Jimmy pushed open the door to the waiting room for the neurology outpatients department and he looked around the room. Although it was early—the department wasn’t even open yet—he couldn’t see Angela. He crossed to the reception desk where a sour-faced woman was staring at the computer screen in front of her. She didn’t so much as acknowledge his presence, and as he listened to her nails tapping at the keyboard, he realised this was the woman who he’d been speaking to on the phone the previous day.
‘Excuse me?’ Jimmy said. The woman raised one hand from the keyboard and extended an index finger to hush him.
‘Two seconds,’ she said, continuing to tap at the keyboard with her spare hand. Jimmy shifted from foot to foot as he waited, looking around as he did so for a flash of red hair. There was no sign of Angela, and his heart started to drop. ‘Can I help?’
‘I need to speak to Angela.’ A frown appeared on the woman’s face, the ease with which it did so telling Jimmy that this was a commonly worn expression for her.
‘You were on the phone yesterday asking for her?’ It was more of a statement than a question.
‘Yes, I was. I need to speak to her.’ Jimmy leaned forward a few inches, desperate to make his point. ‘It’s really urgent.’
‘Well, I’m ever so sorry,’ the receptionist replied, the faintest smile on her face suggesting that she wasn’t in the slightest bit sorry, ‘but she’s not in today.’
‘She told me she would be, though,’ Jimmy said. ‘We were going to meet for a coffee after my appointment.’
‘She’s off sick.’ The receptionist returned her attention to her computer. ‘Would you like me to book you in for your appointment?’
‘Have you got a phone number for her, please?’ Jimmy asked. The receptionist looked at him, her mouth half open.
‘Er, no. That’s not the sort of information we can give out. Why do you need to speak to her so urgently?’
‘I can’t tell you, but it’s really important that I do. Where does she live?’
‘Sorry.’ The receptionist pressed her mouth together in a thin line and stared at her screen. ‘Could you confirm your date of birth, please?’
Jimmy turned on his heel, the woman calling out his voice as he walked back across the waiting room. He retraced his steps down the corridors toward the main entrance, ignoring one or two curious looks from passing members of staff as he did so.
Thirty minutes later, Jimmy was back in his lounge, waiting for his MacBook to finish booting up. He’d paid way over the odds for a taxi back from the hospital after persuading the four or five people already waiting for one that he needed it urgently. The taxi driver must have picked up on Jimmy’s desperation, but instead of sympathising with him had just doubled the fare.
When the laptop finally creaked into life, Jimmy navigated his way into the copy of Max’s hard drive and opened up the folder with the photographs of Angela. He clicked on one of the e-mails and ran his eyes over it, not finding what he was looking for. It wasn’t until he opened the last e-mail that he found a contact number for her. The e-mail was from Angela to Max, confirming their meeting at the Royal Hotel a few weeks before. Confirming that Angela was happy to pay for the portfolio shoot with something other than money.
Jimmy didn’t care about any of that, sickening though it was. All he cared about was the telephone number Angela had included in the e-mail. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and tapped in the numbers, hoping that if Angela was sick, she wasn’t too sick to answer the phone. He sighed when a woman’s voice answered, but his relief didn’t last long at all.
We’re sorry, the woman’s voice said. This number is no longer in service.
Chapter 47
‘All right, Tucker?’ Jimmy regarded Carlos with what he hoped was a neutral expression.
‘Very good, thank you, Carlos,’ he replied. The Head of Security looked Jimmy up and down with a critical expression.
Jimmy had been at the hotel for a couple of hours before he was due to actually start work. He’d used his keycard to slip into the main hotel and spent a while hiding in the plant room on the first floor. He’d not been waiting there for long when a white Transit van reversed down the alleyway. It was Max.
Jimmy had kept back from the window as he watched Max unload a bunch of photographic equipment from the van and carry it through the fire doors into the function room in the hotel's basement. Lights, tripods, black storage cases. By the time Max had finished, he was sweating hard, but he hadn’t looked up at Jimmy’s vantage point once. The last thing Max did before he left was loop the thick chain and padlock around the handles, securing the fire doors from the outside. So much for fire regulations, Jimmy had thought.
