‘All I want is to make a home for kids without one.’
‘I am aware of that, but it is my job to make sure any child placed into care will have not only the right supervision but the right environment.’
‘Is it my criminal record that went against me?’
‘Obviously that was taken into consideration, and we are also aware that you have been questioned by a DCI Craigh regarding—’ Again he was interrupted.
‘You referring to the warrants? The house was searched, the police found nothing incriminating and—’
Mr Crow sucked in his breath. ‘Mrs Rawlins, under the circumstances, and with reference to an on-site visit to your property, it was decided that—’ Another interruption.
‘You didn’t really need one, though, did you?’
‘I’m sorry?’
She leaned forward. ‘Well, you know the manor house well, don’t you? According to Miss Freeman you were a regular visitor when it was run as a brothel. I am correct, aren’t I?’
Pink dots appeared on his cheeks. ‘Just what are you inferring, Mrs Rawlins?’
‘That perhaps you had an ulterior motive for rejecting my application, that had nothing to do with me or my criminal background.’
‘Be careful what you are insinuating, Mrs Rawlins. You are, I am sure, fully aware you remain on licence for the rest of your life and—’
‘I’m just stating a fact,’ she said quietly.
‘Then please, Mrs Rawlins, be careful. I have told you this was a unanimous decision by all members of the board. We do not feel that you would be the right person to be given access to young children. We do not feel that the manor house would be suitable accommodation. It is my only intention to make sure any foster carer recommended by the social services department is both mentally and physically—’
She stood up, yet again interrupting him, this time leaning right over his desk. ‘You know, my husband said he could never go straight because people like you, like the police, would never allow him to. Well, I know about you.’
Mr Crow stood up, the pink blobs spreading. His whole face seemed redder, although this time not with embarrassment but with anger. ‘I’d like you to leave my office now.’
‘I’m going, and I won’t come back. I waited a long time to make a home for kids a reality but it was stupid, wasn’t it? I never stood a chance. Don’t worry, I won’t let on that you’re a two-faced bastard.’
She left, closing the door quietly behind her, and he could hear her footsteps on the marble corridor outside. He was shaking with anger but he was now confident that he had made the right decision. He would make sure there were no repercussions and would add to her report that she had lied to the board. Contrary to Mrs Rawlins’s denial, Ester Freeman was still resident at Grange Manor House.
Dolly drove back to the manor. She had to wait at the level crossing for ten minutes. This time she couldn’t be bothered to talk to Raymond Dewey who sat, as usual, on his little trainspotter’s stool, jotting down his times and numbers. He waved at her but she turned towards the lake and the small narrow bridge the train moved across. She got out of the car and walked a few paces, still focusing on the bridge. Then she turned round, towards the station and the signal box. She sauntered over to Raymond and gave him a forced smile.
‘Hello, Raymond, how are you today?’
‘I’m very well. This is the twelve fifteen from Marylebone.’
‘Is it? You know every train, do you? All the right times and the delays?’
‘That’s my job.’
‘I bet there’s one train you don’t know the times of.’
‘No, there isn’t one. I know every train that passes through this station, how long they take to cross the bridge and—’
‘So you write them all down, then?’
‘Yes,’ he said, proudly proffering his thick wedge of school exercise books. ‘Each train has its own book.’
Dolly took one of the books with his thick scrawled writing across the front. ‘Mail train.’ She flipped over the pages. He had listed every delivery, time of arrival at and departure from the station, plus delays at the crossing.
‘You’re very thorough, Raymond,’ Dolly said, as her eyes took in his dates and times. She then shut the book and passed it back to him as the lights changed and the train went by. As the gates opened, she returned to the Mini.
‘Thank you very much, Raymond.’ She smiled and waved as she drove past him. She felt strangely calm, almost as if it was fate. Had she been subconsciously thinking about it? It seemed so natural. It certainly wouldn’t be easy but, then, she had always liked a challenge. This would be one — but it would also be a terrifyingly dangerous one.
A few minutes later, Dolly parked the car and walked up into the woods. From there she had a direct view of the station, the bridge, the lake and the level crossing. She spent over half an hour carefully checking the layout of the land. She could tell by one look why the police had chosen this specific station to unload the money from the road on to the train. There were only two access roads, both very narrow, and room for only one vehicle at a time. Anyone attempting to hold up the security wagon as it delivered the money to the train would be cut off. The station could easily be manned by as few as four or six police officers and no one could hide out there. If they did, if they hit the train standing in the platform, they wouldn’t have a hope in hell of transporting the money by road as there was no access for the getaway vehicles. The tracks were lined with hedgerows and wide open fields, not a road in sight, and the train would head across the bridge, travelling at up to eighty miles an hour.
Dolly studied the bridge. Fifty-five feet high, the lake beneath, no access either side of the tracks, just a narrow walkway. She knew it would be impossible. How could you hold up the train on the bridge and get away with heavy mail bags on foot? It couldn’t be done. Then she looked down at the lake, back to the bridge. If you got a boat, you’d still have to reach the shore, and no vehicles could get down there. Again, there were no roads, just fields, hedges and streams.
Dolly was so immersed in her thoughts that she spun round in shock when she heard twigs cracking, her heart pounding. Julia appeared, riding Helen of Troy.
‘Sorry if I made you jump. I did call out!’
Dolly covered her fright, smiling. ‘I didn’t hear you — I didn’t even see you, come to think about it. You been here long?’
‘No, I just rode up, cut across the fields.’ Julia dismounted and tied up the horse. ‘How did it go at the social services?’ she asked.
‘It didn’t. It’s finished.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I. Are they easy to ride?’
‘Yeah. Why, you thinking of taking lessons?’
Dolly moved tentatively towards Helen, putting out her hand to stroke her nose.
‘She won’t bite you. Be confident, they know when you’re nervous.’ Julia moved to stand behind Dolly, resting her arm round her shoulders.
Dolly slowly petted Helen’s nose again. ‘That Norma... she said this was police-trained?’
‘Yep. She’s very solid, nothing scares her. As Norma said, she’s bomb-proof. Be good for kids to learn on.’
Dolly withdrew her hand, her face drawn. ‘Yes, well, there won’t be any kids to teach. I’ll see you back at the house.’
She trudged off as Julia unhitched the reins and got back into the saddle. She rode away, not even aware that Dolly had turned back to watch her as she cantered into the fields.
There was a way to get to that train. Julia was now galloping, disappearing from sight as she jumped the hedges.