Craigh had been standing right next to Dolly at the time. He retired shortly afterward.

Ester was released in 2017, after serving fourteen years for Dolly’s murder and a further eight years for the attempted murder of her cellmate. According to Ester’s parole officer, she now lived in Seaview on the Isle of Wight. Jack noted down her current address.

Gloria Radford had a record for gunrunning with her husband, Eddie. They both died in the same car crash in 2004. They’d been out celebrating Eddie’s release from prison and came off worse in a head-on collision with the median. It was a blessing that the crash occurred at 3 a.m., as the road was clear of other drivers.

Connie’s last known location was Taunton, where she’d applied for various safety assessments in connection with running a B&B; but, from there, Jack was struggling to pin down an actual address. And he lost track of Julia Lawson and Angela Dunn around 2010 and 2015 respectively so, for tonight, he gave up.

Jack glanced across at Anik. He looked miserable, but also preoccupied enough not to notice that Jack was about to misappropriate the HOLMES database. James “Jimmy” Nunn had a mediocre juvenile police record for drink driving, TDA and similar car-related crimes. Then, in his mid-twenties, he moved up to being a getaway driver for hire. Jack was so disappointed, and hoped to God that if this “wheels-man” was the Jimmy Nunn on his birth certificate, there was more to him than that. He turned to Google to fill in the blanks.

Jimmy Nunn, for a short but glorious time, had been a racing driver. Something undocumented put a sudden end to his blossoming career when he was just twenty-three years old, and that’s when things started to go wrong. Jimmy had worked as a mechanic to pay the bills, but the money was terrible and this, seemingly, was when he got into more serious crime.

Jack read article after article, mentioning Jimmy in association with some of the all-time greats: Niki Lauda, James Hunt, Jackie Stewart and Mario Andretti. Jack shook his head.

“What a fucking waste,” he whispered to himself.

“What’s a fucking waste?” Anik asked.

Jack took a second to think up a lie. “One of these women lost her kids while she was in prison and then drank herself to death.”

“That’s not a waste. They’re better off without a mum like that.”

“Probably,” Jack agreed, just to bring the conversation to an end.

By the time he was ready to pack it in, Jack had created a timeline from Jimmy’s birth in 1945, through his wayward teens, his short-lived Formula One career, and on into his adult criminal years. In 1984, however, the timeline ended abruptly. One of the recurring names from Jimmy Nunn’s Formula One years was Kenneth Moore, an engineer now in his mid-70s and living in Hackney. With the digital trail at an impasse, the next step would be to start talking to people who’d actually known Jimmy Nunn . . . Packing his various files into his overnight bag, Jack headed home.