‘So, what’s the plan, Carlos?’ Jimmy said. ‘Where do you want me?’
‘This way,’ Carlos replied, turning and walking to a set of doors leading off the foyer. He opened the doors and walked through, followed by Jimmy. They were now in a corridor with a set of steps at the end that led down to another door. There was no handle on the outside of the door—just a plain brass plaque with one word on it. Private. ‘You’ll be here,’ Carlos said, pointing at the door. ‘Standing outside, making sure that Mr Hollister and his friends aren’t disturbed.’
Jimmy stared at the door, unsure how anyone could disturb them when there was no door handle. He decided against saying anything.
‘Okay, no problem. What is it, a private party?’
‘Yeah,’ Carlos replied with a sneer. ‘Very private. That’s why you’re on the door.’ He sniffed hard.
‘Sure. When from?’
‘From now.’
Carlos disappeared up the stairs, leaving Jimmy standing alone in the corridor. He looked again at the door, wondering if anyone was on the other side of it. There was no way it could be opened from this side. Jimmy put his hands behind his back in a classic bouncer’s pose and stood with his back to the door, looking up the corridor.
Almost forty minutes later, Jimmy was still in exactly the same position when he heard the door at the top of the corridor open. He rolled his shoulders once or twice, wincing at the aching sensation this caused, and braced up.
Three men were making their way down the steps, closely followed by Carlos. The one in front was the legendary Martin Hollister, looking exactly how he looked in the photographs that Jimmy had seen of him. Assured, confident, rich beyond belief. Behind him were two men Jimmy had never seen before, but as they approached, he wondered if he had seen them on the screen. The context made it difficult to tell for sure, but the way one of them walked seemed familiar. Was this the muscular man with more enthusiasm than size?
Jimmy clenched his fists behind his back as Hollister approached. The hotel owner didn’t even look at him as he approached the door and rapped on it. As he did so, Jimmy caught the faintest glimpse of a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand. Resisting the urge to punch Hollister as hard as he could, Jimmy just watched as the three men walked through the door. Carlos stopped for a second in front of Jimmy.
‘This door’s going to close, and no-one comes in. Got it?’
‘Got it.’
Carlos followed Hollister and his companions into the room, and the door swung shut behind them with a faint click. Jimmy was on his own again. He sighed, wondering how the evening would play out, and got his phone out of his pocket. No signal.
It was at least an hour later when the door re-opened. Carlos stepped through, leaving his hand holding the door open, and Jimmy heard some faint music and laughter from inside the basement room.
‘You okay?’ Jimmy asked him, receiving a sniff followed by a grunt in response. ‘Listen, Carlos. I need a pee really badly. Can I nip upstairs to the foyer?’
Carlos stared at him with an appraising expression.
‘You’ve not even been for a piss, Tucker?’ he asked Jimmy.
‘You told me to stay here on the door.’
‘Good lad.’ Jimmy managed not to frown. He was
at least twenty years older than Carlos. ‘Listen, go for your piss and then go to the bar. There’s a girl in there, should be sitting at the bar on her own. Bring her down here and just knock on the door.’
‘What’ll I say to her?’
‘I don’t give a fuck, mate. Tell her Lord Sugar will see her now if you want to.’
‘Who is she?’ Jimmy asked.
‘No idea,’ Carlos replied. ‘But she’s the entertainment, so just fuck off and get her.’
Jimmy made his way along the corridor and up the stairs, thinking hard. He didn’t go to the toilet in the foyer, but hurried into the bar. There, sitting at the bar as Carlos had said, was a girl. She was wearing an expensive-looking black sleeveless dress with matching shoes that contrasted with her flame red hair, making it look even more vibrant. She had her back to the door and was toying with a drink.
‘Hello, Angela,’ Jimmy said as he approached her. She turned, and Jimmy saw a look of absolute horror cross Angela’s heavily made-up face.
