Rush of Blood by Mark Billingham Page B

know?’ Ed punched Dave in the shoulder and walked across to join the women.
    ‘You making fun of my old man?’ Marina said.
    Ed grinned. ‘Just winding him up. You know what he’s like …’
    ‘Yeah,
I
do,’ Marina said. ‘But you want to be careful.’ She narrowed her eyes, theatrically. ‘He can
turn
.’ She smiled at her boyfriend over Ed’s shoulder. ‘Can’t you, babe?’
    ‘Definitely,’ Dave said, a little red-faced, as he and Barry walked across.
    ‘Barry’s got a temper on him as well,’ Angie said. She slid an arm around Barry’s waist. ‘He’s like the Incredible Hulk sometimes,
     storming round the place.’
    Marina leaned into Ed. ‘What about you?’
    Ed’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘Me?’
    ‘No way, not Steady Eddie,’ Sue said. ‘Happy as a pig in shit, aren’t you, my love?’
    ‘Well, I
can
get a bit strict with you sometimes,’ Ed said. ‘When you’ve pissed me off.’ He winked at the boys. ‘But only because you
     like it …’
    ‘Right,’ Angie said. ‘The chicken’s taking care of itself, so—’
    ‘Smells gorgeous,’ Marina said.
    Angie put down her wine glass. ‘Who fancies a quick tour?’
    ‘We should have given these to the police,’ Angie said. She looked up at the others. ‘God, do you think we still should?’
     She carefully lined up three photographs, tapped a bright-red fingernail against several of the figures in the background.
     The missing girl and her mother, then a number of anonymous men and women captured behind the main subject: sitting around
     the pool; walking in one direction or the other through the back of the shot; more than one of the strangers looking towards
     the photographer. ‘He might be right here in one of these pictures,’ she said. ‘We might be looking at whoever took that girl
     …’
    The offer of a ‘tour’ had not been taken up by everyone. Ed had hung back in the kitchen, along with Barry who pulled a face
     and opened them both another beer. Dave had hesitated, looking from the men to the women and back, before eventually deciding
     to trot along after Marina, Angie and Sue.
    ‘How gay is that?’ Ed had said, as Barry handed him his drink.
    Fifteen minutes later, when everyone was gathered back in the kitchen, Angie had put plates in the oven, given her main course
     a final stir and told people to find a seat. Her ‘special’ placemats had caused every bit as much interest as Angie had hoped
     and served to remind Sue that she and Ed had brought photos of their own to share.
    ‘We got three sets printed up,’ she said. ‘Ed was going to email them, but as we were getting together anyway …’
    ‘I didn’t think,’ Angie had said. She wiped her hands and came over to the central island to take a look. ‘I’ll get two more
     sets of ours done as soon as I get five minutes.’
    ‘It’s a great idea,’ Marina said.
    They gathered around the island and began to look at the photos that Sue had handed out. The majority were of Sue or Ed themselves
     of course, a handful of them together taken by one of the other four and a few of the entire group. There were shots of them
     at the beach and in assorted bars and restaurants, shots against sunsets, some with pelicans or egrets silhouetted against
     the pink-orange sky behind, but many of the pictures had been taken around the pool at the Pelican Palms.
    It was a group of these photographs that had captured Angie’s attention.
    ‘We should have given them to the police,’ she said again. ‘At least let them look at what was on our cameras.’
    ‘They didn’t ask,’ Sue said.
    ‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Barry said. He nodded down at the pictures. ‘What are the chances that this bloke who took her,
if
anyone took her in the first place, is sitting there in his Speedos or whatever?’
    Angie shook her head, adamant. ‘The police did this thing, a few years back, on Brighton beach or Southend or somewhere. They
     were looking for