Paparazzi

by Jo Fenton

  “I guess you can hack them too?”

  “Of course. Can’t beat the hackers if you can’t play them at their own game.”

  “I can see that would be important. Can you hack the prison service records?” I take a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

  “Possibly. What help would that be?”

  “I just wondered if you could find out why your dad was let out so soon, and what his parole conditions are? Maybe reporting his threats could land him straight back inside.”

  “I don’t need to check anything to know that. The speed he skedaddled when I threatened him with the police told me all I needed to know on that front.”

  “So why didn’t you report him?” I drain the coffee mug and put it down. I watch Will flush.

  “He’s my dad. However much of a prick he is, and however scary, it doesn’t feel right shopping him straight away.”

  “Not even if it’s putting your mum at risk?”

  “He doesn’t know where Mum is, or have a clue she’s even left Scotland.”

  “Maybe, but there are ways people like your dad can get information. It only needs one corrupt official or a clever ex-con that your dad’s in touch with. You’re not the only one who can hack.”

  “I suppose. I’ll think about it. I don’t want to put Mum in danger.”

  “Don’t leave it too long, otherwise they’ll be asking you why you didn’t report it immediately.”

  My phone pings. Joanna’s just forwarded me a message:

  ‘Troy: Sedation is wearing off. Can’t bear this. Need to find the bastard who killed my wife. Help me.’

  I call her. It’s easier than messaging back and forth.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. It’d be good to have something to do.”

  “Can you arrange to meet Troy somewhere? Away from Molly and Janice? We can’t exactly interview him at his own house.”

  Will touches my arm.

  “Hang on a sec.” I turn to Will. “What?”

  “Why can’t you interview this Troy in his own house?”

  “Because the police will be hanging about, and although we’ve got support from the Inspector, the Sergeant on the case hates me. Your mum and I need to be discreet.”

  “Ask this guy to download Skype onto his phone, and you and Mum can interview him that way. It means no one needs to go outside, so surely safer for everyone. Also, we can set it up so it records the call.” He puts his hand out for the phone, and I hand it to him. “Mum, did you hear what I just said?” I don’t hear the answer, but I assume she said no, as he repeats the suggestion. “Why don’t you come back down, and we can discuss it properly?” He disconnects the call and hands my phone back to me.

  While we wait for Joanna to come downstairs, I go into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I reckon we could all do with another hot drink. A short while later, I return to the lounge to find Will instructing his mum on what to say to Troy. I let them get on with it and sit patiently with my coffee and biscuits.

  Five minutes later, Joanna announces, “Troy’s joining us on Skype. He says his house is empty except for him, so he can speak freely.”

  “Surely he’s not back in his own house yet? It must still be a crime scene.”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “I guess we’ll find out in a few minutes. Will, how do we set up Skype so Joanna and I can both talk to Troy?”

  At Joanna’s suggestion, we move into the kitchen and sit at the table. Will opens his mum’s laptop and lets her type in the password before pressing a few buttons at lightning speed. Two minutes later, and we’re ready to go. Troy’s exhausted face fills the screen.

  Joanna and I turn to each other for a moment. This will not be an easy interview.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Hi Troy, how are you doing?” I don’t wait for an answer, before continuing. “Can you hear us okay? And see us?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for doing this. I really wanted to talk to you without the cops hanging around.”

  “Sure. Where are you?” I ask.

  “Staying with my mum and dad in Withington. It’s only a couple of miles from the in-laws, so I can see my baby every day, but she’s better off staying with them for the moment.”

  “You said you’re alone in the house?” Joanna joins in. Perhaps she realises how accusatory she sounds, as she tempers it with, “Not that it matters. As long as the police aren’t around.”

  “Mum and Dad are out shopping. Once they saw I’d woken up and wasn’t about to end it all, they reckoned it was safe to leave me.”

  “Let’s take advantage of it then and ask some questions.”

  “You don’t need to ask anything. I’ll tell you everything.” Troy sounds exhausted but determined. I’m curious to see where he’ll start. It’s so much easier when you’re being questioned, and there’s a structure to the interview, but if he wants to play it this way, it’s fine with me. I glance at Joanna. She’s sitting up straight on the kitchen chair, looking into the webcam. Her face is serious but calm. I look back at the screen and see we’re both in a thumbnail-sized image at the top. Troy’s face fills the screen.

  “Go ahead then, Troy.”

  “Where do you want me to start?” He’s finally realised it’s not that easy just talking. Joanna takes pity on him.

  “You told us on Saturday about how you found her, so let’s go back a bit further, and tell us about your band and how you got started?”

  “Oh, okay. I reckon I’ve always wanted to be in a band. I messed about with bands even when I was in primary school. But I met Harry, Gaz and Zach at college. We were all studying music and hit it off straightaway. It helped that Gaz is a drummer, Harry plays guitar, and Zach does keyboards and a bit of sax. It makes for a cool sound. We all write music and I guess it started from there. We rehearsed, then started doing gigs. First ones were pretty crap, but we got better and started working more on our own stuff; sussing out what went down best, and what we enjoyed performing. We’ve been doing Band On The Wall for a few years now, as well as other places. We travel around doing student gigs a lot. Then a few weeks ago, down in London, this producer turned up at one of our gigs. We didn’t know he was there until he came up to us at the end and offered us a recording contract. We were made up.” His face sobers. “Then this happened, and I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore. I’d ditch it in a flash if it would bring Linda back.”

