It showed a light, almost washed out, monochrome image of a woman with a small child. Not much more than a new-born baby, and certainly less than a year old—in Jimmy’s estimation at least. The woman was holding the baby close to her chest, the look of delight and hope on her face as she looked at the baby heartbreaking. For a second, Jimmy was reminded of Hannah when Milly was about the same age. The thing that broke Jimmy’s heart though wasn’t the mother with her child—it was the older man standing behind them in the picture. The mother’s father, perhaps? Three generations in the same photograph. Young to old, old to young. Whichever way Jimmy looked at the canvas, the fact was that he would never feature in a photograph like this one. He didn’t know if Milly wanted children—that wasn’t the sort of conversation he’d ever had with her—but it was irrelevant anyway. Even if she had sextuplets, he wouldn’t have the chance to hold a single one of them. Not for the first time since he’d been given the good news at the hospital a few short days before, Jimmy felt tears streaming down his face even though he didn’t realise he was crying.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said to himself under his breath as he pulled a tissue from his pocket. Jimmy wiped his eyes, telling himself as he did so to get a grip.
‘Are you okay there?’ a man’s voice came from behind him. Jimmy finished wiping his eyes and turned to look at whoever had just spoken to him. He’d not heard anyone else come into the studio, but he’d spent the last few moments transfixed by the canvas on the wall in front of him.
‘Erm, yeah?’ Jimmy replied, trying to sound irritated. ‘Touch of hay fever.’ Too late, Jimmy realised that people didn’t get hay fever in November.
The man standing behind him was stocky, broad shouldered but carrying too much around the middle to be considered fit. He was just shorter than Jimmy, around five nine, five ten at a push, and had one of the most ridiculous haircuts Jimmy had seen for a while.
‘I’m Max,’ the man said, extending a hand toward Jimmy. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Jimmy tried not to stare at the bizarre combination of a receding hairline combined with a man-bun that emphasised how white the hair he had left was and shook Max’s hand. The other man’s cockney accent instantly set Jimmy on edge. If Max was anywhere near as good a photographer as he appeared to think he was, he wouldn’t have left London.
‘Jimmy Tucker.’ The two men shook hands and looked at each other warily. Jimmy didn’t really care what Max thought about him, though. The photographer was wearing a crumpled shirt, blue jeans and a pair of flip-flops. Whether or not this was trendy, Jimmy had no idea, but they weren’t the best things to wear on your feet in the winter.
‘Come on through, Mr Tucker,’ Max said, gesturing towards one of the closed doors leading off the waiting area. ‘Let me show you round, then we can have a chat. Yeah?’
A few moments later, Jimmy was sitting on a bar stool in one of the rooms behind the waiting area. The room was what he’d been expecting to see when he’d first walked into the place. There was an expensive-looking camera on a tripod, curled wires leading to lighting units with white umbrellas behind them. The whole assembly was pointing towards a roll of marbled paper extending from the ceiling to the floor. All very industrial looking.
‘So, Mr Tucker?’ Max said as he sat on a bar stool next to him.
‘Jimmy. My name’s Jimmy.’
‘Jimmy. Rachel tells me you’re after a shoot for a young lady who works for you?’ Max glanced down at a piece of paper in his hands, and Jimmy realised it was the receptionist’s notes. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Jimmy replied.
‘What level?’
’Sorry?’
‘What level of images are you looking for?’
‘Oh, sorry. All of them.’ Jimmy knew that the conversation was rapidly veering away from what he understood.
‘Are you sure?’ Max replied, looking uncertain. ‘Your friend is happy with that, is she?’ Jimmy fixed him with what he hoped what was a threatening look.
‘Of course I’m sure. She works for me, doesn’t she? She’ll do what she’s told, if she knows what’s good for her.’ He’d talked himself into the lie—it was too late to back out of it now.
Max got to his feet and walked to a small cupboard that Jimmy hadn’t noticed in the corner of the room. The photographer reached into the cupboard and pulled out a couple of tumblers and a half empty bottle of whisky.
