‘Louis.’ She held her laptop out. ‘You wanna OK the spread for tomorrow’s lifestyle section or not?’
Colin put his head on one side, scrunched his lips into a lump, then nodded. ‘What the hell.’ Patting the desk as he plonked his short arse in the leather throne. ‘Henry, these are the cops. Cops, Henry.’
She gave them a wave, then put the laptop down and opened it, bringing up a photo gallery. Swiping through shots of people at the beach and kids playing in the park; some office workers in bikini tops at lunchtime, lounging beneath the trees; more kids eating candyfloss and gazing in wonder at the circus lights.
Colin reached for the screen with a leather-gloved finger,but nothing happened. ‘Sodding hell...’ He pulled the glove off, curling the stumps into a truncated fist, out of sight, and tried again.Thistime, the images wheeched past beneath his fingertip. ‘OK: this one, this, this, not that, or that, this, nope, nope, nope, that one’s OK, and...’ He drifted to a halt, then looked up at Logan – looming over the pair of them. ‘You after something?’
‘Go back a couple.’
Henry took control of the screen again. ‘Hold on...’ Swipe, swipe. ‘This one?’
‘Hmmm.’ Colin frowned at the photograph. ‘Aye: I like thegeneral composition, but shoulda gone up a couple of f-stops for a longer exposure and got a bittiemotionin the dodgems.’
‘Can always fix it in post.’
‘Shouldn’t have to, but.’ He reached out to swipe past the image again, but Logan grabbed Colin’s hand before he could.
‘Get off!’ Snatching his naked fingers away.
Steel sauntered over. ‘What?’
‘Ooh,’ Henry pointed, ‘like thehair! Very swish.’
‘This old thing?’ Steel had a wee preen.
‘Notouching.’ Colin forced his hand back into its black-leather prison.
‘Sorry.’ Logan leaned in.
The photo showed a pair of grown-ups on the dodgems, each with a toddler strapped-in next to them, as they wheeched around the ring. Everyone smiling; having a wholesome family day out at the circus.
Behind them, the big top’s outer wall was in perfect focus: red, white, and blue stripes.
‘When was this taken?’
‘Last night.’ Henry stuck her thumbs in her belt loops. ‘Went with Brent and the kids. Westburn Park?’
Thought so.
He opened his phone and scrolled through to the photo hidden away in Charles MacGarioch’s bedroom. The dodgem cars wereidentical, and so were the trees off to one side.Andthe stripy red-white-and-blue background. ‘How long’s the circus been there?’
‘Dunno. Week, I think.’ Henry’s eyes narrowed.‘Why?’
Ah.
Probably best not to tip the press off.
‘No reason.’ A nonchalant shrug. ‘Just...thinking of taking the family tonight.’ Quick: change the subject. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any photos from that SME charity-auction-ball thing, do you?’
‘Oh. Yeah: we did one of those cheesy “out and about” features. Like anybody gives a toss.’
She fiddled with the laptop, bringing up a different slideshow.
With Colin in the editor’s chair, Logan was demoted to one of the short ones in front of the desk, perching on the edge to swipe through the awkwardly posed group shots of various numpties from various oil-sector-support companies, in various posh frocks or nearly identical dinner suits. Fake grins and not-so-fake tans.
There were more photos of people at tables, raising their glasses, pretending to have a good time. Then some of the auction for ‘things money can’t buy’ – because no one would sodding want them – followed by a whole bunch of the dancing afterwards.
Logan swiped back and forth, forehead creased, peering not just at the figures in the foreground, but the ones further back. Searching.