by Jo Fenton
“Come on, Rebecca. You and me. We could do a quick getaway to my flat and be back in time for Troy.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m not interested.” I look pointedly at where he’s holding my wrist. He grips more tightly for a second, then, appearing to see something or someone behind me, releases me. I turn to see Joanna standing there with a tall, attractive man. I recognise him from the newspaper article, and from research done on the internet prior to this evening’s outing.
“Nigel, Penny wants you.” Joanna gestures behind her and waits until Nigel is the other side of the door. “Becky, this is Troy. I’ve told him why we’re here tonight.”
I hold out my right hand to shake, and notice red marks from where Nigel has just been mauling it. Troy looks keenly at my wrist, then at my face, then at the door through which Nigel just departed.
“Nice to meet you, Becky. Sorry to see that prick was hassling you. I reckon I know him from somewhere, but no idea where. Anyway, I think we should speak privately, but maybe not here, and not tonight. Joanna’s just given me her card. Can I come to see you both tomorrow?”
“Sure. What time?” That brief tangle with Nigel has left me feeling weak, and I don’t really want to stay any longer than necessary.
“Probably about two, but I’ll call late morning and confirm the time. I’m gonna have to go now. On stage soon, and I gotta prep. Cheers. See you tomorrow.” He’s gone with a quick wave.
Joanna turns to me. “Are you okay?” She puts an arm round my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go inside and grab our coats. I think we can go now.”
“Before Troy’s on? Won’t he be upset if we don’t stay? And won’t Penny be angry? She wants to check out possible stalkers.”
“We’ll talk later. It’s fine. Come on.”
Ten minutes later, we’re in a black cab on the way home. It’s ten o’clock – a lot earlier than I thought we’d be leaving.
“I thought we were getting an Uber?”
Joanna grins. “Troy sorted this out for us. He said he wanted us to get home safely, and this is a driver he often uses. He’s nice.”
“Why’s he coming to see us tomorrow?”
“He’s had threats that his family will be hurt. There’s no other information and they’re not asking for anything. He said he’ll tell us more tomorrow.”
“How did he know about us?” I lean against the leather seat back, feeling exhausted and confused.
“Penny pointed him out. He came out to speak to the sound and lighting guys whilst the other band was on. I went over to him when he’d finished and handed him my card, telling him I’d like a chat. To be honest, it surprised me when he looked at the card, but even more so when he manoeuvred me into a corner, asked my name, and said he might have need of our services. He asked to meet you, then we came out to find you being manhandled by that pimply idiot.”
“He was coming on to me and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Do you think it was safe leaving Penny with him?”
“Yes, because Penny left just before we did. She told me she had a headache and was leaving. While I was waiting to speak to Troy, she asked me to tell Nigel that she was going home.”
“But you sent him in to see her. Had she already gone?”
“She was putting her stuff away. I figured she could deliver her own message.”
“Bloody hell, Joanna. We had a duty of care. We should have made sure she got away before he knew. I don’t trust that guy at all. What if he’s the one who’s been stalking her?”
“Shit. I didn’t think of that. But wouldn’t she have recognised him if he was the stalker?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he disguised himself. Can you try to call her?”
Joanna digs out her mobile. I look out of the window. We’re halfway up Cheetham Hill. It’s not too late to turn around if we have to.
There’s a moment’s tension as the phone rings out, then a breathless voice answers. Joanna hits the speaker button.
“Joanna?”
“Yes, are you okay?”
“I think I was followed again. I was going to get a taxi, but there were loads of people around, and I thought the fresh air might help my head.”
“Are you safe now?”
“Yeah, I’m home. I’ve locked and bolted all the doors and windows. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Joanna looks at me as she ends the call. “Oh my God. I can’t believe we let that happen.”
“At least she’s okay for now. What we need to do tomorrow is ask Troy if he saw Nigel in the audience taking photos.”
Chapter Sixteen
Standing in the shadows, I watch the house in silence. It’s nearly eleven o’clock, and she’ll be alone in that house tonight.
I was here earlier, unseen by anyone, and observed as a little girl hopped into a car, waving to her mum and saying “See you tomorrow”. Sorry, kiddo, but you won’t be seeing your mum tomorrow, or ever again.
The street is quiet. It’s a leafy suburban road in one of the posher parts of Manchester.
I clutch my weapon of choice, a steel blade, currently sheathed in what looks like an umbrella. It’s time to go inside…
Chapter Seventeen
It’s quite early on Saturday morning, and I’m sitting in the kitchen nursing my third cup of coffee when Cheryl pokes her head around the door.
“Morning, Mum. Have you got time for a chat?”
“Of course, love. Are you okay?” Focussing properly on my daughter and dismissing all other thoughts from my head, I see a pale face, and rings around her eyes. She’s obviously not okay.
“Kind of.” She stops. “Do you want another coffee? I think I need one.”
I decline, and try to control my anxiety as she moves around the kitchen, banging into the edge of the fridge-freezer, and dropping the tub of sweetener on to the floor. Luckily, it’s plastic with a secure lid.
