Stay Dead by Jessie Keane Read Free Book Online

she was not. Back in the day when they’d both lived at Aunt Celia’s place in Limehouse, there Dolly would be, irritating as hell, whistling at
seven o’clock in the morning while everyone else nursed sore heads and growled at each other.
    ‘. . . He used his own main door key, went up to the flat and there she was. Dead.’
    Annie still couldn’t take it in.
Dolly
. For God’s sake. She thought of her friend – her oldest, dearest friend – full of life and coarse jokes. Once the roughest
of rough brasses, Dolly Farrell had evolved over the years into a very efficient club manager, a pivotal member of the Carter workforce.
    And now Tony was telling her that she was
dead
? That someone had
killed
her?
    ‘Why would anyone want to hurt Doll?’ she asked, pulling a shaking hand through her hair. Across the room she could see herself reflected in a big driftwood-edged mirror that
she’d picked up on a trip to the market with Max – a lone woman in a red silk robe, slumped in the seat as though she’d just been knocked sideways. Her hair was mussed up from
sleep, her tanned face was grey-tinged as the shock set in, her dark green eyes were shadowed with pain.
    ‘I don’t know. I really don’t,’ he said.
    ‘The police . . . ?’ she asked.
    ‘They’ve been. Done their stuff. Dabs. Pictures. The usual.’
    ‘When did it happen?’
    ‘Thursday night.’
    ‘It’s Saturday. Why the fuck didn’t you call me sooner?’ Now anger was overriding the anguish.
    ‘What could you have done?’ Tony was silent for a beat. Then he said: ‘Mr Carter’s not there with you?’
    ‘No. He’s not.’ But she was used to coping without help, even without hope.
Dig deep and stand alone
, that was her motto in life. So far, it had served her well. She had
come through storms before, had soaked it all up and she was still standing. But this . . . this was the bitterest of blows.
    ‘Have the Bill got any leads?’ she asked, thinking,
Not Dolly, no, make this be a bad dream, please
. . .
    ‘That’s what I’m asking our tame coppers, right now. Not getting any answers yet, but I’ll keep asking.’
    ‘Who the hell would
do
this?’ said Annie, suddenly springing to her feet, clutching at her head. ‘What had she— I mean, what’s been happening with her? Was
there a man involved with her, anything like that?’
    Even as she said it, Annie thought that it was a stupid question. Dolly had never, to her knowledge, had much time for men. She had a troubled past, and Annie knew that men had been a large part
of that trouble. So far as she knew, her friend had been happiest living a celibate life.
    ‘I’m asking the questions. I thought of that. But you know Dolly. Don’t seem like her style somehow.’
    Annie was pacing around, pulling the phone cord along with her. ‘What the
fuck
?’ she raged, feeling helpless, thinking that this couldn’t be happening.
    ‘You want me to do anything?’ asked Tony.
    Annie was having flashbacks. Dolly drinking gin and tonic in the bar, laughing at some off-colour joke one of the punters had told. Dolly hauling Annie’s arse out of bed after she’d
split from Max back in 1980, pulling her back to her feet with the force of her will,
making
her carry on even when she didn’t want to. She felt her eyes fill with hot, painful tears
– and she
never
cried. But this was Dolly. Dolly was her best mate. And now . . . oh fuck, how could this be? – Dolly was
dead.
    Annie blinked hard, gulping back her tears until all she felt was that cleansing rage again. She kicked the coffee table, hard. Then again. Then again. Shells skidded over the surface and
dropped to the floor. Anger rushed through her in an unstoppable tide. Whoever did this, they were
finished.
She would see to it.
    When she spoke again, her voice was harder, steadier. ‘Ask the questions, Tone. Ask as many as you can. See nobody rests. Keep doing what you’re doing.’
    There was a silence at the other end of