He took a walk round the back of the hotel. Going in the front wouldn’t do him any good. He imagined some snooty stuck-up fag behind the desk, the kind of person who looked at Jerome and put his guard up higher than a Kennedy tower block.

There was a young woman standing outside the back entrance, the door through which, Jerome guessed, they wheeled laundry and groceries. She was smoking, her free arm clutched tight around her ribcage. She had dark, spiky hair and dark eyes, kind of Eastern European looking. Pretty hot.

He walked up to her just as she flicked her cigarette away.

‘Hey.’

She eyed him suspiciously.

‘You gotta light?’

He pulled out his cigarettes and extracted two from the pack as she searched in her pockets for her lighter. She lit his cigarette for him, leaning in close enough for him to get a whiff of some kind of cleaning product, bleach or something, and he offered her a cigarette.

He smiled at her in that way that always worked. ‘You work here?’

She nodded.

‘You like a receptionist?’

She laughed. ‘No. A cleaner.’ He had been right about her being Eastern European. Her accent was sexy and he thought maybe, when this was done, he’d come back here, flash some cash, see what her voice sounded like when she was moaning his name.

He guessed she was paid minimum wage, probably less. As an expert in the black economy, he knew all about these poor suckers who came over here and did the crap jobs no other fucker wanted even though half of them were doctors and shit.

‘Want to earn some easy money?’

She looked him up and down. He gave her that smile again, one million watts of Jerome Smith charm.

‘What do I have to do?’

‘I’m looking for somebody.’ He took out his phone and showed her the picture Georgia had shared with him. ‘This woman. You recognise her?’

The cleaner hesitated then nodded slowly.

Jerome said, ‘Cool. A guest here, right? I need to know what room she’s in. If you can find that out for me I’ll give you a hundred quid right now.’ He showed her his wallet and counted out the money.

The cleaner licked her lips. ‘Two hundred.’

Jerome beamed. ‘You know what room she’s in?’

‘Yes. I clean her room.’

‘Nice. OK, two hundred.’ He pinched the money between forefinger and thumb and held it up.

The woman snatched it. ‘She’s in the honeymoon suite, top floor.’

‘She in there now?’

‘I don’t know.’ She had already stuffed the cash deep into her pocket. ‘But she was there one hour ago.’

‘Nice one.’

‘You go in that door,’ the cleaner said, ‘and take the stairs to the top.’