Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,38
the mail train, but we also know that the schedule changed on the night the train was robbed ‒ and you wouldn’t have been told about that till the last minute.’
‘I might have been on the front line, but I was always the last to know anything.’
As he headed towards a panic attack, Jim knew he’d not be able to hide it; he knew he’d have to disguise it as something else. He brought the trowel down hard and fast onto the back of his hand. He yelled in pain and sat his bottom down into the fresh pile of soil he’d just dug. Anik raced over.
‘Sit still. Crikey, you’re as white as a sheet. Don’t panic, Jim, you’re OK. Try to control your breathing.’ Anik covered the cut on the back of Jim’s hand with a hanky, so that the seeping blood didn’t make him feel worse. ‘When you’re ready, we’re going to go into the kitchen and run this under the cold tap. Then we’ll see what the damage is. OK?’
Jim nodded, slowed his breathing, calmed himself down and Anik could see the colour gradually returning to his cheeks.
As Anik hunted for the first-aid kit in the bathroom upstairs, Jim’s hand was slowly going numb under the cold water from the kitchen tap. Diluted blood ran down between his fingers and into the white porcelain sink, but Jim was miles away, recalling the steamy nights he’d shared with Connie in the signal box. It was the most daring thing he’d ever done and she was the most wonderful woman he’d ever known. He could still feel her hot breath on his neck as she perched on the side bench, her legs wrapped tight around his waist, panting in time with him. Her hands caressed the top of his bare buttocks poking out from beneath his white Y-fronts and her nails dug into his skin as she urged him into her. He had never in his life, before or since, felt so desired. Jim’s wife, Jean, who he loved dearly, was the opposite of Connie. She was steady, loving and exactly the sort of woman Jim’s friends and family would have put him with.
Jim had had no clue why Connie allowed him to love her for those few short weeks back in 1995, but he had just been eternally grateful for the time they shared. He hung his head in heartbreaking pain. That was a lie. He knew exactly why Connie had allowed him to love her. She’d asked so many questions about his job: about how he knew where the train was on the tracks at any given moment; about the trackside alarm systems. She’d flattered him and been impressed by all of his ‘oh, so important’ responsibilities – she’d told him how such a complicated job turned her on and he’d fallen for it. Jim didn’t care. He, honest to God, did not care a jot. Connie had made him feel like he could take on the world. She’d been his beautiful secret and that’s how she’d stay until the day he died.
Jim knew nothing for certain, but if Connie had been using him for information, that would make him the inside man Anik was asking about. How lucky he was to have been used by someone so wonderful and so lovely – any man would be jealous. And any man would have done exactly the same.
*
John Maynard almost coughed up a lung when Ridley asked him about the building work he’d done for Dolly Rawlins at The Grange. He squeezed every last ounce of air from his body, spat into the bin, gasped a huge lungful of stale air, sat back in his seat, and took an extra-large drag of his cigarette before answering.
‘That happens every time I think about Dolly bleedin’ Rawlins, that does. Always paid me too little, too late. Paid me just enough to keep me happy though ‒ knew exactly what she was doing, looking back. I gave her the benefit of the doubt for far too long. I thought, Cashflow’s hard on a job this size. She’ll come good. Never did. She drip-fed me just enough cash so that I couldn’t walk away. I should have known she was skint.’
John paused to finish the remaining quarter of his cigarette in one single drag. He then got up and headed into the kitchen.
Laura looked at Ridley and the sickly colour of her face said it all.