‘Gareth,’ Jimmy replied, putting his hand out and resting it on the other man’s forearm. ‘Gareth, if I’d known that I never would have asked you. I’m sorry, I really am.’ He wasn’t joking. He’d made Hannah many promises, most of them after she had died, and he’d kept every single one of them bar one. The one where he promised her he would look after Milly and keep her safe. Or die trying.
Gareth didn’t reply, and the two men sat in silence for a few moments. Jimmy was running through his options in his head, and from the look of Gareth, he was thinking about his wife. Jimmy was just thinking about how he could break into Max’s flat when Gareth’s voice broke his concentration.
‘Does it get any easier?’ he said. Jimmy looked at him, curiously.
‘Does what get any easier?’
‘Everything,’ Gareth replied with a sigh that deflated his whole body. ‘Big Joe told me about your wife. Anna, was she called?’
‘Hannah,’ Jimmy said. ‘She was called Hannah.’
‘How long ago did she die?’
‘Ten years, give or take.’
‘So,’ Gareth continued, ‘does it get any easier?’ Jimmy paused for a moment before replying. He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed with Joe for telling Gareth about Hannah, but it was hardly a state secret.
‘I’d love to say that it does, Gareth,’ he replied. ‘But I’m not sure that’s true.’ He paused again, thinking about what to say next. ‘It’s like that glitter stuff.’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘You know, the glitter that kids glue to the front of home-made birthday cards,’ Jimmy said. ‘Makes a right fucking mess when you open them.’ Gareth’s smile told Jimmy that he knew what he was talking about. ‘You try really hard to clean it up, hoover the bastard stuff from the carpet. And then months later you find a tiny bit and you realise that no matter how hard you try, it never goes away.’
Gareth sat in silence for a moment, considering Jimmy’s analogy.
‘That makes sense,’ he said, sipping his lager.
‘The more time passes, the less glitter you find,’ Jimmy continued. ‘But you always find a bit when you’re least expecting it. But I never moved on from Hannah. I think maybe, if I had found someone else, there’d be less glitter to find.’
‘Why not?’ Gareth replied, looking at Jimmy with an impassive expression. ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I don’t mind at all. Because of Milly.’ He drained the last of his pint. ‘I always told myself that when she spread her wings and moved out into the world, that would be the point when I’d have a little look around. But not before, for Milly’s sake.’ He put his glass down on the table, slightly harder than he’d intended to. ‘Turns out that Mother Nature’s got other ideas. What do you think?’
‘I think,’ Gareth replied, draining his own glass and banging it down on the table just as hard as Jimmy just had done, ‘I think it’s your round, fella.’ The two men grinned at each other for a few seconds. ‘Perhaps a chaser might be called for?’
Chapter 38
Five o’clock in the morning was not, Jimmy decided as he watched the rain lashing against his kitchen window, the best time to be awake. He sipped his coffee, even though the caffeine would probably knock any chance of a snooze later on the head.
He had woken up about thirty minutes earlier and knew the second he opened his eyes he would not be asleep again anytime soon. The minute he woke, a rush of thoughts entered his head as if they had been lying in wait for him to wake up. How could he get closer to Martin Hollister? How could he get into Max’s flat without Gareth’s help? How could he find out where Milly was? With these and a multitude of other similar questions in his head, he crossed to the table and booted up his computer. Where to start? he said to himself as he watched the familiar Apple logo appear on the screen.
Jimmy started with Martin Hollister. The name was, he reasoned, his latest lead so probably the best place to start. Fortunately, the man wasn’t shy of the public eye, and a moment later, Jimmy was staring at a whole slew of Google results on his name.
Hollister came from money, Jimmy read. His father had been some sort of property tycoon, and when he had died a few years ago, he’d left the lot to Hollister. The reports Jimmy read all varied, but the consensus seemed to be the amount the property company was worth was well into seven figures. Jimmy had to work it out in his head—six noughts on the end meant it was millions. He whistled through his teeth as he zoomed in on a photograph of Hollister standing in front of the local hospital. In the photograph, he was wearing a suit with the trousers tucked into wellington boots, and a hard-hat on his head. He was pointing at a large piece of paper, pretending to have a conversation with the man in a high-visibility jacket standing next to him.