‘Do you want a drink, Jimmy?’ Max asked, undoing the top of the bottle. ‘While we have a chat?’
‘That sounds like an excellent idea,’ Jimmy replied with a smile. If the bar stool he was sitting in had had a back, he would have leaned back into it. ‘Make it a double.’
Chapter 24
‘So, Max,’ Jimmy said as he sipped his whisky. ‘How long have you worked in Norwich for?’
‘I’ve been up here for about two years altogether,’ the photographer replied. ‘Not long enough to lose my accent. You’re a local boy, I take it?’
‘Born and bred,’ Jimmy said, hiding a smile at being called a boy by a man about half his age. ‘Why’d you leave London?’
‘Met a bird, didn’t I?’ Max replied. ‘She’s from up here, so I moved.’ Jimmy looked at his face carefully. The other man had tried to mask a brief look of irritation at the question, but hadn’t quite managed it. ‘Besides, it’s a lot cheaper in Norwich.’ He waved his glass around the room. ‘A studio like this would cost thousands every week down in the city, you get me?’
‘Yeah,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m sure it would. Doesn’t look cheap, this kit.’
‘You’re bloody telling me,’ the photographer replied. ‘Top of the range it is, too. I can’t take any shortcuts with it.’
‘And there’s enough work in Norwich to keep you going, is there?’
‘Plenty. There’s always people getting married, having babies, that sort of thing. But to be honest,’ Max lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper, ‘the money’s in the other stuff.’
‘Even up here?’
‘Especially up here,’ Max said. ‘Can I ask, did someone refer me to you?’
Jimmy paused, unsure of what to say. He decided not to reply, but just fixed the photographer with a stare.
‘Okay,’ Max said after a few seconds. ‘I get it. No names, no pack drill. Not a problem, my friend.’ He wriggled on his chair before continuing. ‘So, this girl of yours. She’s after a portfolio shoot, is that right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘What’s it for?’
‘The portfolio?’
‘Yeah, the portfolio.’
‘Er, she wants to get into modelling,’ Jimmy replied. He was treading on slightly thin ice, but pressed on. ‘That’s why she wants a portfolio.’
‘What sort of modelling?’
‘All sorts.’
Max glanced down at his receptionist’s notes, running his finger down the page.
‘Yeah, got that. So, she works for you, this girl?’
‘I already said that,’ Jimmy replied, starting to get annoyed with this dance that the two of them seemed to be doing. ‘Why don’t we cut the crap and just get down to it?’
‘Fine,’ Max replied, looking relieved. He stood and crossed to where he’d left the bottle of whisky before picking it up and re-filling both their glasses. ‘Standard shoot is three grand for a full set that would set your girl up nicely.’ Jimmy almost choked on his drink. Three grand for a few pictures? ‘That’s for a solo shoot, here in the studio. Rachel will chaperone for anything nude, but she won’t do open leg, penetration, toys, couples, or group shots. I’ve got another girl who can come in for that sort of thing, but she’s an extra two fifty.’ Max looked at Jimmy, who was concentrating on keeping his face as business-like as he could. ‘If you want a location, that’ll cost, but I know a few discrete places that aren’t overlooked.’
‘That’s a lot for some photographs,’ Jimmy said. Max didn’t reply, but glanced over at his camera equipmen
t.
‘Depends what you want,’ he replied. ‘If you want quality, you’ve got to pay. Otherwise, why not just use an iPhone like most of the slappers out there think will do the job?’
‘Have you got some examples of these portfolios?’ Jimmy wasn’t sure, but he thought that was probably not an unreasonable question. For three grand a pop.
‘Sure,’ Max replied, putting his glass down and crossing to a cabinet in the room's corner. When he came back, he had a black leather zippered case in his hands. He unzipped the case and opened it out, showing Jimmy the front page inside.
‘Here’s a selection,’ Max said. ‘One or two shots from some of my recent portfolios. Fill your boots.’