“Sit down. I’ll make your drink.” I get up and finish the job easily. “Why don’t you come and sit in the lounge? It’s a bit cosier, and we’re less likely to be disturbed. Dad will be down for breakfast soon.”
She’s settled down on the sofa next to me before she starts talking.
“There are a couple of girls at school,” she starts abruptly. “I couldn’t work out what they were doing at first, but it looks like they’ve identified a few people who they don’t like, and they’ve been spreading rumours. They’ve divided the year. It’s like a bad American high school. There are the popular kids, and the rest.”
“Should I ask which category you’re in?” Cheryl is beautiful and clever, but shy and sensitive. A perfect target for jealous bullies.
“I would have probably got away with it, but they were saying awful things about Danielle. Obviously I stuck up for her – I’m not going to let anyone slag off one of my friends – and it was clearly a load of rubbish. So now, I’ve been added to the target list. And it’s horrible.” She drains her mug and puts it on the coffee table.
“So what did they say about Danielle, and what are they saying about you?”
“They said she’s been sleeping around. She had a photo on Facebook from her birthday party last month, and they’ve Photoshopped it and sent it round the school. It looks like they’ve swapped her body with someone who was posing topless, and it’s really horrible.”
“Do you know if it was definitely these girls who’ve played with and posted these images?”
“It’s difficult to trace, but it was one of them that first approached me about being on their side against Dan. When I refused, I got a Facebook message from her, warning me I’d be next if I didn’t get my act together.”
“May I see?”
She pulls out her phone and shows me a screenshot. The name is obscured, but the message is clear.
‘Do what we want, bitch. Get your shit together or you’ll be next.’
“Charming. Do you have the original message? And the photo of Danielle?”
“Why?”
“Because,” I put my arm around her, “this is not only nasty, it’s illegal. I still have some friends in the police who could investigate and give these girls an official warning. I imagine their parents would be very concerned about the possibility of a criminal record for their daughters.”
“Probably, but would they know it was me that told on them?”
“There’s no need for them to know that. Would you mind if I ask Finn to come round and have a look at your phone? He’ll be very discreet, and it would mean I don’t have to pry.”
“I’ve not got any secrets from you, Mum. But I’d rather it wasn’t Finn. He’s a man, and I don’t want that picture of Dan to be seen by anyone who might lech over it.”
“Finn’s not like that.”
“I know, but he’s still a man. How about Wendy?”
“I’ll call her and see if she’s free. Meanwhile, I don’t think there’s a fifteen-year-old in existence who has no secrets from her mum.” I squeeze her shoulders to let her know I’m teasing.
“Well, I might not tell you about every single boy I fancy, but there’s nothing on my phone about that.”
“You’d be surprised. Twenty minutes with your phone, and I’d know your whole search history and everyone you’d checked out on Facebook and Instagram for the last five years.”
“Maybe I’d better keep it hidden then.” She giggles, then turns to look at me, and her expression becomes serious again, and perhaps a bit scared. “Please ask Wendy, Mum. I want this to stop, and I know it sounds selfish, but it would be great if it could stop before they Photoshop me.”
“Of course. Can I make some suggestions to protect yourself?” I wait for her to agree. “Great. Block everyone from your accounts who isn’t a close friend, and make all your settings private, so that these girls or their pals can’t access any of your photos. Ask your friends to do the same, or to delete any photos they have of you. That’s a reasonable first step.”
“Okay, thanks. Would you be able to ask Wendy to contact the school as well please? That way it hasn’t come from me. She can have had anonymous reports of this happening, and it would be reasonable for her to contact the head.”
“Of course.”
“I think I’ll go back to bed for a bit. I’m exhausted. You will call Wendy, won’t you?”
“I’ll call her now. Get some more sleep, love.” I kiss her forehead.
When she’s gone, I scroll through the numbers on my phone to find Wendy. I’ve not spoken to her for seven months now, but perhaps it’s time to break the silence.
***
It’s lovely speaking to my old friend and mentor. We’re on the phone for ages discussing what each has been up to for the last seven months. I tell her about Matt’s illness and my new venture into private investigations. She tells me about lecturing at Manchester University and her trip to Australia to see her eldest son. It’s almost an hour before we finally arrange that she’ll come round after dinner this evening for a drink and to speak to Cheryl. My phone beeps several times whilst we’re on the call, but I’m too busy catching up to check on it. But when I disconnect and check my messages, I see eight WhatsApp messages and five missed calls from Joanna. The messages just say to call her, each one become increasingly urgent and rude. I’m about to call back when Cheryl comes in. She’s looking a lot better, but still tired.
“Did you get some more sleep?” I ask.
“Yes, thanks. Was that Wendy on the phone?”
“She’s coming round this evening to chat to you. Is that okay?”
“That’s great. Thanks, Mum. And I’ve blocked everyone from my accounts that isn’t a proper friend, so hopefully I’m not too late doing that.”
“Good girl. Yes, let’s hope you were quick enough. If not, we’ll deal with it. So don’t worry too much, but better to prevent than have to cure.”
“God, yeah! I’d hate to go through what Dan’s had to deal with.”
“It’s funny hearing you talk about Dan. You always used to call her Danni, and that was fine, but my best friend at Uni was called Dan.”