‘Construction of the new paediatric oncology wing at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital starts,’ the headline underneath the photograph read. It was from the Eastern Daily News and dated a few years earlier. Jimmy vaguely remembered seeing the new building the last time he was at the hospital—a high-tech looking, glass-fronted affair. All paid for from the generous pocket of Martin Hollister.
As Jimmy read other articles, he started to build up a picture of the man, or at least a picture of how he was represented on the internet. According to one site he read, Hollister was a ‘confirmed bachelor’, which a few years ago would have indicated he was probably homosexual. Judging by the number of women he was photographed leaving various nightclubs with, he wasn’t. Jimmy scrolled through the photos quickly, just on the off-chance one of them was Milly, but none were.
The latest building that Hollister Enterprises had acquired was a very familiar one to Jimmy. The Royal Hotel. He vaguely remembered something about it in the papers when it had been turned back into a hotel, but Jimmy didn’t remember Martin Hollister’s name being attached to the project. Then again, why would he?
According to the Wikipedia page about the hotel, it had a long history in the centre of Norwich. Built in the late nineteenth century before everyone had cars, it had been quite the place to be seen for a few years. Then, as more people bought cars, it gradually fell into disrepair—not helped by the fact that it didn’t have a car park—before being turned into offices. Jimmy scanned through the article, his interest in local history limited until he got to the part he wanted to read. Two years ago, it had been purchased by Hollister’s company and refurbished as a hotel.
Jimmy’s interest in what he could find out about Martin Hollister on the internet soon waned when he realised that there wasn’t a bad word to find about the man. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to find, but there wasn’t the slightest hint anywhere of impropriety, much less information on the network that Simon had told them about. Not the sort of thing that would be advertised on the internet, obviously, but for someone to exist so publicly in the media without a single bad word about them was unusual.
Jimmy scribbled himself a note as a reminder to get in touch with Dave to see if he’d had any luck finding out anything about Hollister and turned his attention to his next objective. Getting into Max’s flat.
Twenty minutes later, Jimmy had the beginnings of an idea. He was looking at an Amazon page for a set of lock picks. Before he’d Googled them, he had no idea that you could just buy them on the internet. Sure, he reasoned, they would be available somewhere. Maybe on the ‘dark web’ that he’d read so much about? But on Amazon? That was a surprise, but here they were.
Jimmy remembered watching Max make his way to his flat. He’d used an electronic keycard to access the main door to the block, but when the photographer opened his front door, he’d used a key. Which meant there was a lock that could be picked. What was it Gareth had said last night? Something about how it was easy when you knew how?
A fresh cup of coffee in his hand, Jimmy moved through to the lounge to settle himself down in a more comfortable chair. His journey on the internet had taken him to You Tube where he now had a bunch of videos to watc
h. All on how to pick locks. Any lock at all, many of them promised.
Within half an hour, his initial enthusiasm was tempered. It hadn’t taken him long at all to get confused by the many types of locks there were, and the different ways of opening them. The basics were just that—as far as Jimmy could see it was just a case of lining up a bunch of pins until the lock opened. But the reality looked a lot more complicated.
Jimmy worked his way through various articles on shear lines, driver pins, key pins and plugs. By the time he’d finished his fourth cup of coffee, he thought he understood the basics at least. Flipping back to Amazon, Jimmy ordered himself a set of lock picks. Not the cheapest set, nor the most expensive, but the ones he ordered came with a bunch of practise locks with transparent casings. According to the Amazon blurb, being able to see the pins helped you learn how to open the locks. For entertainment purposes only, the advertising text was quick to point out. Jimmy had just selected express delivery and pressed the ‘Buy Now’ button when his phone buzzed on the table next to him. He glanced at the screen. It was Gareth.
