by Heleen Kist
‘You mean, a proper camera? Who could that have been? They needed to have been in the room.’
‘I don’t know. And there won’t be any way to find out from the photo’s metadata. Has anyone looked at the Twitter account?’
‘Anonymous. And the police won’t do anything more.’
‘Well that’s not so surprising. There’s nothing illegal about posting a picture of fully dressed people. The guests even signed photography waivers when they received their tickets. Of course, they would’ve expected only me to take them.’ He looked again at the original tweet. ‘And all he said was “Who knows this woman?” The only law broken here is his copyright, by the hundreds of people who re-tweeted it and websites that used the image. I doubt he would’ve minded. He wanted her identified — and he wanted his fifteen minutes of fame.’
I sighed.
He added, ‘If you ask me, the person who’s most to blame is the one who named her, not the one who shared the photo.’
I’d thought of that, too. But that person’s account had disappeared the day after the news broke about Emily’s death. Did they fear of reprisal? Probably justified. ‘We won’t find him either.’
He picked at the hairs above his lips. ‘Come to think of it, the blogger who interviewed Emily is also to blame. What a warped understanding of journalistic ethics. I remember thinking, when I read the blog —’
I shivered.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It was all anyone could talk about. There was way too much gratuitous detail in there. A proper journalist wouldn’t do that. It was unnecessarily sensationalist.’
It was a culprit I hadn’t considered. ‘Isn’t that what everything is like at the moment? I know Emily had chosen the Woke Poke because it was a new blog for millennials that wanted to discuss big things. The woman who interviewed her had assured she’d be safe.’
He shrugged. ‘Sure, she protected her as a source, but I still feel the story could have been written very differently.’
I stretched and rubbed my neck. This had all been in vain. ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I had so hoped it was you. Because now there’s nowhere to turn.’
Scout scuttled between our legs, giving us both a jolt. Craig scooped her onto his stomach. ‘How did you get out again?’ He shook his head at me. ‘She’s a little demon, this one.’ His big hands flattened Scout as he stroked her. ‘Sorry you didn’t get what came for. But I’m not sorry that I am not the man you were looking for... if you know what I mean.’
I did. Something pulled at me to stay. I gave Scout a quick stroke, then pointed at the folder labelled Empisoft I’d seen before. ‘What’s that?’
‘March 2016. I think that’s a product launch. Possibly your first?’
I didn’t know why but I felt rumbled. ‘You know who I am?’
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be the Laura Flett when Mooney’s people called, but then you walked in.’ He smiled, gesturing toward me with his right hand.
‘I don’t remember you being there.’
‘You shouldn’t. My job is to lurk in the shadows.’
‘Like this one,’ I said, tickling Scout’s nose. ‘Let me see them. That feels such a long time ago.’
Craig put on a slide show that stayed on each image two seconds before skipping to the next. A young start-up proudly demonstrating their innovative creation. Justin in his element. A crowd of colleagues, investors, journalists whizzed by. Me standing in a corner, a cup of tea in hand. And another, zoomed in on my profile. Another, closer still, each fine eyelash catalogued.
I stiffened. Craig squirmed. His hand hovered over the mouse.
‘Why did you do that?’ I asked. ‘Take photos of me?’
He winced. ‘You looked interesting.’
‘Interesting? This is more than interesting.’ Before he had a chance to respond, I wiped my hands on my jeans. ‘I think we’re done here.’ I stood up and headed for the door.
Craig followed, keeping an obvious, measured non-creepy distance. ‘Please don’t think I’m...’ His voice wavered.
I looked back. He stopped and smiled, hope spreading across his features. He held Scout to his cheek and together they gave me a big-eyed look. ‘We’re harmless.’
‘You said Scout was a demon.’
‘Touché. Seriously, I’m one of the good guys.’
I stepped outside. ‘If you say so.’
21
ME
The cloying dough of a Tesco ham and salad sandwich stuck to the roof of my mouth. Moist crumbs fell from my chin onto the guest keyboard in the meeting room.
On the wall, the screen was filled with code, folder directories and diagrams. Sighing, I thought of how incredibly behind I was, even though I’d stayed up late after seeing Craig. I stifled a yawn. Men in grotesque masks had infiltrated my dreams last night, lurking in the shadows, gradually surrounding me like I was prey.
I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus, intent on completing the mind-numbing task of documentation — made all the more excruciating by the R&D projects still being in their infancy, and their logic still residing mostly in my brain.
The thick glass door swung open. It was Suki, her strength belying her petite frame. As usual she was dressed immaculately, her blouse the kind of pure white I’d learnt during seven years of doing my own laundry could never be maintained. I looked down at my uniform of black top and blue jeans and shrugged. Besides, even if I tried, I could never pull off Suki’s elegance.
‘Hey. It’s good to finally catch you, Laura.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been around.’
‘That’s okay. You’re here now. Hopefully we’ll get through the bulk of it today.’ Suki placed her briefcase on the table, pushing my discarded sandwich box away with a raised eyebrow. ‘You do know processed meat causes cancer?’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘So what have you been up to?’
‘Not much.’
