‘You have a photo of Violette and Eddie on the tour.’

Sarraf sat down at the table, laptop in hand. ‘You know I saw the kids in London, Ortley.’

‘Did they give you any others?’

Sarraf booted up his ancient laptop. ‘I downloaded it from Eddie’s Instagram account.’

They were the exact words Bish wanted to hear. He logged on to Dropbox. ‘I was searching for anything out of the ordinary,’ he explained, finding one of the six photos he had collected of Lola and Manoshi sleeping on the bus. He zoomed in. ‘An anomaly. Something that seemed out of place.’ He pointed to the figure in the woodlands. ‘French Intelligence and our lot couldn’t get much more out of it. Attal even went back to where he thinks this was taken. There’s a walking track beyond those trees, so it could have been a birdwatcher.’

Sarraf adjusted the shutters, blocking out as much light as possible. It made no difference to the image on the screen.

‘The kids used to prank anyone who fell asleep,’ Bish told him. ‘Eddie was sure to have taken a shot like this. He was sitting opposite these girls, one row down. He may have the clearest picture of whoever’s beyond that window.’

Sarraf logged into Instagram and went straight to Eddie’s profile.

‘Why don’t the other kids follow Eddie online?’ Bish asked.

‘Violette banned any social networking,’ Sarraf said. ‘So @moveslikejagger02 has one follower. Me. He was planning to network when he got home from the tour. That hasn’t happened yet.’

Sarraf turned the screen towards Bish.

‘I didn’t take much notice of his tour stuff. The photo of the two of them was the only one I got printed. My eyes glazed over by the time I saw the twentieth shot of someone’s tongue stud.’

‘Reggie Hill from Brighton,’ Bish said. ‘I think someone dared him to lick the pigeon shit off the rocks at Mont Saint-Michel.’

Eddie had taken photos of anything that moved, but thankfully they were in date order. Bish looked at the time. It was past three pm.

‘There,’ he said a minute later, pointing to a couple of photographs of the sleeping girls. Most were close-ups. Eddie seemed to have been determined to capture every dribble, freckle or blemish. Sarraf focused on one of the photographs that didn’t just capture the faces.

Bish indicated the space behind the girls’ heads. Sarraf zoomed in until Lola and Manoshi were a blur. But the image in the woods was the clearest Bish had seen yet. It was definitely a man. Middle-aged. Deep-set eyes, jowls that drooped, a bulbous nose. Bish reached over to click onto the next image, hoping it would reveal even more.

‘Wait wait wait,’ said Sarraf.

‘What?’

‘I know this guy!’

‘Bullshit! How?’

‘Comes into the gym. A real thug.’

‘He trains with you?’

‘No. He’s a heavy. A henchman. Goes round collecting debts – gets people to do things in return.’

‘So who does he work for?’