I put down my pencil and look back towards the half-open door, but no sound comes, not the barest echo.
You have to know where to look for the real stuff, somewhere that’s not been plundered to death already, a spot people wouldn’t think of.
“Is that wallpaper?”
Just as I can’t pass a ringing phone, so I can’t see a piece of folded paper that has a flash of handwriting on it and not turn it over.
Everything is fine. We all have coffee – good coffee. The clients are smiling. For once, the AV is working.
It’s going to be like a game of bloody Cluedo at this rate.
The photo could be of anyone, really.