‘I’m dying, and my daughter’s missing.’ There, in six simple words, was everything that was wrong with Jimmy’s life. Malcolm didn’t reply, but sat back in the chair and looked at Jimmy through half-closed eyes.
‘Dying?’ he asked, eventually.
‘I’ve got a massive brain aneurysm. I could be dead by Christmas, the doctor said.’
‘Bloody hell, seriously? That must be awful. I’m so sorry.’
‘Yep.’ Jimmy said. The policeman’s honest response and shock was refreshing.
‘Does she know? Your daughter?’
‘No. She’s missing.’
‘Shit,’ Malcolm said. ‘That’s harsh.’
‘You’re telling me.’ Jimmy took a deep breath. ‘That’s why matey boy on the desk telling me she’s holed up in a hotel room on the shag was so…’ Jimmy paused, unsure of the best word to use, ‘… upsetting.’
‘I’ll tell you something, Jimmy,’ Malcolm said. ‘Is it okay if I call you Jimmy?’
‘That’s my name.’
‘Trying to give Donovan a slap hasn’t made you any enemies in this place. Far from it.’
‘So am I going to be charged, then?’
‘With what?’
‘I don’t know. You tell me. Assault?’
‘Well, my take on it was that it was a disagreement that got out of hand. A bit of a scuffle, perhaps, but nothing more than that. You didn’t actually hit him.’ Malcolm leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I wouldn’t advise PC Donovan to take any further action on this one, given the circumstances. Nor do I think would anyone else in the station, under the circumstances.’
‘Okay, I think,’ Jimmy replied. ‘What about the CCTV?’
‘What CCTV?’ Malcolm replied with a wry smile. ‘Regular maintenance is a bitch, isn’t it? Now, why don’t you tell me about your daughter?’
Jimmy fished in his pocket for his phone, grateful that the policemen who’d thrown him in the interview room hadn’t taken it off him. When he’d seen people being arrested on the television, they always got everything taken off them, but then he’d not been arrested so maybe that was why.
He glanced at the phone, checking for messages or missed calls as he had done every time he’d looked at it over the last few days, and brought up the photo app.
‘Her name’s Milly,’ Jimmy said as he scrolled through his photos to find the one he wanted to show to the policeman. ‘Short for Millicent. Her mother’s idea, not mine.’
The policeman laughed as if he knew exactly what Jimmy was talking about before taking a small navy blue notebook and pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
‘Are you still together?’ Malcolm asked. Jimmy stopped scrolling for a second or two. ‘You and Milly’s mother?’
‘No, she’s been gone for ten years now.’ Jimmy looked up at the policeman. If he’d looked him up on the system, maybe he knew what had happened to Hannah? Jimmy didn’t know what information was on police computers, but from the neutral expression on Malcolm’s face, Jimmy guessed family histories weren’t. ‘She’s buried in the big cemetery on the outskirts of the city.’
Jimmy watched as the policeman’s eyes flicked down for a moment as he scribbled something in his notebook. When he looked back up, Malcom’s eyes were creased ever so slightly in the corners, as if he’d just eaten something sour.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Jimmy.’ Jimmy didn’t reply, but kept scrolling through the photographs on his phone. ‘Do you mind if I ask how she died?’
He paused before replying even though he’d anticipated the question.
‘Hannah killed herself,’ Jimmy said in a flat monotone. ’She, um, she jumped off the multi-storey car park on St Stephen’s Street. She’d not been well for a while, but…’ His voice trailed off and Malcolm completed the sentence for him.
‘But you didn’t realise how unwell she really was?’
‘No.’
‘I’m afraid that’s fairly common,’ Malcolm said, almost in a whisper, ‘but I am very sorry to hear what happened to your wife.’ Jimmy didn’t reply, but just focused on his phone.
‘Here she is,’ he said a moment later, flipping the phone around so that Malcolm could see the screen. ‘This is Milly.’