  On the screen, I see Joanna’s expression soften, and she says, “It’s probably got nothing to do with the record deal, Troy. This might have happened anyway. Can you tell us how you and Linda met?”

  “Yeah, it was kind of crazy and romantic. I was twenty when I got appendicitis. Like, sudden and horrible pain, although afterwards I realised I’d been feeling a bit dodgy for a few days. But anyway, I doubled over in rehearsal and the boys got an ambulance. I don’t remember much else until I woke up in hospital, minus an appendix, but with an angel standing next to me at the side of the bed. Doesn’t that sound corny?”

  I smile. “It sounds sweet. Carry on.”

  “Yeah. Well, there was this beautiful girl standing there looking at me with concern on her face, and when I was fully awake, she asked me if I was okay. She had the loveliest, most musical voice I’ve ever heard, and the sweetest smile. I think I fell in love there and then. Anyway, she was my nurse for the next few days while I was in hospital. I reckon I stayed in a couple of days longer than I needed to, just to be close to her, but she always had a special smile for me, and stayed to chat as often as she could. She gave me her number on the day I left, but I still got Harry to drive me to the hospital in time for the end of her shift. I waited for her at the entrance, and I didn’t even ask her out. I just said, ‘Linda, you’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. Will you marry me?’”

  “Wow. What did she say? You’d been her patient for three or four days, right?” says Joanna.

  “Five, but I take your point. Sh
e suggested we get to know each other a bit better first, but she liked the idea – I could see it in her face. So we did date for a while. A short while. After three weeks, she agreed that this was the real deal, and we got married a month later. That was five years ago.” His voice thickens, and moisture fills his eyes. “I honestly believed we’d be together forever. Whoever did this deserves to die so horribly. My poor Linda must have been so scared at the end, and she was always so brave. I want to kill the bastard that did this.”

  Joanna gives me a barely perceptible nod, and I take over the questioning.

  “Did you or she have any enemies you knew of?”

  “She just made friends with everyone, she was such a lovely person. No one could have hated her enough to do this.”

  “Unfortunately, there are some horrible people around who detest loveliness. Beauty, sweetness and kindness can inspire intense jealousy and hatred. If you know of any issues that Linda might have had, maybe at work, then please let us know. Even if you can’t think of them just now. What about you? Did you have any enemies, or anyone that was perhaps jealous of you?”

  “There were a few other bands that got a bit narky on social media when we got our deal, but nothing to make me think they’d kill. And even if they did, they’d most likely want to kill me rather than… Oh God, why the fuck would anyone want to kill Linda?”

  “That’s what we need to find out, Troy. How about your fans? Would anyone want you enough to want to get rid of your wife?”

  “That’s bloody ridiculous.”

  “Do you have any – I don’t know what you’d call them – super-fans? Is that the right word?”

  “Probably, and yeah, I’ve got a few. Maybe three that I can think of.”

  “If I show you some photos, would you be able to identify them?” I’ve spotted a Share button on the screen.

  “I can try.”

  “Okay, thanks. Give us a minute.”

  I have the photos of the fans on my phone, and I email them to Joanna, with a request that she opens them on her laptop. A few clicks later, and we’re sharing the photos over Skype. The first one we show is of the man. I found a name from face-matching software, but it’s not reliable, and I’m keen to see if Troy recognises him or the two girls I half-identified.

  “So, Troy, have you any idea who this guy might be?”

  We can still see him in a thumbnail at the top of the screen. He stares for a moment, presumably at the picture.

  “I recognise him. He’s been at most of our Manchester gigs, and he’s come up to us afterwards a fair few times. Says he wants to be in a band. I’m trying to remember his name. Sean? Dick? No, shit. What was it? Dean! Yeah, that was it. Dean. I don’t think I ever knew his surname, but he gave me his number once in case we ever needed a new band member. Not likely, and even if we did, we wouldn’t choose him. Girls like the band members to be young and hot. You can see from the picture, he doesn’t quite meet those criteria. He was a bit of a slimeball as well. Probably harmless, but a bit creepy.”

  “Do you still have his number?”

  “I’ll have a look. It might be in my phone. I’ll text you afterwards if I’ve got it.”

  “How about this one?” I show the next picture: the tall, dark-haired girl. She looks about the same age as Troy, who I now know is twenty-five.

  He gives a wry grin. “Yeah, I recognise her. She’s tried several times to give me her number, and a fair few times to get me to go out with her. I’ve told her I’m happily married, but she doesn’t seem to take no for an answer.” Shock and horror show on his face, as the awful possibility crosses his mind. “No, she couldn’t. Surely not.” But doubt is there too.

  “What’s her name?” I ask gently.

  “Sarah. I don’t know her last name, but I’ve got her number too.”