‘Mr Tucker,’ Angela said in a whispered gasp. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You need to leave, Angela,’ Jimmy said with as much urgency as he could manage. ‘Now.’
‘No, you don’t understand, I’m–’
‘I do understand, Angela,’ he replied, cutting her off. ‘I understand very well what’s going on, and before you tell me it’s none of my business, you need to leave.’
Jimmy stared at Angela, whose face was colouring underneath all the makeup she was wearing. Her look of horror was changing into a look of determination in front of Jimmy’s eyes.
‘I’m being paid, Mr Tucker,’ she said thorough gritted teeth. ‘I’m being paid a lot of money to be here this evening, and that’s my choice.’ Jimmy reached out and put his hand on her bare arm. Angela flinched and moved her arm away. ‘Leave me alone!’
Jimmy moved his hand again and circled his fingers around her upper arm. Angela’s skin was smooth under his hand and freezing cold.
‘Leave me alone,’ Angela said again, wriggling to get away from him. He ignored her and tightened his grip on her arm. ‘You’re hurting me, Mr Tucker. Please stop!’
‘Is everything okay?’ a male voice asked. Jimmy turned to see the barman walking toward them.
‘Can you call security?’ Angela asked the barman in a plaintive voice.
‘I am security,’ Jimmy said as he pulled her off the bar stool she was sitting on. ‘You know she’s underage, don’t you mate?’ The barman’s eyebrows went up.
‘I am not,’ Angela said, trying again to free herself from Jimmy’s grip. ‘I’ve got ID. Let me get it, I’ll show you.’
Jimmy ignored her and pulled her sharply from the bar stool. She stumbled slightly in her heels, but soon recovered. He started walking Angela to the door of the bar and into the foyer.
‘Mr Tucker, please,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. Jimmy looked down at her and saw tears forming in the corner of her eyes. ‘Please don’t do this. I really need the money.’
‘I’ll pay you twice what Martin Hollister offered you,’ he said. ‘Not for sex, but for going home.’ Angela’s eyebrows creased as she replied.
‘You can’t… I mean…’ Her voice trailed off. Still holding on to Angela’s arm, Jimmy frog-marched her to the main door of the hotel, ignoring the curious looks of the hotel guests in the foyer. Outside the door were a couple of taxis. Jimmy marched Angela to the one in the front of the queue and, opening the rear door, pushed Angela into it slightly harder than he’d intended. He turned to the driver.
‘Can you take this girl home, mate,’ Jimmy said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.
‘Where to, love?’ The driver turned his head to look at Angela, who had tears streaming down her face. ‘Are you okay back there?’
‘She’s fine,’ Jimmy said, slipping a couple of twenty-pound notes out of his pocket and throwing them on the passenger seat. ‘Just a bit of an argument, that’s all. Can you make sure she gets home, though, and inside her house or wherever she’s living. No detours.’
‘I don’t need that much if she’s in Norwich, mate,’ the driver said, looking at the money on the seat.
‘Just make sure she gets home, yeah?’ Jimmy said, glancing back at Angela. She had her head in her hands, and her bare shoulders were heaving. ‘Safe and sound.’
Jimmy waited until the driver had pulled away from the hotel and out of sight. He turned and walked slowly back through the hotel foyer, turning the lighter over and over in his pocket as did so. He made his way to the door leading to the basement and pushed his way through it, a deep frown on his face. Hopefully, the taxi driver had Angela a long way from the hotel by now. Jimmy thought back to the look that she had given him through the car window just as the taxi had left. She looked sad, vulnerable, and angry all at the same time. Just like Milly had done the last time they’d argued.
He walked up to the door at the end of the corridor, rapped on it a couple of times and took a step back. A few seconds later, it opened a couple of inches and the face of the muscular man peered out. His eyes darted past Jimmy’s shoulder.
‘Where’s the girl?’ the man said. Jimmy didn’t reply, but lifted his foot and kicked the door as hard as he could.
Chapter 48
The edge of the door caught the man standing on the other side of it full in the face, splitting his nose open with a spray of red mist. Jimmy followed up the kick to the door with his shoulder, barging his way past the man and into the room.