‘Hello, mate,’ Jimmy said as he answered the call. ‘How you doing?’
‘Not too bad,’ Gareth replied. ‘I’ve not woken you, have I?’ Jimmy glanced at the clock on his wall. He’d been watching YouTube for longer than he’d thought. It was a few minutes past eight o’clock.
‘Christ, no. I’ve been up for hours.’
‘Okay, cool. Have you ever worked a door?’ For a few seconds, Jimmy thought Gareth was talking about picking a lock until he remembered Gareth telling him about working the doors on nightclubs in Norwich a few years earlier.
‘No, I haven’t. Why?’
‘What’s your e-mail address? I’ve found something that might interest you.’
Jimmy reeled off his e-mail address, telling Gareth he had his laptop in front of him, and stared at his computer screen while he waited for the browser to refresh. Within a few seconds, he heard the familiar “ping” of an incoming e-mail.
‘Yeah, that’s come through,’ Jimmy said, opening the e-mail. There was no text in the message—just a link to a website. ‘I take it that’s safe to click on?’ He could hear Gareth laughing down the line as he clicked on the link.
The page that opened was from a jobs website called Indeed. Jimmy remembered Milly using it when she was looking for work after leaving college, but he didn’t think she’d found anything on it. He waited for the screen to finish loading, and a few seconds later was looking at an advertisement for casual security personnel.
‘I’m not really looking for a job to be honest, Gareth.’
‘I know, mate,’ Gareth chuckled. ‘But look at the advert.’ Jimmy did as instructed, but as far as he could see it was just a posting for door staff to work at what was described as a ‘city-centre location’.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘Do you see the logo? Top right-hand corner.’
Jimmy squinted at the small logo on the page. It was two letters in tiny red font—an ‘R’ and an ‘H’.
‘RH?’ Jimmy asked.
‘Royal Hotel.’
Jimmy swore under his breath. Of course it was the Royal Hotel.
‘I was just looking that place up on the internet,’ he said, staring at the logo. How had he missed that?
‘Now listen, I still know a few people in the industry. Not as many as I used to, but a word in the right ear goes a long way. You interested?’
‘Bloody right I am, mate,’ Jimmy replied. ‘As long as there isn’t a medical involved.’
‘I doubt it very much,’ Gareth laughed. ‘If you look mean enough, and don’t take this the wrong way but you do, then you’ll be grand. You’ve got age on your side.’
‘I would have thought they’d prefer younger people. Fitter.’
‘There is that, but a bit of experience goes a long way. I can call in a few favours if you want? No guarantees, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘That’d be magic, Gareth,’ Jimmy said, even though he thought his chances of being employed as a doorman were slim to none. ‘Thanks.’
‘That other thing we talked about last night? The thing you’re going to press on with on your own?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You still hell bent on doing that?’ Jimmy grinned at Gareth’s question, thinking about what he’d just ordered from Amazon.
‘Definitely,’ he replied. ‘Done a bit of research, so I have.’
‘When?’
‘This morning.’
‘No, not when did you do your research,’ Gareth replied, and Jimmy caught the faintest note of irritation in his voice. ‘When are you planning on doing it?’ This was one of the questions that had been waiting for Jimmy when he woke up.
‘Maybe Tuesday night,’ Jimmy said. ‘Norwich are at home, so it’ll be quieter in the area. Max’s girlfriend hasn’t been home before nine all week and kick off is at a quarter to eight.’
‘That’s not long. An hour at the most. You sure Max is going to the match?’
‘His Facebook profile says he is, and I don’t need long.’ Jimmy thought for a second about asking Gareth again if he would help, but decided against it. ‘A couple of minutes, tops.’
‘Did Dave give you that software he was talking about?’
‘To copy the files on his computer? Yeah, he did.’
‘Well, be careful,’ Gareth replied. He paused before continuing. ‘And let me know if you need a lawyer.’
