Stolen

Book 0: Lolly Bruce

by Roberta Kray

Genres: Crime Fiction; Domestic Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

'A cracking good read' Jessie Keane
'Well into Martina Cole territory' Independent
'Great writing, gripping story, loved it' Mandasue Heller
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Lolly Bruce spent several years in the lap of luxury, but now she's back in a world she knows: London's East End. Her guardian Mal Fury is doing time, so Lolly is working on the wrong side of the law to get by. She'll need to use all her street smarts to keep her safe in Kellston.

Then one day the Old Bill turn up on her doorstep. Mal is on the run, but why when he has only months left to serve? Lolly is convinced the only thing Mal would escape for is news about the daughter he lost nineteen years ago. She's the only thing he has left to lose.

Private Investigator Nick Trent knows better than to get involved with the Furys, but his better judgement doesn't count for much when it comes to Lolly. Before he knows it he's agreed to help her track down Mal, and take on whatever the East End underworld throws at them...

STOLEN is the sequel to Roberta's thirteenth novel SURVIVOR, but can also be read as a standalone.

Release date: November 7, 2019

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 416

Sample

Lolly Bruce

Originally from the East End, the orphaned Lolly was saved from being taken into care by the intervention of Mal Fury. Now, aged nineteen, she’s back in Kellston in the East End of London working on the wrong side of the law. With the past kicking at her heels, she’ll have to keep her wits about her. She’s experienced privilege but it’s street smarts she’ll need in order to stay safe.

Mal Fury

Mal, Lolly’s guardian, is currently serving a prison sentence for the manslaughter of the man who abducted his child. Once a successful jeweller, his life is in tatters. He’s clinging to the hope, however, that Kay may still be alive, and someone’s about to give him further reason to believe it.

Esther Fury

Mal’s beautiful, spoiled and selfish wife is moving on, putting the past (and her husband) behind her. At least that’s the plan. She’s used to getting her own way but she’s going to find out that there are some things she simply can’t control.

Nick Trent

Nick’s uncle, Stanley Parrish, was once employed to help track down Kay Fury. Now a private investigator himself, Nick knows better than to get dragged into the case that resulted in his uncle’s death. But his better judgement doesn’t count for much when it comes to helping Lolly. If she needs him, he’ll be there.

Heather Grant

Heather, a young reporter, makes a living out of uncovering other people’s secrets, but she also has secrets of her own. As she delves into the history of the Furys, examining their pain and loss, her own demons quickly rise to the surface.

Jude Rule

The handsome, talented, obsessive Jude – Lolly’s first love – is now firmly attached to Esther Fury. But is the past about to catch up? Once a suspect in the murder of a teenage girl, the shadow of guilt, at least in Lolly’s eyes, still hangs over him.

Vinnie Keane

Vinnie works for the boss of the East End, Terry Street. A great bear of a man, loyal and tough and built for intimidation, he appears to be indestructible. But there is one chink in his armour. Love could be the undoing of him.

Friday 16 September. Kent

Lolly Bruce reached out from the passenger seat and angled the rear-view mirror so she could study her face, peering at her reflection with a combination of intensity and disappointment. Grey eyes, small pink mouth, brown hair swept into a topknot. She sighed. Even with all the effort she made, her make-up carefully applied, she felt she never quite pulled it off. There was something in her features that betrayed her, something more East End than West, more Kellston than Mayfair. She had learned how to imitate sophistication but not how to inhabit it.

‘Do you have to do that?’ Vinnie asked.

‘How else am I supposed to see what I look like?’

‘You look the same as the last time you checked.’

Lolly gave a snort. ‘That was over an hour ago. Women of substance have to pay attention to their appearance.’ She applied more lipstick and dabbed at her lips with a tissue. ‘All right. I’m ready.’

Vinnie rolled his eyes and then moved the mirror back to where it belonged.

Lolly checked her fake Hermes handbag, made sure the goods were still inside and got out of the car. She took a deep breath and pushed back her shoulders. Posture was everything in this game. Well, that and confidence. She had done this same thing so often but the nerves still got to her.

As she walked towards the shop, Lolly tried to tune in to that sense of entitlement which the monied possessed. I have every right to be here, every right to be the owner of some very classy jewellery. The trick was to look the part – cashmere twinset, pearls, heels – and to sound it too. She could manage the latter without any difficulty. Five years at Daynor Bridge, a public school for girls, had taught her how to speak with a silver spoon in her gob. What it hadn’t done, however, was to wipe away all traces of her working-class origins. Acting in a superior fashion didn’t come naturally to her and nor did the art of disdain.

