London
Before Thailand
Three cups of coffee hadn't calmed my nerves, and not drinking the wine hadn't helped me come up with any great ideas. I hadn't even had so much as a bad idea. The Hermitage had been breathing for over an hour and I could hear it getting restless. A small glass wouldn't impair my thinking. Two glasses later, inspiration hit me. Well, not so much inspiration as inhibition reduction. I'd not mucked about with her phone because respecting her privacy seemed like the right thing to do. The wine was making me question that decision, or maybe it was just making me plain nosey. There's always a connection between wine and noses, apparently.
I turned it over in my hand, as if staring at both sides of it would help me make a decision. The black plastic looked impersonal and functional yet I knew it was private and personal to Hazel, like a diary. Guilt stopped me opening it up; guilt and a password. The guilt passed with a few more sips but the password proved to be more of a challenge.
M-I-B? After all it was a work phone.
H-A-Z-E-L? No.
M-E-T-C-A-L-F-E? No.
D-A-V-E? Wishful thinking.
When you see people guess passwords in movies it seems so easy but it's not so easy in the real world. I would have tried her date of birth, if I'd known it. Or her first pet's name, if I'd known it. Or the street she lived in, if I'd known it. All this just reminded me how little I knew about her, and also how much I cared about her. Maybe another few sips of wine would lubricate the thinking process.
Without warning, my stomach rumbled loudly. Hunger struck me. The munchies had arrived. My broken microwave meant the oven was the only option and therefore pizza was the obvious snack of choice. I popped a meat feast straight onto the oven shelf and set the timer for forty-five minutes.
While I was waiting, I Googled 'cracking password on iPhone'. WOW. There were loads of hits which explained easy ways to bypass the Password Lock screen. A lot of them seemed to involve using the Home button to call up Siri, Apple's interactive electronic help assistant and using her to open an App. It seemed too simple so I wasn't hopeful.
"Okay, Siri, let's go," I said as I followed the suggested steps and hey, success. Yes. Yes. We're in. Unbelievable. I gave a couple of full-blown cowboy whoops and did a little dance as a way of thanking Mr Google for his assistance and Apple for making Siri so helpful when it comes to cracking fruit-based security.
So far so good but what next?
Easy, first things first, who called at three o'clock this morning? The number wasn't withheld and there was a name against it; RON. So, who the hell was RON and why was he phoning her in the middle of the night? Only one way to find out. I noted the number, popped it into my own phone so I could hide the caller's identity. I probably could have done it from Hazel's phone but I wasn't sure if 'Withhold Number' works when the person is in your contact list. No point in taking a chance.
I hit the call button and, after three rings, it connected. I said nothing, the person at the other end said nothing. They hung on for about five seconds before hanging up. I tried again, only this time when they answered, I said 'hello'. They hung up immediately. I tried again but this time they cut me off without answering. This was a dead end, for now.
What next? How about the recent calls she'd made? I pulled up the call history and scanned the calls she'd made since she'd bolted out of my place. There were three short calls to RON and one to Richard, her boss. And the one to Richard was a few minutes before she showed up at the Duke to meet me and Tommy. What the hell?
If I was a policeman, I'd ring and give him a grilling... a pork roast, so to speak. Now there's an idea. Could I be a policeman? Why not? I hit the call button.
"Hazel, where the hell have you been?" said Richard before I had the chance to say anything. I recognised his smug voice and slimy tones.
"Sir, my name is Police Constable Mark Smith. Whom am I speaking to?" I said in my best British Columbo impersonation voice. Was that how a policeman would talk, who knew? Hopefully not Richard.
"Sorry? Where's Hazel?"
"Sir, her phone's been handed in and I'm trying to get it back to her. You were the last person she called."
"What was your name again?"
"Mark Smith. PC Mark Smith."
"Right. And what can I do for you?"
"I need to know the nature of your last conversation with Hazel."
"The nature? The nature of the conversation?"
"Don't be a smartass, what was the conversation about?"
"It was just about work. I'm her boss... here at Merchant Investment Brokers."
"Really? Exactly what did you two discuss?"
It might have been about me. If it was, I'd like to hear exactly what the prick had to say.
"I'm sorry, that's none of your business." He paused. "This is ridiculous, it's a lost phone for God's sake. Either stick it in your Lost and Found box or leave it in at our reception and I'll return it to her."
"Ah, so you know where she is?"
"Enough, I'm not going to talk to someone who phones out of the blue and claims to be a policeman."
BEEEP. BEEEP. BEEEP.
He'd hung up.
I topped up my wine and started to trawl through the other calls she'd made over the last few days. Lots of names, most of which I didn't recognise. There were also a few calls to me. Seeing my name on her phone sent a little shiver down my spine and made me close my eyes and reminisce about our relationship so far. Happy, happy days.
The buzzer on the cooker woke me from a doze, I must have drifted off. Pizza time. A bite to eat and another glass of wine would hone my Sherlock Holmes skills. The phone could wait, I needed to eat.
With half a meat feast in me, it was time to root through the phone again. It felt like spying, probably because that's exactly what it was; spying, although, as every peeping Tom would tell you, it's not spying if you love them. I restarted my trawl through her recent calls and was stopped in my tracks when I saw a name I recognised. Tommy.
What was going on? I'd seen her hand him an envelope that first day in the Duke and now I find his name in her phone. What possible connection was there between a girl like Hazel and a character like Tommy? Well, the simplest way to find out was to call him. It didn't take me more than a second to figure out what a stupid idea that was. There were plenty of other avenues to explore before I needed to wander down that dangerous road. Let the phone investigation continue.
There were no messages from him in her voicemail but there were some from me. I listened to each one of them, all the way through, for old time's sake.