The photo he was showing him was only a few weeks old. The two of them had gone to Cromer for the day on the train, just like they had done when Milly was a child. When they got there, Milly wanted to go crabbing off the end of the pier, so Jimmy had hurried off to one of the local shops to buy some cheap bacon and a crabbing net before Milly changed her mind. The photo he was showing the policeman was of Milly giggling with delight as she held up a small crab to Jimmy’s camera. Just like she had done when she was a child.
‘She’s very pretty,’ Malcolm said, almost in a whisper.
‘Thank you,’ Jimmy replied, because that was what you did when someone complimented your daughter.
‘Could you e-mail me a copy of that photograph?’ Malcolm asked, scribbling an e-mail address down on his notebook and tearing the page out for Jimmy.
As Jimmy brought up the e-mail app on his phone and started typing the policeman’s e-mail address, it filled him with a sense of dread. By sending the police this photograph, he was making Milly’s absence more real somehow, much more so than just coming into the police station to report her missing. More real than trying to give a young, stupid policeman a clip round the ear for being disrespectful. It was almost as if Jimmy was admitting to another man that, despite being her father, he had somehow failed his only daughter.
‘Thank you,’ Malcolm said as his own phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘I’ll add that to the file.’ There it was again, that sense of finality. ‘So, could you tell me when you last saw Milly?’
Jimmy sat back in his chair, rubbing his wrists.
‘Three days ago. Before I went to the hospital to be given the good news. No, hang on, four days. I left her in bed when I left. I didn’t want to disturb her.’
‘You found out about your…’ Malcolm swallowed as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the word, ‘… er, diagnosis, only four days ago?’
‘Yes.’ Jimmy paused before continuing. ‘I came back from the hospital, and she wasn’t there.’
‘Was she definitely there the night before?’
‘I think so.’
‘Think so, or know so?’ Malcolm asked, gently.
‘I think so, but I don’t know for sure. She’s twenty-four. It’s not like I tuck her up anymore,’ Jimmy replied, managing a weak smile.
‘So she could have been missing for four days?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Okay,’ Malcolm said, scribbling in his notebook. ‘Now please don’t try to slap me for asking, but does Milly have a significant other?’
‘Sorry, a what?’ Jimmy asked, momentarily confused.
‘A partner? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?’
‘I don’t think so, no.’
‘Okay,’ Malcolm replied. ‘How about a best friend?’
‘Er,’ Jimmy frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’ Malcolm paused for a second, regarding Jimmy carefully.
‘What does Milly do for a living? Does she work?’
‘Yes, she works. Insists on paying me far too much rent, but I don’t need it.’
‘What does she do?’
‘Um, she’s in hospitality I think. Event something or other.’
‘Event management?’
‘Yep, that’s it.’
‘Who for?’
Jimmy looked at Malcolm, not sure what to say. How could he admit that he had no idea?
Chapter 9
Jimmy stood outside Milly’s bedroom door, looking at the painted wood and tired brass handle on the outside. It wasn’t real brass—he could tell that from the way the gold colouring had worn off to reveal the dull grey metal underneath over the years. It was one of the things he’d been meaning to do for ages—replace the door handles—but also one of the things he’d never got round to. Jimmy raised his han
d and tapped on the door out of habit.
‘Milly?’ he called, even though he knew full well she wasn’t there.
On his way home from the police station, Jimmy had been thinking about his conversation with the Detective Superintendent. Malcolm had gently probed until he had as much information as possible about Milly. The problem was, as Jimmy had realised on the bus, that wasn’t much. Malcolm had been careful to explain that the reason he was asking such searching questions was so he could start the search for Milly, but the whole conversation had made Jimmy realise how little he actually knew about his daughter’s private life.
At some point in the next few days, Malcolm was going to send some policemen round to Jimmy’s house for some follow-up questions. Even though he was fairly senior and wouldn’t normally get involved in a missing person enquiry, Malcolm had explained, he wanted to help Jimmy as much as he could given the circumstances.
The police would want to look through some of her personal effects to get an idea of where to concentrate their efforts. Whatever the police found in Milly’s stuff, Jimmy was thinking, was not going to be a surprise to him. If nothing else, he wanted to be able to protect Milly. The only problem with that line of reasoning was that Jimmy wasn’t sure what she might need to be protected from.