Today her name was Anna Carter-West and she had a driving licence to prove it. The licence was as genuine as her handbag. Sometimes they asked for ID and sometimes they didn’t, but she always came prepared. Stopping outside the jeweller’s, she took a moment to steady herself whilst pretending to study the window display. It didn’t do to linger for too long; courage had a habit of draining away.

Inside, the shop glittered with its fancy lighting and pricey displays. Stepping up to the counter, with what she hoped would pass for blue-blooded nonchalance, she gave the man a pleasant smile. ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, miss. How can I help you?’

Lolly took one of the small velvet-lined boxes from her handbag. ‘I have a ring,’ she said. ‘It belonged to my grandmother. I’m not sure if I want to sell it or not but . . . Perhaps you could tell me how much it’s worth.’

The man was in his forties, small and dapper with a thin face and narrow moustache. He took the box and opened it, his gaze flicking between the ring and Lolly. ‘Antique,’ he said, removing the ring and examining it. ‘A ruby. Very nice.’ He put a tiny magnifying glass to his eye and examined the hallmark. ‘Eighteen carat gold.’

Lolly knew all this already but nodded anyway. ‘And its value?’

The man hesitated. ‘Your grandmother’s, you say?’

‘That’s right. She passed away a few years ago. As I mentioned, I don’t really want to sell it but . . .’ Lolly assumed a suitably sad expression. She knew from experience that it was wise to keep things simple and not embroider the story.

‘If you could just give me a couple of minutes, I’ll get my colleague. He’s the expert on precious gems.’

As he withdrew into the rear of the shop, ring in hand, Lolly had one of those alarm bell moments. Had he looked at her oddly? Why hadn’t he left the ring on the counter? Why was her heart beating like a jackhammer? None of this felt right, and if it felt wrong it probably was. The final confirmation of this came when she thought she heard the ting of a phone being lifted. Had she? She wasn’t sure. Damn it! The bastard could be calling the law.

She had to make a quick decision. If she did a runner, she’d have to leave the ring behind, but if she stayed he might try and keep her talking until the police arrived. How long would that take? Five minutes? Ten? Unless there was a patrol car in the district, in which case . . .

Lolly looked over her shoulder and out of the window. It was a busy road with lots of traffic. Vinnie was parked around the corner, out of sight. She was reluctant to abandon the ring – it was worth a few hundred – and Terry Street wouldn’t be happy if she came back empty handed, but she didn’t fancy getting nicked.

Stay or go? She had a bad feeling, chill fingers running down her spine. Perhaps it was best to cut her losses. At least she hadn’t handed over both the rings. The more expensive one, a large diamond, was still in her bag. She was always cautious when she was flogging dodgy gear, testing the waters with a less valuable item first in case the buyer became suspicious.

Lolly was counting off the seconds now. If the law did come, she’d be caught in possession of two stolen rings. Not so easy to explain. She peered towards the back of the shop – still nothing – and made a decision. Her gut was telling her to scarper and so that’s exactly what she did. Instinct was what propelled her out of the door and back onto the street, breaking into a run as soon as her feet hit the pavement.

Vinnie saw her coming and had the engine started when she was still twenty yards away. She jumped into the passenger seat and slammed shut the door. ‘Drive!’ she ordered, like some cliché of a bank robber fleeing the scene of the crime. ‘Let’s go! Get out of here!’

Vinnie took off with little regard for the cars behind and in front of him. He sped down the road, swung a right and was half a mile from the shop before he turned his head and said, ‘Take it that didn’t go too well, then?’

‘He knew something was off. Disappeared out back with the ring and the next thing I know he’s on the bleedin’ phone, isn’t he?’ Lolly had automatically dropped back into her everyday voice. ‘I didn’t hang around for the law to show up.’

‘They’ve got wise to you, love. Maybe word has got around.’

Lolly thought he could be right. She supposed she’d had a good run, over a year now, but she couldn’t afford to lose the income. Once a month or so, she and Vinnie left London and travelled out to the surrounding counties to try and offload some of Terry’s more valuable acquisitions. For everything she shifted, she got ten per cent. Away from the capital, jewellers tended to be more trusting – or maybe just more gullible. ‘Could be a one-off. Perhaps he’s the suspicious sort.’

