Page 77 of The Impossible Fortune (Thursday Murder Club Mysteries #5)

Nick Silver is aware that he must have broken the previous record by some distance. Surely no one had stayed in this roadside Travelodge for more than two or three days before, let alone eight and a half weeks. But what was he to do?

Surely Nick had chosen wisely when he chose Elizabeth Best?

Made his appointment and smashed up his own office before she arrived.

She wouldn’t be able to resist trying to find him and find who planted the bomb.

Although it was fairly obvious it must have been Davey Noakes.

If not him, then who? Lord Townes? Nick doubts that very much.

He is sure that the messages he sent to Paul will have their intended effect. Elizabeth will read them and know he’s alive, and will track him down before Davey can.

So why hasn’t Elizabeth found him? With her skill set? It must be because the coast is not yet clear. That stands to reason. So here he stays.

Although what if Davey has killed Elizabeth too? What if that’s why Elizabeth hasn’t come to find him? He unwraps yet another KitKat and switches on the hotel radio. Friday night is Pete Tong’s Club Classics night. That’s something to cheer him up at least.

He takes a sip of the Lucozade, which was the only drink left in the vending machine. The first thing he’ll do when he is found is to eat some broccoli. Unless Davey Noakes finds him first and kills him.

Death or broccoli. Those seem to be his options.

He knows, however tempting it is, that he must not log back on to any of his devices, must not show his face on any surveillance cameras, must not give Davey the slightest lead as to where he is.

Every night he watches the local news on his tiny hotel television; you never know what they might report.

‘Local woman slain, ex-spy found dead in retirement village’, ‘Sussex entrepreneur Davey Noakes buys Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club’, anything to give him a clue as to what’s happening. But there has been nothing.

Of course there’s always the possibility that he has hidden too well. But Elizabeth knows every trick in the book, and a few more that aren’t in the book. The moment it’s safe, she will find him.

Nick wishes the money had never existed; it has been nothing but a curse, buried away like the tell-tale heart, beating louder and louder as the years went by.

If he’s honest with himself, it had begun to destroy his friendship with Holly – both knowing it was there waiting for them, and neither able to access it without the other’s agreement.

Nick had wanted to cash out almost straight away.

The day it reached one hundred thousand pounds he’d tried to persuade Holly, but Holly had bigger ideas.

He understood that: different people had different needs.

A hundred thousand wasn’t enough for her, even a million wasn’t enough.

Ten million came and went, and still Holly held out.

It was greed, nothing more, nothing less, not that she would ever admit that to anyone, even herself.

The friendship broke down entirely after Holly and Paul split up that second time, Holly accusing Nick of taking sides, the wedding the final straw.

She’d finally said yes, because what was the alternative?

He and Holly were surely going their separate ways?

Cashing out the Bitcoin is just marking the end of their time together.

So three hundred and fifty million pounds. Nick’s amazed by how little he wants it.

Nick could imagine spending a hundred thousand pounds – who couldn’t? Ask anybody and they’d tell you. Pay your debts, new car, the deposit on a flat, a bit to charity, a bit to Mum and Dad to say thank you. It was the dream.

Nick could imagine spending a million pounds too. Buy a bigger house, buy Mum and Dad a house, get a box at the football. Quietly slip the food bank a couple of grand every week.

But a hundred million? How do you spend that?

A bigger house, with gates and a long drive and security?

A garage for your cars? A safety deposit box at the bottom of a deep mine for all your secrets?

Being very rich seemed to drive people mad.

Seemed to make them leave normality behind.

As if the only possible reason for their vast amount of money was that they were born with powers above mortal beings.

Nick wants what his friend Paul has. A job he likes, a wife, a purpose. If he ever gets out of this room, that’s the goal. Broccoli, then normality. He has money; he doesn’t need more.

So, if the money is still there in The Compound, and he ends up with it, what will he do? Charity, Nick supposes.

No, keep a hundred thousand, and then charity. He’ll enjoy spending that hundred thousand. Holly will disappear somewhere, no doubt. What a sad end to a long friendship.

Pete Tong has just been playing ‘Insomnia’.

It takes Nick way back. They’d seen Pete Tong DJ when they were at uni, Nick, Holly and Paul.

Has there ever been a better decade than the nineties?

Nick doubts it very much. When they’d got a bit more money, he and Paul had flown out to Ibiza to see Pete Tong too.

Back when dreams were young and every twenty-pound note a marvel.

If ever Nick and Paul were in on a Friday night, they’d be listening to Club Classics: dancing in the living room if they were together; texting and reminiscing if they weren’t. It was their own personal time machine.

What’s next, Pete? Where are you taking me back to now?

This one’s from Paul in London. Paul wants us to play ‘The Key: The Secret’ by Urban Cookie Collective for his old mate Nick Silver, that’s a great name, Nick Silver, that’s a pirate’s name.

Paul says, ‘Nico, we’ve missed you, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Hope you’re listening. Of course he’s listening, Paul … ’

Of course he’s listening. Nick takes his SIM card from a wallet lined with metal and slides it into a burner phone. He rings Paul. There is an instant answer.

‘Of course he’s listening,’ says Paul.

‘Is it safe?’ says Nick.

‘It’s safe,’ says Paul. ‘Where have you been? They’ve been looking everywhere.’

Nick gazes out of the window and sees the back wall of a 24-hour garage, three overflowing recycling bins and rain falling through arc lights onto the motorway.

‘Right now it feels like I’m back in Ibiza.’

‘Holly’s dead, mate,’ says Paul.

‘Christ,’ says Nick. ‘Who killed her?’

‘Difficult to say,’ says Paul.

‘And the money? You haven’t found it?’

‘Well, about that,’ says Paul.

The two old friends, many miles apart, tap their feet in time to a song they both love. A song that reminds them of what’s truly important. Friendship, joy, dancing.

‘I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.’