‘You in there, Milly?’ Jimmy called out as he pressed down on the worn door handle. He felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest as he suddenly thought of something. What if Milly was in there? Lying stone cold on the bed, with a packet of pills by her side? Jimmy hadn’t thought to check inside her bedroom before. He’d just assumed she wasn’t there. He didn’t know it for certain. His heart thudded in his chest as he swung the door open, certain for a moment that he would find her there, convinced that she was ignored and unloved before she breathed her last few breaths. When he saw the bed was empty and made, he didn’t know if he was grateful or not.
Jimmy stood in the doorway, waiting for the dull ache in his chest to subside. The interior of Milly’s bedroom was just as it always had been. Immaculately tidy. He’d listened to accounts from blokes he’d worked with about how untidy their own teenage daughter’s bedrooms were, but Milly’s never had been. At one point, Jimmy had even been concerned that Milly’s room was too tidy. No posters on the walls, no dirty laundry strewn on the floor. He looked around his daughter’s room now, realising that it looked more like a guest room in a bed-and-breakfast than a child’s bedroom. Except Milly wasn’t a child; she was twenty-four, and her neatness extended out to the rest of the house. Which wasn’t something that Jimmy had ever complained about before, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Milly’s bed was made, the counterpane so tight that Jimmy could have bounced a coin off it. Not that he’d ever done that, but he had seen it in a film once. To the side of the bed was a solid ancient looking chest of drawers that he and Hannah had bought at an antiques fair years ago. Jimmy had hated it on sight, but Hannah had loved it and that was that. His fears that putting it in a child’s room would mean that it would be covered in stickers and crayon marks in no time had proven to be unfounded, just like Hannah had told him.
Jimmy ran his hand over the top of the chest of drawers, feeling the uneven surface under his fingertips. The top drawer had a lock on it, and when they had brought the piece of furniture home, Jimmy had oiled it with WD-40. Hannah had watched him closely, wanting to make sure he didn’t stain the wood surrounding the lock. Jimmy smiled at the memory as he ran his fingertips over the recessed lock before he tugged at the handles on the drawer. It was locked.
The next drawer down had clothes in, all neatly arranged. Underpants and knickers to the left, carefully rolled up socks in the middle, and what looked like balled tights on the right. The next drawer down had what Jimmy thought were singlets and t-shirts, all folded and lined up, and the bottom drawer had trousers. Jimmy grinned, not able to help himself. His own chest of drawers in his bedroom had pants and socks in the top, t-shirts and vests in the middle, and jeans and shorts in the bottom. Not anywhere near as neatly arranged as Milly’s clothes, but otherwise the same.
Jimmy crossed over to Milly’s wardrobe, opening the doors reluctantly. He didn’t like the idea of going through her things, but he didn’t really have a choice. Inside the wardrobe—which wasn’t an antique but a Formica one they’d bought from MFI before the furniture chain store had gone bust—was a row of dresses all neatly hanging up on wooden hangers. To the left of the hanging clothes was a series of small shelves with shoes on them, and there were more drawers in the bottom of the wardrobe. There was nothing of interest in any of the drawers—just more clothes, all folded and arranged tidily.
The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small bedside cabinet. Jimmy looked through it, but there was nothing unusual about the contents. The only thing that he thought the police might be interested in was Milly’s passport, which was in the small drawer half hidden among some bills and other paperwork. Wherever Milly had gone, it wasn’t somewhere she needed her passport to get to.
Jimmy flicked through the small maroon booklet. If it weren’t for a school trip to France back when Milly was sixteen, she probably never would have got one. He grinned when he saw the photograph in the passport, remembering how many times they’d tried to get the photograph to meet all the various requirements. The two of them had made a special trip to Sainsbury’s, where there was a photo machine that produced perfect passport photographs every time. At least, that was what the advertising on the side of the photo booth had said. The reality had turned out to be very different.