  I refrain from asking him why he’s got the number of a girl he was trying to reject. Maybe he was trying to be nice, but it could easily have raised her hopes – perhaps catastrophically.

  “Finally, what do you know about the girl in this photo?”

  He identifies my final potential suspect as Gemma Harris, a photography student, who’s done some portraits of him and the boys.

  “She’s a nice girl; really into the band, but in a good way. She wouldn’t harm a fly, I’m sure.”

  “Actually, I’ve just got one more photo to show you.” I bring up a photo of Penny, one that Joanna took at the gig we attended – I can’t believe it was only three days ago.

  “Yeah, I know Penny. She’s a press photographer. Turns up to a lot of our gigs. I think she’s a bit of a secret fan, but she tries not to let on. I don’t know her that well, and I’ve not got her number, so you might need to contact the newspaper if you need to speak to her.”

  “No, that’s fine, thanks. We’ve got her number already. I just wanted to know how well you knew her.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t really know her that much. She seems okay. There’s that bloke that hangs around with her sometimes, Nigel, who’s a bit of a prick. In fact, didn’t I see him hassling you on Friday?”

  “Yes, and he is a prick. How well do you know him? Was he still at the gig after Penny left on Friday?”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember seeing him. I was trying to work out where I know him from, but he seems to be vaguely connected in my head with… oh my God… with Linda. I can’t think about it now.” He looks away from the screen. “I think Mum and Dad are back. I’d better see them. Thanks for letting me talk. I’m sure I’ve told you more than I’ve said to the police. That stupid cow with the red hair never seems to ask the right questions. Let me know if you find out anything.”

  Joanna laughs. “Sure. Speak soon.”

  “Of course. Thanks, Troy. Take care.” I wave, and turn Skype off.

  A couple of minutes later my phone pings three times. Each one is a contact sent via WhatsApp. Gemma Harris, Sarah Fan, and Dean Fan. Joanna looks across the table at the messages.

  “I guess Fan is a designation rather than a surname.”

  “It must be. Troy said he didn’t know their full names.” I dial the first number.

  Two hours, a tuna sandwich and three cups of coffee later, we all head to Will’s car. It’s now four o’clock, and the traffic will be building up.

  “It seems a shame not to use it, and I might as well ferry you around while I’m here. Also, being in a hire car will lend some additional anonymity.”

  “Thanks, Will. And it’s nice not having to drive.”

  “No worries. You’d better get in the front though. If Mum navigates, we’ll end up the opposite end of the country to where we need to be.”

  I sit in the front, but defend my friend. “To be fair, she’s navigated very well so far. We’ve not been lost yet.”

  “Thanks. I am here you know, while you talk about me. Who do you want to see first? I’m sure Becky can program the satnav as well as I can.”

  I turn my head and grin at her. “What would we all do without satnav? I think we should start with Gemma. She seems to know Troy and the band best, and is also the least likely suspect. Also, she lives furthest away, so we can start with her and work back in this direction.”

  “Where do they all live?” asks Will.

  I consult the addresses I’ve typed into my phone. “Gemma’s in Stockport. Sarah’s not that far from her, in Parrs Wood, towards Didsbury. Dean lives in Chorlton.”

  “Where does Troy live?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before adding, “Becky, can you type Gemma’s address in to the satnav please, so we can get started?”

  I start typing and leave Joanna to reply to his first question. “Troy’s wife was murdered in Didsbury, less than a mile from Sarah, four miles from Gemma, and about four miles in a different direction from Dean.”

  I sit back and fasten my seat belt, as Will starts the car. He spends the first few minutes of the journey swooning over the smooth ride, quiet engine and general beauty of the car, but then we discu
ss the three suspects we’re about to see. We’d gleaned little from the phone conversations, other than an agreement for us to visit. Actually, the order of visiting works out well with the requests from the suspects. Gemma has no lectures on a Monday afternoon, so is home anyway. Sarah and Dean both requested visits after six to give them time to get home after work.

  I’ve warned Matt that I’ll be back late, so he can sort out dinner for himself and Cheryl.

  Between the rush hour traffic and a loss of GPS signal getting lost in Stockport, it’s almost five by the time we pull up outside Gemma’s house.

  “Big house for a student, isn’t it?” Joanna says as she gets out of the car.

  “Most likely a house-share. I reckon she’s just got a room.”

  Will’s probably right, but I refrain from making assumptions at this stage. It’s a pleasant road, with lots of trees and grass verges. The houses are large semi-detached properties, dating from probably the 1950s or 60s.

  “Do you want me to stay in the car? In case you want to make a quick getaway?” Will’s sense of humour is infectious, and I can’t help grinning.

  “Probably won’t be necessary, but it might be a bit daunting having all three of us descending on her. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I can do a bit of research on the area while I’m waiting. Including where’s the nearest McDonald’s!”

  “Perfect. We’ll see you in a bit then.”

  The girl who opens the door is instantly recognisable from the photos. She’s about Joanna’s height, but a bit plumper than she looked in the club. Maybe it’s because of the baggy navy sweatshirt and jogging bottoms. Not a flattering look. Her hair is fastened back with Kirby grips, and she looks about twelve.