‘You want to try somewhere else?’

She shook her head. Sometimes, when luck wasn’t with you, you simply had to accept it. ‘No, not today. I don’t want to tempt providence.’

‘So the ruby’s gone for a burton?’

‘I could have lost them both if I’d stayed,’ she snapped defensively.

‘All right, no need to bite me head off. I’m sure Terry will understand. Easy come, easy go, right?’

‘You think?’

Vinnie barked out a laugh. ‘Nah, he’ll be well pissed off.’

And she knew he was right. She would have to get her story straight, perhaps embellish it a bit, before they got back to London. If Terry reckoned she’d panicked, overreacted, he might jump to the conclusion she was losing her nerve. Perhaps she was. Perhaps, at this very moment, the salesman and his colleague were standing behind the counter, ready to offer her a wad of cash and wondering where the hell she’d disappeared to. It wouldn’t take them long to put two and two together.

She wound down the window – it was a balmy autumn day – and thought some more about Terry. On the whole, their relationship was an amicable one. It went back six years to when she’d been a skinny thirteen-year-old, orphaned and living with Brenda Cecil at the pawnbroker’s. Terry had recruited Lolly to run errands for him. In those days he’d been working for the gangland boss, Joe Quinn, but Joe was long gone. Terry was the boss now.

The air blew through the car, freeing fine strands of hair from her carefully constructed topknot. She watched the Kentish roads go by. From the moment she’d woken up this morning she’d had one of those dread feelings in the pit of her stomach, like something bad was going to happen. A premonition? She wasn’t sure if she believed in that kind of stuff. But perhaps that was why she’d reacted like she had in the shop, anticipating disaster even before it had occurred.

In all the time she’d been working with Vinnie, she’d never been caught. A few close shaves but nothing that came near to an arrest. She glanced over at him. Vinnie Keane was a great bear of a man, about six foot five, and built for intimidation. When it came to trouble, he didn’t have to lift a finger. One look was all it took to frighten off even the stupidest of people. She couldn’t claim they were friends, exactly – he was much older than her – but the two of them got along okay.

Her gaze flicked back to the road again, and it was then she saw the sign for West Henby.

On impulse, she said, ‘Turn right, here, at the junction.’

‘What for?’

‘There’s something I want to see.’

‘Huh?’

‘It won’t take long. A quick detour. What’s the matter? You in a hurry to tell Terry the good news about how it all went wrong and we lost his ring?’

‘What’s with the “we”? I’m just the driver.’

Lolly pulled a face. ‘So much for solidarity. I thought you were supposed to have my back.’

Vinnie smirked, but did as he was asked and turned right onto the smaller road. It was another ten minutes before they came to the village of West Henby. She looked out of the window at the place that had once been so familiar to her. In the year since she’d last been here, nothing much had changed. Why would it have done? There were the same bustling streets, pubs and shops.

‘Keep going,’ she said. ‘Straight through the village and then follow the road round.’

‘What are we doing here?’

‘Taking a trip down memory lane.’

Vinnie flicked the ash from his cigarette out of the window. ‘Always glad to oblige,’ he said drily. ‘Where do you fancy next, your ladyship – the Riviera, New York?’

Lolly ignored him. ‘Slow down. We’re almost there. Okay, just beyond that tree. On the left. The gates. Do you see them? You can stop there.’

Vinnie pulled up, keeping the engine running. Lolly wound down the window and gazed along the long curving drive. It wasn’t possible to see the house from here but she could see it in her mind’s eye: a grand, three-storey white building with a central flight of steps and two big flower pots like Ali Baba jars flanking either side. And behind it, the grounds, including the wide, cold lake with its bulrushes and weeping willows.

‘What are we looking at, exactly?’

‘The past,’ she said. ‘This is where I used to live.’

‘All right for some.’

Lolly could have told him that it hadn’t been an easy time, that it was never straightforward being the cuckoo in someone else’s nest, but it would have sounded self-pitying. Anyway, she wasn’t in the mood for confidences. Mal Fury had taken her in after her mother’s suicide, become her guardian when she was thirteen, and his wife had been less than happy about it. The only child Esther had wanted was her own, the baby that had been abducted all those years before. No one knew whether Kay was still alive or if she’d drowned in the lake on the day she was snatched.