Jimmy put his glass down and looked at the first photograph. It was of a young woman, maybe slightly older than Milly. She was standing slightly side-on to the camera, looking out of a window at an out-of-focus garden. Her face wasn’t visible above her nose—the photograph was cropped so that the only thing visible was a set of full lips framed by auburn hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. She was naked, small pert breasts partially covered by one of her hands. A perfectly manicured red fingernail trailed towards her naval. Her other hand was covering her pubic area.
‘What do you think?’ Max asked Jimmy, who jumped at the sound of the other man’s voice. ‘Like what you see?’
‘It’s very well done,’ Jimmy replied as he turned to look at the next photograph in the binder. This one was of the same woman, her face now hidden by her hair. In this image she was wearing a white vest top that looked dampened, presumably to emphasise the woman’s nipples. She had the top rolled up as if she was about to take it off and had one leg in front of the other to cover her modesty. Which it did—just.
Jimmy leafed through more of the pages in the binder to see more pictures in the same vein. The next model was a statuesque black woman, photographed in monochrome. She didn’t have her face covered and was staring at the camera with an expression somewhere between disdain and allure. Horrified by the thought he might turn one of the pages and see his Milly staring back at him, Jimmy quickly flipped through the photographs until he got to the last couple of pages. Here, he stopped. It wasn’t Milly, but he knew this girl.
She was sitting on the edge of a sofa, side on to the camera, with a brick wall behind her. One hand was resting on a slim thigh just above the top of the stockings she was wearing, the other was held to the top of her head where her fingers were running through her barely-tamed red hair. Jimmy tried not to look at her bare breasts, but couldn’t look at the photograph without noticing them.
’She’s very pretty,’ Jimmy said in a whisper. ‘Who is she?’
‘Let me see,’ Max replied, looking over Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘No idea. Can’t remember her name. Foreign, though. Not from round here.’
Jimmy knew that the girl in the photograph wasn’t local. She was from a place called Ratoath, pronounced ‘Rathaus’, in County Meath. Jimmy also knew that there was no way a second-year student nurse could afford three grand on a set of risqué photographs, no matter what they were for or how many extra shifts she worked on the side. He closed the binder, not wanting to look at Angela’s young body any more.
‘You want anything stronger?’ Max asked.
‘No,’ Jimmy replied, glancing at his glass of whisky. ‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘I didn’t mean the drink. I’m sure I’ve got more of that last little slapper in my personal collection. A bit more entertaining. She seemed to flick your switch, right?’
‘I’m good, thanks.’
’So, are you interested in moving forward, then?’
‘I am,’ Jimmy replied, taking a deep breath. ‘Very interested.’
‘Excellent,’ Max said with a smile. ‘We can go back into the waiting area and set a date and time with Rachel, if you want?’
‘Sure, sounds good to me. I’ve got one question, though?’
‘Shoot.’ Max smiled as he said this, and Jimmy realised that it must be one of his stock jokes.
‘Very good,’ Jimmy replied with a wry smile. ‘How do these women afford these photos?’
Max’s face darkened at the question.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They don’t look like the sort of girls who can afford three grand for a bunch of photos.’
‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘No,’ Jimmy said, deliberately keeping his voice even. ‘Humour me. I’ve got a lot of girls, I’m curious, and if we’re about to go into business together…’ He let his voice trail away.
Max looked at Jimmy, and he knew that the photographer was sizing him up. Money always talked in the end.
‘Sometimes the girls have someone who pays for them,’ the photographer said. ‘Someone like you, for example. Sometimes they take out loans to get themselves going. And sometimes?’ Max looked at Jimmy with a malevolent expression. ‘Sometimes we just work something out between us.’
Jimmy could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He looked at the photographer, wondering what it would feel like to ram his fist into the arrogant twat’s face. Instead, he fished in his pocket for his mobile phone and willed his fingers to not shake as he swiped his way to his photos. Bringing up the photo of Milly that she used for her Facebook profile, he turned the screen to Max.