‘Any progress on the data room?’
‘A bit.’
Suki’s eyes shone with mischief. ‘I see we’re our usual talkative self today.’
‘I’m tired.’ I yawned for effect.
‘Out on the town with a new beau?’
I scoffed. What was she like? Tenacious Suki. She wanted in, no matter what — and I was starting to warm to it. ‘God no, men are the last thing on my mind. Creepy bastards.’
‘You can always defect.’ Suki threw her head back and let out a joyous, guttural, contagious laugh. ‘What have the stinky boys done this time?’ she asked.
‘It’s a long story. Let’s just say, the sooner I have cash from the sale, the sooner I can escape to a desert island and not bother with them anymore.’
‘Now that’s what I like to hear. Let’s make some money.’ She clapped her hands and pulled up a chair beside me, casting her jasmine and sage smell around. With a sideways glance, she said, ‘You know, hiding isn’t the answer. Don’t get me wrong. I hear you, sister,’ she said, raising her arms like a gospel singer. ‘Men can be real pricks, but I strongly advocate developing thicker skin. My trick is to be more like them and not give a shit. It makes life a lot easier. Someone ogles you in the tram? Ignore it. When they ask you to smile on command when you walk past? Ignore. If they call you a bitch because of it, hey ho, let it go. I could write a book about sexual innuendo at work.’
‘You get harassed at work?’
‘Ha! I’m in finance. I play in the big boys’ pen. And it’s diiiirty.’ She rolled her shoulders. ‘It doesn’t help that white men seem to have an Asian conquest fantasy.’
Part of me wanted to stop her talking about sex. How could she be so open with someone she’d only just met? But my curiosity won. ‘Does it upset you?’
‘I’m used to it... It’s the price I pay. Mostly I choose to treat it as a sign of weakness. They’re intimidated by me. Insecure man-babies can’t handle smart women who went to Stanford.’
‘You went to Stanford? Why are you
back in Edinburgh?’
She pointed her thumb at the grey sky, raindrops sliding down the window. ‘Well, not for the sunshine.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s inconceivable to me that you would just leave Silicon Valley. It’s the dream. I mean, I know Edinburgh is becoming one of the world’s great centres for data science and all, but that’s still not the same as being at the heart of the revolution in artificial intelligence.’ She looked at me, her head cocked, her closed lips curled in a smile. I brought my hands back to my lap and cleared my throat. ‘And yes, the weather.’
‘I did my MBA there. On a scholarship. But my parents are here and like a good little Thai girl, I came home to be with them.’ She gave me a wry smile. ‘They were already upset I didn’t join them in the restaurant.’ She sat up straight, breathed in and said, ‘Besides, unlike London or New York, here I can be a big fish in a small pond.’ She waved regally at her surroundings. Seeming to remember what had started this conversation, she added, ‘Anyway... the sexism there is five times worse. At least in Edinburgh I don’t have to take our clients to strip clubs. The dingy places on Lothian Road don’t quite have the cachet of Mayfair...’
I scrunched up my nose. ‘Ew.’
‘Wherever I choose to be, I’m an intruder in a man’s world. Hell, I can’t even use my real name.’
‘Your name’s not Suki?’
‘No, it’s Sukhon. It means “pleasant smell”.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s so puerile: you tell a guy your name is Sukhon and next thing you know, he’s inviting you to “suck on” this and “suck on” that.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘I swear to God. Every. Single. Time. And this one bloke, a real shit, calls me Ping. Short for ping-pong. Sexist and racist.’
‘Because ping-pong was invented in China?’
She hooted. ‘Oh bless you, sheltered child.’ It’s a reference to showgirls in the sex trade in Thailand. They’re known to shoot ping-pong balls into the audience from their... what shall I call them? Suki pointed at her crotch. ‘Hoo-hoos.’
I spluttered. ‘That’s disgusting. Is this guy in your office? You should have him sacked.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not that simple. He’s the boss’s son. The stupid thing is people think I’m Japanese because of Suki.’
‘Can’t you tell the guys you’re gay to make them stop?’
‘That would make matters worse! If you think they have an Asian-chick fantasy now, wait until they imagine me with another woman. No, my dear, lesbians are by no means excluded from male persecution.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about you.’
‘Why?’
‘This all started when you said men were creeps, and I can’t help but think I’ve made it worse. Sorry and I’m not just saying this to change the subject. I’m honestly worried — this is what you eat?’ she said, holding up the sandwich packaging. ‘I have a feeling you don’t know what good food tastes like. I’m going to take you to my parents’ restaurant tomorrow night.’
I opened my mouth to object.
She put up a hand to silence me. ‘Not taking “no” for an answer,’ she said. ‘It will be a reward for all the hard work you’re going to be doing for me this afternoon. So let’s get cracking.’
It seemed futile to argue. I swept the crumbs from the keyboard and pressed a few keys. ‘Fair enough. What do you want to see today?’
‘I want you to tell me more about your new invention.’
‘Which one?’
‘The one about finding the people in a group who have the most influence in terms of how others feel, the heroes and villains you mentioned. I’ve called it “Network Impact” since you didn’t have a name for it yet. Do you like it?’