Chapter 39
‘Jesus wept,’ Jimmy said for the fifth time in a row. He was in his shed, staring at a plank of wood with several locks mounted on it. After he’d spoken to Gareth the previous day, Jimmy had gone to a local hardware store and purchased a selection of locks before mounting them onto the plank to make a training bench. Just like he’d seen a bloke do on YouTube.
Yesterday evening, he’d watched a few more videos before settling down for Match of the Day. He knew most of the results already, but the familiarity of the programme was comforting even though Milly wasn’t there to watch it with him like she normally was.
That morning, he’d been woken up by the Amazon delivery driver with his parcel. Jimmy didn’t know what surprised him more—the fact that he’d got a good night’s sleep, or that paying an extra couple of quid in delivery charges meant Amazon would deliver so early on a Sunday morning.
In his left hand, Jimmy was holding a tension wrench. It was made out of thin metal and shaped into an angular ‘S’ shape. One end of the wrench was in the uppermost lock on his training board, and in his other hand was a pick.
When he’d opened the black zippered case with the picks in earlier, his first thought was of dentist’s instruments. There were a bunch of tools in the case—some with a single hook, some with curved ends, others with an almost serrated edge to them. The last one was the one he was trying now, but it wasn’t as easy as the people on YouTube made it look.
He applied some rotational pressure to the tension wrench and slipped the pick into the lock before gently raking it back and forth. The lock didn’t open like it seemed to on the videos, but when he released the pressure on the tension wrench, he could hear several faint clicks as the pins in the lock dropped back down into position. If what he had been watching was correct, when all the pins were on the shear line of the lock and caught on the lip that the tension wrench was creating, it would open. Jimmy counted the clicks—six in all. If the lock he was practising on had seven pins, which he thought it did, then he was just one pin away from opening it.
The lock pick set had come with some transparent practise locks which it turned out were a lot easier to open than this one was. He’d been really surprised when he’d opened the training padlock almost straight away and then repeated the feat with a bike padlock in his shed which had only taken a few moments of practise.
Jimmy closed his eyes and applied some gentle pressure to the tension wrench. He slid the pick back into the lock on his training board and repe
ated the earlier movement, but this time he applied a bit more force to the top of the pick with his index finger. With a resounding click, the lock flew open.
‘Get in,’ he said with a broad grin. Within a few minutes, he had opened it again. A few moments after that, he could do it with his eyes closed. By the time he went to bed that evening, he could open all the locks on his training board.
‘Are you here for the job interview?’ the pale-face young male receptionist behind the desk of the Royal Hotel asked. Jimmy wondered for a second why Alaina wasn’t working—she seemed to be a fixture in the place. He fidgeted for a second, uncomfortable in his suit. It didn’t fit him anywhere near as well as it used to, and he’d had to put an extra notch in his belt to make sure that his trousers stayed up. It was late on Monday morning, and Jimmy had splashed out on a taxi to get him here. The phone call had come in just after nine. The gruff male voice on the phone had asked him if he could get into the city for an interview for a job he hadn’t even applied for. Gareth had though, on his behalf.
‘Yes, I am,’ he replied eventually, eyeing the effeminate young man behind the desk with curiosity.
‘Just through there, sir,’ the receptionist said, pointing at the doors to the bar. Jimmy thanked him and walked through the doors, adjusting his jacket as he did so to make it fit on his shoulders properly and not hang off them.
When he walked through the doors to the bar, it took Jimmy a second to adjust to the gloom after the brightness of the lobby. The bar itself was closed, with louvred metal shutters running from the ceiling to the wooden bar itself. Jimmy looked around, eventually seeing a man sitting in one of the booths toward the back of the bar. Jimmy frowned for a second when he realised it was the same table that he’d been sitting at a couple of nights before, chatting with Simon. As he looked, the man raised a hand in greeting and Jimmy walked across to the table.
Finding Milly Page 25