Lolly wasn’t sure how she felt about being back. Not nostalgic so much as . . . as what? The emotions she felt were strange, ambivalent. She had grown to love Mal – the only father figure she’d ever known – but her relationship with Esther had always been strained. Lolly’s teenage years, enhanced by Mal’s kindness, had been simultaneously blighted by the dark shadow of Esther’s contempt.

‘We done here?’ Vinnie asked.

Lolly was about to nod when the thin wail of a baby’s cry, plaintive and piercing, floated through the air. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. Where was it coming from? There were no other houses close by, and visitors never brought children here.

‘Do you hear that?’ she asked, turning to Vinnie.

‘Hear what?’

‘A baby. A baby crying.’

Vinnie shook his head. ‘I didn’t hear nothin’.’

‘You must have. Turn the engine off.’

Vinnie obliged, and they both listened. Silence. He raised his eyebrows. Lolly frowned and got out of the car. She went up to the gates and pressed her face against the metal scrolls. She listened some more, straining her ears. Just the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees. Esther was the only person living here now, along with the staff. Mal’s current digs were less salubrious: a small cramped cell in a London prison.

She peered along the empty drive, shivering in spite of the sun. Had she heard it? Perhaps it had just been a figment of her imagination, something dredged up from her subconscious. The locals said this place was haunted, but then the locals said a lot of things.

Lolly didn’t want to hang about in case Esther caught her. She retreated to the car, still none the wiser. ‘Okay, I’m done here.’

‘Feeling homesick?’ Vinnie asked as he set off again.

Lolly glanced over her shoulder. ‘No, just curious.’ If home was where the heart was, then Kellston was probably more home than here. But she didn’t really belong there either. She was one of those people caught between two worlds and at the moment both of them were rattling her nerves.

Friday 16 September. Kellston, East London

Lolly saw Terry Street as soon as she walked into the Fox. He was sitting in the same place he always sat, the place Joe Quinn had always occupied too – over on the left from where he had a good view not only of everyone coming in but of the whole pub. She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. He was expecting a wedge and he was getting nothing – minus nothing if you counted the ruby ring she’d had to abandon.

Vinnie cleared off to the bar, leaving her to it. She gave the news to Terry quickly, omitting the part about how she’d panicked and concentrating instead on the fact she’d been absolutely certain she’d been sussed.

‘I could tell from the way he was looking at me. And when he cleared off with the ring . . . I didn’t have a choice. It was stay and get collared or get the hell out of there.’

‘You didn’t try anywhere else?’

Lolly shook her head. ‘I was thinking that maybe they’ve circulated a description. I’ll have to change the way I look, change my story. Someone must have sussed me. Perhaps we need to go further out, get further from London.’

Terry didn’t look impressed. ‘Perhaps it’s time to call it a day.’

But Lolly couldn’t afford to lose the extra income, whatever the risks. It was what enabled her to survive. ‘No, not yet. I don’t think so. Give me a few days and I’ll sort something out.’

It worried her that he might think she’d turned him over, concocting the story about the salesman. Vinnie could hardly corroborate the tale. For all he knew, she could have gone into the shop, flogged the ring and then dashed back to the car. Did Terry trust her? She hoped so, but you couldn’t really trust anyone in his game.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

Terry pursed his lips. ‘At least you hung on to the diamond.’

‘I’ll shift it, I promise.’

Lolly had the impulse to apologise some more but fought against it. She looked at Terry, remembering him as he’d been six years ago, cheeky and confident with big ambitions. Well, he’d got what he wanted: Kellston was his manor now, along with most of the East End and some of the West End too. He was smart, good-looking, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a lot of charm. What set him apart from other men, however, was that indefinable quality that can only be described as charisma. When he walked into a room, everyone looked. When he spoke, everyone listened. It didn’t do to underestimate him. Like most men in positions of power, he had a ruthless streak.

‘Not losing your nerve are you, Lolly?’

She smiled and held his gaze. ‘You know me, Terry, nerves of steel.’

‘Good. Glad to hear it. Only I wouldn’t like to—’

Lolly never got the chance to hear what he wouldn’t like as at that very moment Vinnie came over. ‘Sorry, boss, but I need a word.’

It was only then, as Terry rose to his feet, that Lolly became aware of the change in atmosphere in the pub. Something had happened. There was a frisson in the air, a charge like electricity. She tried to eavesdrop on the two men but Vinnie was leaning in close, almost whispering in Terry’s ear. Seconds later they both took off.

