‘No. Watch,’ he said. He shut down the spotlight so the room was almost dark. He went to a pile of boxes in the far corner, which turned out to be amps and speakers connected to an old portable CD player. He pulled the player, trailing wires, over to the beanbag, sat it on the floor and pressed play.
The speakers blared ‘Big Balls’ by AC/DC.
‘Sorry, that’s a bit random. I have heavy metal CDs.’ He turned the volume down and skipped the track. Metallica came on. He took one of the laser pointers from Stevie.
‘This is what I do sometimes.’
In the near dark, he pressed the button on the end of the laser pointer and plumped himself into the beanbag.
‘You can focus like this.’
He picked out words on the Post-its from the other side of the room as a guitar solo screeched.
Kim and Stevie looked at each other and shook their heads. But he had their complete attention – each time the red laserdot fell onto a square of notepaper, Stevie read the word it highlighted.
‘Nuclear. Nina. Actinium. Lev. Rental.’
Kim chimed in. ‘Hurst, Hurst, Zircher.’
‘Wendy Wrigley’s mates, doctors,’ Edward explained. ‘You can forget that side of the wall.’
Stevie stepped back. ‘Wait. Are you saying these two cases are connected?’
‘Not at all!’ Edward exclaimed. ‘I only had one wall.’
‘Forest. Doctor. Spoolie. Marvel. Crime Scene Pix.’ Kim turned. ‘What’s a spoolie?’
It broke the spell. He turned off the music, dropped the laser pen and turned on the spotlight. At the top of the wall a marker pen had been used to write WRIGLEY. But it was crossed out. Feeling a little irritated at the confusion he had himself caused, Edward pointed. ‘You can ignore the ones on the left – Marvel, Forest, Spoolie, Firework, Hurst, Hurst, et cetera. Zircher. They’re for the Wendy Wrigley case, gone now.’
‘I do actually love this,’ said Stevie. ‘Metal plus laser. Total concentration. Was that Metallica you just played?’
‘Good spot.’
Kim put in, ‘Can’t believe I haven’t seen it before.’
‘It’s my private place.’
‘At least you’re not watching porn in here.’
‘We can’t be sure of that,’ said Stevie.
Edward barely heard the ribbing. ‘It’s a tangle. It helps, then it doesn’t,’ he said, absorbed in reading the square notes. He picked up a thick black marker from the floor and added an ‘S’ to the word TOPPING, also written on the upper edge of the wall. ‘They’re not the tidiest.’
‘They don’t have to be,’ said Stevie. ‘And what’s the microphone for?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
Kim laughed. ‘That’s not an ordinary stereo, is it?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘No it’s not!’ said Stevie, approaching it. ‘You’ve got yourself a karaoke machine here.’
‘Okay, it’s a fair cop. Sometimes I might sing along to Black Sabbath.’
Kim and Stevie laughed, and then, as one, moved closer to the Post-its. Edward stood with his back to the blinds. He saw his shadow cast faintly across them, broad and tall with unkempt hair. There must be a foot of difference in the height of the two women. Stevie was on tiptoe. She read the words on the notes.
‘Cammell-Curzon. Ukraine. Empty flat … Empty flat?’
