if you’ve found where they hid the cash from that train robbery after 24 years!’

The room didn’t quite share Bill’s enthusiasm. It seemed too unlikely that train robbers would have left the stolen millions untouched for so long ‒ especially in the cottage of an ex-copper who ‘allegedly’ was as honest as they come.

Ridley politely humoured the ex-copper. ‘Who were your suspects at the time, Bill?’

‘We didn’t have any firm suspects if I’m honest. We pulled in all the local names, but it was none of them. We raided all the local properties within hours. The first place we went was The Grange ‒ that was the big old manor house that stood on what’s now the housing estate. We had to go there first ’cos it was occupied by a bunch of ex-cons, but it wasn’t them either. They were all women. When we knocked ’em up in the early hours, they were in their nightdresses, and we woke a load of kids, too. There’s a lot about those women in the files DI Prescott’s sent you. The cops ‒ not my division, mind you ‒ but the cops made a fair few mistakes back then. They raided The Grange numerous times on nothing more than rumours. They accused those women of stashing guns on one occasion. Oh, DCI Craigh was certain he’d got ’em bang to rights, but he hadn’t. Sure, they were all ex-cons but, according to Norma, they were on the up-and-up. Starting a kids’ home or something, and I’m far more inclined to believe Norma than Craigh, who I always found to be a bit hot-headed. The only one of them Craigh arrested was Kathleen O’Reilly, and that was on a poxy “failure to appear” charge. And besides, like I said, twenty-seven million in mail sacks is bloody heavy – so a bunch of women pulling it off is fairy stories. They were all investigated anyway, of course. No connection.’

Ridley persisted a little longer for his own satisfaction.

‘Can you tell us anything about Dolly Rawlins? She owned The Grange at the time of the train robbery, didn’t she?’

‘And before that, it was owned by Ester Freeman, who ran it as a brothel.’ Bill laughed. ‘Although if you ask the Neighbourhood Watch crowd from back then, they’ll tell you she ran night classes. Load of old shit. She was closed down as soon as the ages of the girls started to dip below legal.’

Laura couldn’t hold her tongue. ‘Running a brothel isn’t legal, no matter how old the girls are.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Bill shrugged. ‘It was the nineties.’

Blaming the decade for the abuse of vulnerable women was clearly a good enough excuse for Bill, so Laura didn’t say anything more on the subject.

‘So, Ester was a madam,’ he continued. ‘Kathleen, as I recall, was a forger. Julia was . . . I’m not sure what Julia was. Connie was a prostitute, and Dolly shot her husband. I’ve missed someone, I think. Ester, Kathleen, Connie, Dolly—’

Ridley interrupted. ‘It’s fine, Bill. As you rightly said, it’s