Lolly, realising she still had the diamond ring in her possession, stood up to follow them but then changed her mind. Instead she made her way over to the bar. People were huddled in groups, exchanging information, passing comment. There was an urgency about the exchanges, a sense of both horror and excitement. She caught snatches of their talk, enough for her to gather that someone was dead. And not through any natural causes. She caught the barmaid’s eye and beckoned her over.

‘What’s going on? Do you know?’

‘It’s bad. They’ve just found one of the girls, round the back of the station, at the arches.’

Lolly felt her heart lurch. It had to be one of Terry’s girls – no one else was allowed to work round here – and instantly she thought of Stella. ‘Do they know who it is?’

The barmaid shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

‘And is she definitely—’

But someone was waiting for a drink so that was as much as Lolly got out of the barmaid. She turned around and quickly forged a path through the crowd to the door. Outside there was an obvious police presence with a line of squad cars, lights flashing, heading for the scene of the crime. She watched them for a while before moving off in the opposite direction.

Lolly’s mouth was dry as she crossed over, dodging the traffic, and hurried towards Albert Road. Please God, don’t let it be Stella. They had first met when Lolly was a kid working for Terry. The house, a brothel, had been a place of sanctuary after her mum died, somewhere she could be with friendly faces for a while before returning home – if it could even be called that – to the awfulness of Brenda Cecil and her sons.

There was no reason for Stella to be at the arches. Why would she be? She wasn’t a streetwalker. She worked out of the house, a relatively safe environment, with security and other girls to watch her back. Only the desperate used the arches, the junkies and the destitute. It was a dark and desolate place.

Usually Albert Road was flanked by kerb crawlers who wouldn’t leave you alone but today, even though the body had only recently been found, there wasn’t a car in sight. News travelled fast, and with so many cops in the area, the punters were keeping their distance. Lolly couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked this way and not been harassed.

She dashed up to the house and rang the bell. She waited. No one answered. Anxiously, she jumped from one foot to the other. Where was everyone? There was nearly always someone in. She rang again and rapped on the door. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered. The suspense was killing her. She winced at the thought. Jesus, that was the wrong expression to use. Please don’t let it be Stella. Reason told her it couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, but that didn’t stop the fear from rolling over her in waves.

Finally, the door was answered by a redhead called Michelle. If she was surprised to see Lolly standing there in twinset and pearls, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she was used to unusual sights or just had other things on her mind.

‘Hi,’ she said.

Lolly nodded, her heart in her mouth. ‘Is Stella here?’

Michelle paused, one of those millisecond hesitations that made Lolly’s blood run cold. Oh, Christ. She tried to prepare herself for the worst, but then the girl stepped back and gestured towards the rear of the house. ‘She’s in the kitchen.’

As Lolly went inside she raised a hand to her chest in relief. ‘Ta,’ she croaked. ‘Thank God for that.’

‘You’ve heard then?’

‘Just now. I was in the Fox. I thought . . . Do you know who it is?’

‘Not yet, but Stella thinks it could be Dana.’

‘What?’ Lolly hadn’t known Dana well – she was a fairly recent addition to the house – but the news still rattled her.

‘I don’t think it’s Dana,’ Stella said as they entered the kitchen. ‘I know it. Why else hasn’t she come back?’ She gave Lolly a grim smile. ‘Hello, love.’

‘Hey, how are you?’

‘Just waiting for the law to get here.’

Michelle shook her head. ‘We don’t know nothin’ yet. Dana could be anywhere. Just ’cause she didn’t come back last night don’t mean—’

But Stella wasn’t having any of it. ‘It’s her.’ She pulled on the joint she was smoking, her eyes full of dismay. ‘I can feel it. I’ve got the shivers all over.’

Lolly sat down across the table from her. She reached out and briefly covered Stella’s hand with her own. ‘Michelle’s right. You can’t be sure. Not yet.’

‘I am sure. She’d be here otherwise, wouldn’t she? She’d have called or something.’

‘She could have had a skinful, stayed over with a mate,’ Michelle said.

‘She doesn’t have any mates.’

‘She wasn’t working last night, then?’ Lolly asked.

Stella shook her head. ‘She went out about six. We don’t know where.’

‘She wouldn’t go near the arches, though, would she? I mean, what would she be doing there?’