What about texts she'd received? Surprisingly there were none which could only mean she'd deleted them all. Sent texts? Shit, there was nothing, either she'd deleted all of them too or she didn't save them. Check the settings. She specifically didn't save them, why the hell not? Everyone saved their sent texts. How else would they know what stupid messages they'd sent when drunk?
I was stumped, no texts just added to the mystery and the sense of foreboding which was building up inside me. Were there any secrets hiding in the guts of this little iThing? It seemed that Hazel wasn't leaving easy clues lying around, although I guess I'd be the same if my brother had stabbed someone and I'd run off with a stack of drug money.
What about the Apps she had? Let's see. There were none. What's the point of having a smart phone with no Apps?
'Don't Stop Me Now' rang out and interrupted my musings.
Check the number... withheld. Shit. I'd hoped it might be Richard wanting to speak to the fake cop.
Don't Stop Me Now
This could be the big clue, this could be the breakthrough moment. What was I going to say? This was too important to mess up. I wish I'd planned for this. I could just accept the call, say nothing and see what happens.
Don't Stop Me Now
Like Elvis said, it was now or never. I hit the accept icon.
Silence.
I held my breath, and my tongue. Keep schtum, say nothing, see if they say something but don't let them hang up. More silence from them was met with more silence from me. This was not a conversation to savour.
"Who's this?" said a voice which sounded as if it was putting on a Cockney accent. I could hear a desperation in the voice. I was going to lose them. I had to speak.
"Hi, please don't hang up, I'm a friend of Hazel's." For some reason I was putting on a fake Cockney accent too.
"What? Where's Hazel?"
"I don't know. I've been trying to contact her too," I said, trying to sound friendly and reassuring, and Cockney.
"What the hell is going on? Why have you got her phone?"
"She gave it to me, ahmmm, for safe keeping," I lied.
"Safe keeping, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Who am I talking to? Maybe we can help each other track Hazel down."
BEEEP. BEEEP.
The familiar sound of someone hanging up. Shit. I tapped the phone with my finger, annoyed with myself for messing up but what else could I have said? There was probably no way I was going to get any information from that stranger but I had to try. I hit recall before I remembered you can't recall a withheld number.
A feeling of nausea suddenly overtook me. I fell back into the settee and closed my eyes. Wave after wave of dizziness surged over me, like the ebb and flow of a malevolent tide. The wine was kicking in, had kicked in. Hands over my face, I pressed my thumbs into my eyelids. Cold water on my wrists always helped me with this familiar problem. Would I make it to the bathroom? Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to my feet. The sudden movement made the dizziness worse. Bile bubbled out of my stomach, up my throat. Pressing my hand hard across my mouth to stop the vomit exploding onto the carpet, I ran for the bathroom and had my head down the toilet before the second wave of sick filled my mouth to bursting point. A cascade of red wine and pizza blasted out of my mouth and nose. I retched and retched until there was nothing left in my stomach. This wasn't alcohol sick, this was something else. Nerves, tension, stress or maybe plain old-fashioned fear? Time to clean up and think of a plan. I didn't have any ideas, so I phoned a friend.
"Hi Marty, what are you doing right now?"
"Hey Dave, nothing much, what's up?"
Marty was my oldest and best mate. We'd gone to school together and had shared many a scrape. Some people would describe him as a wide boy, which probably made me a narrow boy. We'd actually shared a lot more than just scrapes but that's another story for another day. We'd never let each other down and we'd both gone above and beyond for each other on more than one occasion. Again, that's another story for another day.
"Would you be able to come over here for a while? I need someone to talk to."
"Sure, can you give me a clue what it's about?"
"I'd rather do it face to face."
"Okay, no problem, give me about an hour."
"Thanks, mate, you're star. I've got wine and beer here, and you're welcome to stay over."
"Sounds serious. I'll bring my toothbrush then."
"And bring a Chinese while you're at it."
"No problem, see you later."
The bing-bong of the doorbell woke me. Who knows how long it had been going? Marty must have arrived. As soon as I stood up, it was clear the forty winks had done me the world of good, I was refreshed and ready to go. I had my hand on the lock, ready to twist it and open the door, when a thought struck me. These were weird times. What if it wasn't Marty? What if someone had tracked me down? What if Hazel had told Tommy where I lived?
"Who's there?"
"Two sleet and slour chicken with lice." The worst Chinese accent in the world ever belonged to Marty.
I opened the door and welcomed my best friend as if I hadn't seen him for years.
"You look like fuck pie, mate," he said as he pushed past me.
"Thanks for caring," I said as I closed the door behind him and locked it.
"Something is badly wrong, isn't it?" he said. "You don't need to worry any more, Mr Fixit is here."
"Thanks, Marty. I really appreciate it. Are you okay to stay over?"
"Yep, I have obtained all the necessary permissions from my wife."
"Not the 'do whatever the fuck you want' type of permission?" I said.
We'd once seen an advertisement in Autotrader for a motorcycle. Under 'reason for sale', the guy had said something like 'It was purchased without the proper consent from a loving wife. Apparently do whatever the fuck you want doesn't mean what I thought.' We'd laughed and now we quote it often.
"Nope, I have full and considered consent. I can stay for as long as you need me," said Marty.
"How do you do it? Brenda must be the most understanding wife ever."
"I just told her that Dave had fucked up again."
"You didn't tell her that, did you?" I asked, knowing fine well that that's exactly what he would have told her.
"Well, it's true, isn't it? You have fucked up again, haven't you?"
"You've no idea what's been going on, Marty. Hell, I've no idea what's been going on. The only thing I'm sure about right now is I'm bloody glad to see you."