The photograph that Jimmy was looking at had a morose-looking Milly staring at the camera, fed up. His grin broadened as he remembered the other photographs they’d had taken in the booth that day—all of which were unsuitable for one bizarre reason or another. Either Milly was smiling, about to smile, or wasn’t looking at the camera in the front of the booth. There were even a couple of photographs with Jimmy in them, popping his head through the curtain just as the flash was about to go off. His smile faded as he wondered what had happened to those photos. Jimmy would have loved to look at them now, instead of the one they’d finally chosen for Milly’s passport. He closed the passport, hiding Milly’s face away, and tossed it back into the drawer of the bedside cabinet. The police could come round whenever they wanted to—there wasn’t a great deal for them to find here.
Curious, Jimmy returned his attention to the locked drawer in the antique chest. This was the only part of Milly’s bedroom that he’d not been able to go through. His daughter wasn’t, as far as he was aware, particularly secretive. Even her shelf in the bathroom cabinet was uncensored. Tampons, sanitary products, all there in plain sight even though Jimmy would have quite understood if she’d have preferred to keep them somewhere less public. So, what was in the drawer?
Jimmy grabbed the handle of the drawer again and wiggled it. As he did so, he looked carefully at the small yellow keyhole in the middle of the drawer. When he tugged at the handle, he could see the lock inside the drawer moving. There couldn’t be much to it, he reasoned, so he gave the handle a harder tug. The lock moved again, so he put his other hand on top of the chest of drawers and pulled sharply at the handle. To his relief, it was the lock that gave way as opposed to the handle. He wasn’t that fussed about breaking the lock. Although he’d said nothing to Hannah or Milly, he really didn't like the chest of drawers.
He started to slide the drawer open. Jimmy leaned forwards to see what was inside. Whatever was in the drawer was heavy enough, he could tell that from the weight of it.
‘Oh, really?’ Jimmy muttered as he saw what was inside the drawer. It was a bright red metal box, like a cash tin. He picked it up, surprised at its weight, and looked to see what else was in the locked drawer. Apart from some paperwork, mobile phone bills from the look of them, the only thing of interest was a small white USB thumb drive with some writing on the side. He picked it up and slipped it into his pocket to look at later on.
>
Jimmy reached into his other pocket and pulled his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he found the one he wanted. As he waited for a reply, he examined the heavy metal box. It was solid as anything. Jimmy knew next to nothing about metal, but he could see that the whole box didn’t have a weak spot anywhere. According to the information on the bottom of the box, not only was it secure, but it was also fireproof
‘Hello?’ a gruff voice answered. ‘What’s up, Jimmy?’
‘Hey Joe,’ Jimmy replied. ‘You busy, mate?’
‘Never too busy to talk to you, fella,’ Joe said. ‘You just finished, have you?’
‘No, been off today.’
‘Really? In the week?’
‘Off sick.’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a first,’ Jimmy’s friend replied. ‘Are you actually sick, or was it just a case of not being arsed to go in?’
‘Bit of both, to be fair,’ Jimmy said. He waited until Joe’s throaty chuckle had subsided before continuing. ‘Joe, listen mate. I’ve got a quick question for you. Do you know anyone who knows about locks?’
There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Jimmy stayed silent, waiting for a reply. He knew full well that Joe occasionally dabbled with things outside the usual remit of a pub landlord, and Joe knew that Jimmy knew, but it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed.
‘What sort of locks?’ Joe eventually replied.
‘It’s a metal box, kind of like a tiny safe. It’s locked, obviously, but I’d like to get into it.’ Jimmy paused for a few seconds. ‘Without making it obvious that I’ve opened it.’
‘And where is this box, exactly?’ Joe asked. Jimmy heard the familiar rasp of a lighter, followed by an inhalation of breath. Either Joe’s pub was empty, and he was mounting a one-man rebellion against the smoking ban, or he was outside in the sorry excuse for a beer garden.
‘In my house. Where else is it going to be?’
‘Oh, right,’ Joe said. ‘What, have you lost the key?’
Jimmy jumped as he heard the doorbell ring. Balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he slipped the box back into Milly’s drawer and started making his way downstairs to answer the door.
Finding Milly Page 6