“I know. We went to his wedding at the beginning of last year. He married that gorgeous guy that looked like he’d stepped off the front cover of GQ or something.”
“Gray Monton. Yes, he was a bit of a dish. Dan’s still in good shape though.”
“Mum! Dan’s nearly fifty. Gray can’t be a day over thirty-five.”
“He was forty last month. I sent him a card on MoonPig. Such a sweetie as well. Very suited to Dan.” My phone pings again.
‘Where the f*** r u?’
“Sorry, love. I’m going to have to call Joanna. We’ll chat later, okay?”
She smiles and leaves the lounge.
I don’t bother replying to Joanna’s message; I just click on her number to return a call.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” She doesn’t bother with hello.
“I was on a call with an ex-colleague. I’ll tell you more about it later. What’s the matter?”
“Troy’s been in touch. His wife’s dead. She’s been murdered.”
Chapter Eighteen
I pick Joanna up five minutes later, and we drive to the address she got from Troy. It’s in Didsbury – a four-bedroom detached house on a quiet road. At least, it looks as though it’s usually quiet. This morning it’s heaving with police and forensic teams, methodically working the area. The road is sealed off with police tape, and we park on the next street up, walking a couple of hundred yards to join the onlookers and gathering press teams. Finn is standing in the road at the end of what must be Troy’s drive. He’s talking to his Sergeant; a pretty girl whose name I remember after a minute or two of racking my brains. Molly. She joined GMP just before everything kicked off and I left, so I didn’t know her well. I’m hoping she won’t remember me.
Joanna and I loiter at the barrier of the tape, and after a moment or two, Finn comes over. Molly heads in another direction, towards the house.
“Becky, what are you doing here? How do you know about this? What do you know?”
“Troy is a… client. He was due to visit us today, but he called Joanna to tell her his wife had been killed.”
He frowns and then glances at my business partner. “You must be Joanna. I’m Finn. I’ve been assigned to this case as Inspector. I used to work with Becky.”
My breath catches in my throat at the cold impersonality of his tone.
“Nice to meet you, Finn.” Joanna holds out her hand to him and he shakes it. “Any chance of coming through? Troy really wants to see us.” She shows him her phone, presumably with the message she showed me earlier.
‘Please come. I need your help.’ His address follows.
Finn speaks into his own phone for a moment, turning his back to us and walking away as he does so. Joanna gives me a look, as if to say, ‘Is he letting us in or not?’ I shrug. He needs to check. He may be in charge of the case, but he can’t just let us in on our say-so. I’ll explain this to her sometime, but not now. Not while we’re surrounded by press and curious neighbours.
Eventually, Finn returns and beckons us through. With a quick glance at each other, Joanna and I duck under the tape. It’s a bit too high to climb over.
Molly comes over. “What’s going on?” she says. “We can’t have just any old body swarming through here.”
“Do you remember, Becky, my old partner?” I cringe as Finn introduces me. So much for keeping a low profile.
“Oh yeah. You left after—”
“Becky’s working on private cases now, with her partner, Joanna.” Finn interrupts. “They were engaged by Troy, but we don’t know why yet.”
“He’s pretty devastated,” says Molly. She sounds hostile, and I guess she sees me as a threat.
“He wants to see them. Away from the press though. Where do you suggest?”
“My car is the other side of the cordon. Away from this lot.” She points to the hungry media folk pressing in
as close to the tape as they can get.
“Hey!” Troy is standing near a bush, just out of sight of the photographers. He looks grey and ill. We move towards him, but Molly stops us.
“Troy, come this way. You can all sit in my car.” She hands over a set of keys to Joanna. “Go chat in there.”
Joanna takes off her coat and gives it to our client to shield his face as we emerge into the road. But we’re only in their sights for a minute as we turn away from them towards Molly’s car.
I sit in the front passenger seat, but turn towards the back where Joanna is sitting next to Troy. He slumps forwards with his head in his hands, and his body shakes with sobs. My partner rests her hand on his back, providing a bit of comfort through his utter devastation. I allow him a few minutes, but when I see Molly heading towards us, I realise our time with him is limited. I hold up my hand to her, to delay the inevitable. To my relief, she nods and turns away.
I turn again to face the back seat.
“Troy,” I say gently, “I’m so sorry. We want to help, but we’ve not got a lot of time to talk here. Are you able to tell us what happened?”
He sits up, his face even greyer than before. His red-rimmed eyes are stark against the rest of his face, making him look like a haunted demon.
“I got home late last night. The gig went well, and I went for a few drinks afterwards with the rest of the band. Oh God.” His head returns to his hands.
“I’m sure that wouldn’t have made any difference, Troy,” says Joanna.
“Maybe not. They said she’d been gone a couple of hours by the time I got home.”
“What time was that?” I ask.
“Ten to one. I went into the kitchen to get some water, and…” His breath comes quickly, and he struggles to speak.
“Hush, it’s okay. Take a minute.” Joanna soothes, but he turns to her, anger in his eyes.
“It’ll never be okay again. Not ever. What the hell do I tell my daughter?”
“A family liaison worker will help with that sort of thing. Have they sent one to you yet? Where is your daughter?”