‘Sure. Why not.’
Suki turned to face the big screen, poised to be presented to. ‘I don’t think we have factored in the value of the R&D portfolio sufficiently in the price we’re getting PeopleForce to pay yet. But I need to understand it better.’
‘I don’t know. It’s awfully early stage. It’s not been tested on any sizable data.’
‘Is there a data set you could test on quickly? It would be great if we could show it in action.’
I exhaled deeply. ‘There’s a lot involved in that. I don’t think our existing sets would work because that’s not what they were created for. And we can’t use any of our real-life client data without their permission. I’ll think about it. I suspect the models won’t be good enough yet anyway.’
‘From what I have seen to date, I believe that’s you being modest, Laura. Now, show me.’
22
ME
The stone steps to Craig’s main door were slippery with rain. I clung onto the steep wrought iron handrail, cold water sliding into my sleeve. Nearly-black clouds hung low in the sky, the moon just peeking through.
The door buzzed open the minute I pressed the bell. No identification required; he was expecting me.
I wiped my feet and climbed to the second floor. Was this a mistake? I’d hummed and hawed about coming when he’d called earlier.
I stopped in my tracks. Craig was standing two steps from the door frame. No shoes again. He waved me in with a warm smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘I’m sorry it’s late, I’ve had a lot of work to clear off my desk first.’
‘No worries,’ he said leading the way. ‘Come on through.’
Inside the studio, Scout lay curled around the base of a standing lamp, near the radiator. She raised her pink nose as she spotted me and sniffed the air expectantly
I couldn’t help but think it was a strange sort of pet. A dog, a cat, a goldfish, okay, but a ferret? Although not traditionally cute or fluffy, weirdly, it fit. I couldn’t imagine Craig with a kitten. That would have looked ridiculous in his oversized hands. And a dog might have been too difficult to keep with that many stairs. I glanced again at Craig’s round shape and nondescript clothing. Like me, he didn’t look like he went out much.
I walked straight past him to his desk. ‘You said you had a lead on the photographer that took Emily’s picture?’
‘Yes, I could have sent you the photos, but it’s a little complicated and I find it easier to point.’ He brought my chair in. ‘Take a seat.’
My shoulder was so close to his, I could feel the warmth of his body. Craig woke his three monitors with a single shake of his mouse and three distinct images from the opening party appeared. My heart jumped as I saw Emily’s shot with Adam on the left.
‘Okay. The first thing I want you to see is that I definitely could not have taken that picture.’ He hovered the mouse over the image and right-clicked to show its properties. ‘See here? Make a note of the time. It’s twenty-nine minutes past nine and thirty-two seconds.’ I nodded. He brought up the properties of the photo on the middle screen, that showed a few guests whispering to each other in what looked like the corridor. ‘And here is a photo that I took at exactly the same time. I couldn’t have been in the main room to take the other shot.’ He searched my face, looking for my reaction.
Given the trouble that he’d gone through, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d believed him on my first visit — even though he’d taken those close-ups of me. What was it that made him so non-threatening? Maybe it was the copy of Anna Karenina on the console table? Or the way he let Scout jump on his lap, jump down, and up again without showing any sign of losing his patience? I also couldn’t really blame him for doing his job, photographing one of the company’s founders at their launch event.
‘Okay, you’re off the hook,’ I said. ‘What else did you want to show me?’
He moved his finger to the screen on his right, to a heavy gold-coloured curtain beside a floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the party venue. It hung behind a smartly dressed smiling couple, him in a green velvet suit and her in a silvery dress,
posing with champagne glasses in their hands. ‘See that dark patch?’ he asked.
I shook my head. He zoomed in. I saw something black, a shoulder, an arm. ‘Who’s that?’
‘I don’t know. I went over all the other shots.’ He called a new image onto the middle screen, the gold curtain in the background again. ‘Do you see that little flash of light? It’s a camera lens reflecting the chandeliers. Now this...’ He hovered the mouse over a more visible, black-clad, male with dark hair.
‘Do you know him?’ I asked, leaning in. I caught a whiff of Craig’s earthy scent and my stomach fluttered. What the hell was that about? I shuffled in my seat.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But whoever this person is, I’d bet he is behind the leaked photo of your friend.’
‘Press?’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. First off, that would have been unethical. And secondly, why send someone and not use the material they shot? There were loads of famous people there.’
‘So who could it be?’
He shrugged. ‘Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone who wanted to sell these pictures. Someone who probably couldn’t find a market for them in the end. This has amateur written all over it. Any experienced photographer would know none of the publications would run this, too many restrictions for a start.’ He took his hand off the mouse and stretched his fingers. ‘I called the security company. They said they hadn’t seen any trespassers.’
I smirked. ‘Would they tell you if they had?’
‘I guess not. It would do their reputation no good at all if word of this came out.’
I placed my hand on the desk. ‘I want to take this to the police.’
Craig looked bewildered. ‘What for? All this guy did was gate crash a private party. Plus, this was weeks ago. I can’t see them looking into this. They’d say there was no harm done.’