‘What the fuck?’ Carlos said as the injured man crumpled to the floor. Jimmy strode into the middle of the room, his fists clenched, and looked around the basement.
In one corner of the room was a bed, surrounded by Max’s lights. Max himself was standing next to it, an expensive-looking video camera in his hand, staring with shock at Jimmy. Next to him was the third man Jimmy had seen earlier, an anonymous looking little man in a suit. Next to him was Martin Hollister. The man himself. He was looking at Jimmy with a mixture of surprise and contempt, a glass tumbler with amber liquid in it in his hand.
Jimmy saw Carlos out of the corner of his eye making his way over to the door he had just kicked open. The Head of Security closed it before turning the lock and pocketing the key. Jimmy glanced over to the fire doors, remembering the padlock on the outside. With the door he’d just come through now locked, Jimmy was trapped.
‘Well, well, well,’ Martin Hollister said. ‘It seems we have a visitor.’ His voice was deep, assured. The voice of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
‘He was in my studio,’ Max said. ‘Last week. Came in looking for some portfolio work.’ Jimmy heard a rustling noise behind him, and he turned to look at Carlos. In response to the gun in his hand, Jimmy put his hands up to chest height.
‘Woah, woah,’ Jimmy said, staring at the small black pistol. Apart from the occasional armed policeman, Jimmy had never seen a real gun in his life. ‘No need for that, mate.’
‘Shut the fuck up and sit down over there.’ Carlos gestured with the gun towards a wooden chair. Jimmy recognised it as the chair that Rhiannon had been sitting in when she introduced herself to the camera.
‘I would do as he says,’ Hollister said, sipping his drink. He still looked vaguely amused, almost as if all this was below him somehow. Jimmy made his way over to the chair and sat in it, thinking hard. This wasn’t playing out like he had thought it would. Hollister took a few steps toward him, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, we’ve met somewhere before tonight, haven’t we?’ Jimmy didn’t reply. ‘I thought that when I saw you standing outside the door earlier. I thought, I know that man from somewhere.’
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Carlos said with a snarl. ‘And what have you done with the girl?’
‘Hush, Carlos,’ Hollister said with a wave of his hand. ‘Don’t be crude. Make sure Neil’s okay would you?’ He nodded at the man on the floor. ‘Don’t want him choking on his own tongue no
w, do we?’ Carlos kept his eyes—and the gun—fixed on Jimmy as he made his way over to where the man on the floor was just beginning to stir.
‘Fiona says hi, by the way, Max,’ Jimmy said, calling out to the photographer. He watched as Max’s face darkened.
‘Where is the little slut?’
‘No idea, mate. Is there much left in your flat?’ Max’s face darkened and he strode across the room to stand in front of Jimmy. ‘Even less in your bank account, I would imagine?’
‘It was you?’ Jimmy didn’t reply, but just smiled. ‘You helped her?’
‘What’s going on, Max?’ Hollister asked, taking a sip of his drink. ‘You got women troubles?’
‘Not any more, Mr Hollister,’ Max replied in a deferential voice. ‘Fiona’s done one, but the bitch took all my money and then someone,’ he glared at Jimmy, ‘someone did my flat over.’ Max looked at Hollister with his eyebrows raised. Asking for permission.
‘Have at it,’ Hollister said with an amused smile.
Jimmy braced as much as he could for the punch, but when it came, it was harder than he was expecting. His head snapped back, and the chair wobbled for a second. Jimmy shook his head a couple of times to clear it. As he did so, a lurching sensation made him think he was about to fall from the chair, and a sudden knife-like pain pierced the base of his skull. The pain was so sharp it took his breath away.
‘Feel better for that, do you?’ Hollister asked the photographer. Max said nothing, but flexed his fingers again.
‘Once is enough, Max,’ Hollister said. ‘For the moment.’ Jimmy shook his head again. The sharp pain in the back of his head was turning into a strange fluid-like sensation, and he could feel his cheek starting to swell. ‘Now what do you want?’
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