Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,76

and Angela knew each other in ’95. All of these women were living under the same roof in ’95, so it’s possible they all knew Mike, too. I think it’s likely that Dolly Rawlins also knew him, because of the acrimonious history between her and Audrey, Mike’s mum. I’m not sure where Audrey and Norma fit in, but I don’t want to dismiss them just yet.’

Jack paused for Ridley to respond, but he didn’t, although he remained alert and attentive.

‘Now, when Dolly Rawlins was released from prison,’ Jack continued, ‘Mike was certain she knew where the diamonds were. He claimed it was a tip-off, but what if . . .?’

Ridley’s eyebrows shot up, stopping Jack in his tracks. It was dodgy territory to be accusing a police officer of anything, but Jack plunged on regardless.

‘What if Mike himself was the tip-off? His sister was murdered during the diamond robbery. Mike’s mum lives in the beating heart of London’s gangland. They all knew each other, sir, then and now.’

Without a word, Ridley got to his feet and went into his office. In the corner was a coffee machine, and Jack could see him fiddling with the buttons. He could almost hear his boss’s brain processing the evidence he’d just been presented with. All Jack wanted right now was for Ridley to accept that it was all feasible.

Ridley emerged with two Americanos and handed one to Jack. He perched on the desk again.

‘So who do you think’s in that first grave belonging to Harry Rawlins?’

Jack had to stop himself from smiling. Ridley’s question was unexpected, but it gave him just the opportunity he wanted.

‘I don’t know who’s in there, sir, but I’ll tell you what I think’s in that grave . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘The diamonds.’

He blurted the words out before self-preservation could stop him from speaking. If Ridley accepted this, then Jack would soon find out if Jimmy Nunn was dead or alive. If they also found six million pounds in diamonds, that would be a bonus.

Ridley had drunk almost half of his coffee by the time he was ready to speak.

‘That funeral turned into the biggest embarrassment for the Met in living memory. And, from the second we knew that Rawlins couldn’t possibly be in that coffin, it became the biggest no-go area. We couldn’t have ID’d the body anyway, ’cos there wasn’t enough of it left – that was our excuse back then for not digging it up. And, over the years, people stopped caring who was down there.’

‘We can ID the body now, sir,’ Jack said, trying to sound casual. ‘We know all the players, except him. Or her. And what better place to hide the diamonds than in a grave that the police don’t want to admit even exists? I’ve read the reports on the diamond heist. Those gems couldn’t be fenced in London and there’s no evidence they were taken out of the country. They have to still be here.’

Jack had been agonising for days about how he was going to suggest to Ridley that digging up a 35-year-old grave was a good idea; now, here he was, seconds away from Ridley suggesting it himself.

Easy does it, he told himself. Don’t push him. Let him decide . . . God almighty – why does Ridley think so fucking slowly?

At last Ridley spoke. ‘You decided what you’re doing about the sergeant’s position, Jack?’

‘I was going to mention that to you first thing, sir. I’m going to go for it,’ Jack replied earnestly. ‘This case . . . Something’s clicked into place and there’s no going back for me now. No more apathy, sir, I promise. I know what I want.’

Ridley collected the two empty coffee cups and headed back to his office.

‘Leave this grave thing with me,’ he said.

Through the window, Jack watched as Ridley picked up his phone and pressed the uppermost, right-hand, fast-dial button ‒ the button that connected him to Superintendent Raeburn. He sat and spun his chair away from the squad room.

Jack’s grin spread from ear to ear.

*

Pathologist William Fox was in his lab when Jack burst in.

‘Foxy, you’ll be getting a bag of bones in the next few days, maybe weeks, I’ll give you the nod. But, when they arrive, I need you to do a DNA test for me.’

Foxy and Jack had trained together for six months. They’d got on like a house on fire and had kept in touch when Jack went back to Devon. They were proper friends. The kind who, when asked