As though she couldn’t bear to be still, Stella suddenly stood up, paced from one side of the kitchen to the other, walked over to the sink and leaned with her back against it. She smoked some more, taking long deep drags. Her outfit – a white miniskirt, boots and electric-blue boob tube – seemed curiously at odds with the oppressive atmosphere of the room. ‘Fuck knows. Maybe someone just took her there and . . . ’ She swallowed hard, blinking two or three times as if to wipe away the picture that had just sprung into her head. ‘You shouldn’t hang about, Lol. You don’t want to be here when the filth show up.’

‘I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me.’

But Stella was adamant. ‘No, you push off. You don’t want to get dragged into this. You know what those bastards are like; they’ll have you down the station just for the fun of it.’

Lolly always tried to avoid the attention of the police, but some things were more important than keeping a low profile. ‘They’re not going to be interested in me.’

‘I’m not on my own, hon. I’ve got Michelle here, and the others will be back soon. They’ve only gone to see what they can find out. Go on, you go home. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’

Lolly was aware that in some ways Stella still thought of her as a child she had to protect, a kid who needed taking care of. But reluctantly she nodded, knowing that the older woman had enough to worry about without adding her to the mix. ‘Okay, if you’re sure, only—’

‘I’m sure,’ Stella said insistently. She made a flapping motion with her hand, wafting the smell of dope in Lolly’s direction. ‘Go on. We’ll be fine.’

Lolly felt guilty leaving – she didn’t believe Stella would be fine at all – but did as she was told. As she stepped onto the pavement, she glanced up and down Albert Road. It was still deserted. Not a car in sight, and not a single tom either. She began to walk, shivers running through her as she thought about Dana.

Violent death, although it filled her with fear and disgust, no longer shocked her. She had seen her mum’s body, bloodied and broken, after she’d jumped from the top floor of Carlton House. That dreadful image could never be erased. Not long after, there had been Amy Wiltshire, killed at sixteen. And bad things didn’t just happen in deprived, rundown places like Kellston. The Furys’ baby, Kay, had been snatched from the grounds of the house in West Henby, and the nanny murdered. She thought again about that cry she’d heard, wondering if her mind had just been playing tricks.

Lolly had reached the corner and was about to turn onto Station Road when the cop car went past. She paused to follow it with her eyes, willing it not to stop outside Stella’s. But as she watched the indicator light went on and the car pulled up outside the house. Her heart sank. Stella had been right. For a moment she thought about going back, but what good would it do? Instead she murmured a quick prayer and headed for home.

Friday 16 September. Kellston

Lolly got out of her good clothes, hung them carefully on hangers and changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. She made a cup of coffee and took it through to the living room where she sat down at the table by the window. To the left, wedged against the sill, were a couple of boxes, one containing various articles of jewellery, the other old watches in need of attention. Spread out in front of her were the pieces from a broken clock. She made a bit of cash from these repairs and restorations, but mainly they were a labour of love. She liked taking things apart and putting them back together the way Mal Fury had taught her.

She was hoping work would take her mind off the horror – there was something soothing, distracting about all the intricate parts – but her thoughts, refusing to be still, were bouncing around in every direction. There were some days that were so relentlessly bad, you regretted ever having got up in the morning. And hadn’t she felt it, right from breakfast, that sense of impending disaster?

Lolly sipped her coffee and gazed down at the cars and buses going by. Her rented flat, above an Indian takeaway, was small but serviceable and she had made it comfortable. Everything in it was cheap or second-hand, bought from the market and charity shops, but that didn’t matter to her. She didn’t mind the traffic on the high street or the spicy smells that floated on the air of an evening. To her the flat was a refuge, a sanctuary, a place to call home.

Although she always expected the worst – experience had taught her to be prepared – the past year had gone comparatively well. But she had the feeling all that was about to change. An ill wind, wasn’t that what they called it? Already it was blowing round her ears. She tried not to dwell on Dana, but it wasn’t easy. She lifted her gaze to the sky where a plane was rising through the blue leaving a long white trail behind it.

Her eyes were still fixed on this when the doorbell went, two long rings. Could it be Stella? She quickly rose to her feet and hurried downstairs. As soon as she opened the door, her heart jumped into her mouth. Two uniformed cops were standing there. She thought of the stolen diamond ring sitting in her bag and her mouth went dry.

‘Lolita Bruce?’ the older of the two men asked.

It was a long time since she had heard anyone use her full name. She nodded, wondering if she looked as