‘Did you take this?’ he said in a quiet voice. Max leaned forward to look at the small screen, and Jimmy caught the minuscule widening of his eyes.
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes,’ the photographer replied. ‘Never seen her before in my life.’ Jimmy reached back into his pocket and pulled out the USB drive with the photography studio’s logo on the side.
‘Only it was on this thumb drive which, unless I’m very much mistaken, belongs to you?’ he said, holding the drive up so that Max could see it.
Max leaned back and, to Jimmy’s surprise, started laughing.
‘Mate,’ the photographer replied, ‘do you know how many of them I give out every month? Bloody hundreds. Great for marketing, but shit for sales.’
‘So this photo isn’t one of yours?’ Jimmy gestured toward Max with his phone.
‘Let me see it again.’ Max leaned back over and Jimmy caught a faint smell of cheap aftershave. The photographer squinted at the picture on the screen. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Depth of field’s all off, composition’s shite, and I don’t even think the bird’s eyes are in focus.’ He sneered at the phone. ‘I’d be embarrassed to have taken that. There're thousands of those drives floating around Norwich. Anyone could have taken that.’ Max looked at Jimmy, his face hardening. ‘So, who are you?’
Jimmy shoved the phone back into his pocket, knowing that the man was lying through his teeth. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
‘I asked you a question, fella?’ Max said with a snarl. ‘Who are you?’ Jimmy regarded him with amusement as he drained the last of his whisky and got to his feet.
‘I could be your best customer ever, mate,’ he said. ‘Or your worst fucking nightmare. I just haven’t decided which yet. You get me?’
‘I think we’re done,’ Max replied, taking a step back and rolling his shoulders as if he was getting ready to throw a punch at Jimmy. ‘Maybe you should go?’
Jimmy laughed, not able to help himself.
‘It’d be a pleasure, mate. You’re right.’ He took a sharp step toward Max, who jumped back, knocking one of his cameras to the floor from its tripod. ‘We’re done.’
Chapter 25
Jimmy unzipped his fly and assumed the position in front of the urinal. He was back in the Heartsease, three pints to the good, and waiting for Big Joe’s evening barman to come in and take over the pub so that Jimmy and Big Joe could have a proper chat.
Behind him, the door opened and Jimmy heard someone else come into the toilet. As the other man stood next to him and undid his own fly, Jimmy glanced across at him.
‘Mr Tucker,’ Gareth said without
returning the look. ‘All well?’
‘Not too bad, Gareth,’ Jimmy replied. ‘How about you?’
‘Musn’t grumble.’
The two men stood in silence for a few seconds, and Jimmy finished his business. He tucked himself away and did up his zip before turning to the basin.
‘Glad I caught you, Jimmy,’ Gareth said without looking round. ‘Big Joe tells me you managed to lose a phone the other night?’ Jimmy put some soap on his hands and pressed on the tap.
‘I did,’ he replied. ‘I’m hoping it’ll turn up.’
‘Joe said he’d put the word out. Tuckswood Kyle is good at that sort of thing.’ Jimmy washed his hands as Gareth did up his zip. ‘Thing is, that will only work if Tuckswood Kyle gets his hands on the phone in the first place. If it gets sold in some pub toilet, well, that’ll be that.’
Jimmy stepped to one side to dry his hands and let Gareth get to the basin.
‘That’s a fair point, Gareth,’ Jimmy replied. ‘But what else can I do?’
‘I only mention it,’ Gareth said, ‘because a friend of a friend told me about a young scally called Percy up on the Mile Cross estate who’s running around with a bust nose and a couple of black eyes.’ He turned to look at Jimmy. Even though Jimmy had been around the block a few times himself and thought he could look after himself most of the time, there was a simmering anger underneath Gareth’s expression that really was intimidating. ‘I could stop by young Percy’s place. See if he’d be happy to sell me the phone?’
Jimmy smiled at Gareth, but the gesture wasn’t returned.
‘I’ll make sure you’re not out of pocket if you are able to do that, Gareth.’
Finding Milly Page 16
