Paparazzi

by Jo Fenton

  “Hi, come in,” she says, opening the door wide and heading indoors, obviously expecting us to follow her.”

  “Don’t you want to check who we are first?” Joanna halts in front of me, just inside the front door.

  Gemma turns around, looking surprised. “Aren’t you the detectives?”

  “Yes. The White Knight Detective Agency.” I give Joanna a gentle nudge in the back, and she shakes her head slightly before following Gemma into a messy kitchen. There’s a table and four chairs, and a skinny girl cooking something aromatic on the hob.

  “Give me a couple of minutes, Gem. This is nearly done, and I’ll be out of your way. Pip and Jade are out tonight, so you can entertain your guests in peace.” She gives us curious looks before dishing up a professional-looking curry and rice onto a plate. “I’ve made too much as usual, so you can have some later.” Unfortunately, this is directed at Gemma, and not at us, as my mouth is watering from the smell. I glance at Joanna, who takes out her phone and types a message. I hope she’s asking Will to research local curry houses. In obedience to a signal from Gemma, we sit down at the table.

  When we have the kitchen to ourselves, Gemma puts some cans on the table, and sits opposite us.

  “Help yourself to a drink. I’ve only diet coke, or caffeine-free diet coke; or you can have water if you like.”

  I help myself to the caffeine-free can and thank our host. Joanna declines a drink.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see us. Do you live here permanently, or just in term-time?”

  “It’s a student house. We’re all third-years and have lived here for a year and a half now. They’re a friendly bunch, and we’re all good mates.”

  I see an opportunity and throw in a casual question that could clear her immediately. “Were you all here on Friday night?”

  “Of course not. Why would we be in on a Friday night? Anyway, Troy was on at Band On The Wall on Friday so we all went there. After Troy, we stayed on for the late-night comedy act. We left about 1am. Jade wanted to go to clubbing after that, but the rest of us’d had enough, so we went home. Got back here about 1:45 cos it seemed to take forever finding a taxi.” She shakes her head. “Can’t believe that poor Troy got home that night to find his wife dead. It’s so awful.”

  “Had you met his wife?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve been to his house though. I did a photoshoot with him and the band about a month ago. It’s part of my final year project, and they were all really lovely about it. He’s got a nice house, and I got some great photos.”

  “Would you mind showing us?” I have nothing specific in mind, but I’d like to see more of his house. Without official authority, I can’t access the house. This might be a wonderful opportunity to get some useful information.

  Gemma leaves the kitchen and returns a couple of minutes later with a slim, silver-coloured laptop. She opens it up and presses a few buttons before turning it towards us. The photos are a mixture of black and white (arty and cool, but not terribly helpful) and colour.

  “These are all digital, aren’t they?” I ask, as a sudden thought crosses my mind.

  “Of course. One or two people on my course still use film, but I much prefer digital. It gives the photographer so much flexibility.”

  “So could you make all these black and white photos into colour?”

  “I could but they look better in monochrome.”

  I raise my eyebrow at Joanna, and she nods. “We’re investigating Troy’s wife’s murder, and it would be really helpful to the case to examine these photos, but only really in colour.”

  “Shouldn’t murder investigations be confined to the police?”

  “The investigation overlaps with another case we’re working on, so we’re unofficially helping the Inspector on the case. It’s a bit hush-hush to be honest.” I give Gemma the most disarming smile I can manage. “The Sergeant doesn’t like me very much, so it’s a bit complicated. She can’t know I’m working on this, but the DI said he could use our help.”

  “I see what you mean – definitely complicated. My dad’s in the police force down in Exeter, where I’m from, and he said the office politics are crazy. He moans about it all the time. It’s a bit of a relief to be up here out of the way actually.”

  “I can imagine. So would you be able to help us with these photos?”

  “I guess so. Give me your email address and I’ll send them over to you – probably tomorrow or Wednesday as it’ll take me a while to get them optimised. I hope you don’t mind, but there’ll be a little copyright watermark in the bottom right-hand corner. I’ll make it as small as I can, and if I think there’s something important in that part of the photo, I’ll move it to the other side. Is that okay?”

  “That sounds great. Thanks, Gemma.”

  Joanna stands up. “Yes, thanks a lot. This will be great. We need to be going now, but really appreciate your help.”

  Back in the car a couple of minutes later, Will’s sitting there perusing a menu.

  “There’s an Indian takeaway on the main road. I popped over to grab a menu. I think we should order, then go to see Sarah. We can come back and pick the food up afterwards.”

  After a bit of haggling, I convince him to hang on, and we’ll order from the local Indian near his mum’s house. “We’ll enjoy it more sitting at a table after we’ve finished work.”

  “Now that’s settled,” says Joanna, “let’s get to Sarah’s and find out what she’s got to say.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sarah may have said she lived in Parrs Wood, but the satnav leads us to a block of apartments a short distance from Levenshulme station. It’s pleasant and modern, with a tree-lined lawn, dotted with a few wooden benches. There’s off-road parking, and Will volunteers once again to remain in the car.

  The tall girl who lets us into the flat is immaculately made-up and wearing a red pencil skirt and black silk blouse. Her dark hair is in a ponytail.

  “Hi. You’re here about Troy? You’d better come in.” Although she’s polite, there’s a hint of hostility in the air. I glance at Joanna and roll my eyes at her as we follow our host through a dark hallway into a modern, minimalist lounge. “Sit on the sofa.” She points to a black leather 2-seater and takes a seat herself on a matching armchair directly opposite. Unlike our previous interviewee, she doesn’t offer us a drink. A peculiar smell is drifting around us – quite hard to describe, although there’s possibly chamomile, lavender and rosemary in the mix.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet us this evening,” I begin, in a conciliatory tone. We’ll get a lot more from her if she thinks we’re friendly. “I hope you’ve not had to rush from work?”

  “No, I got back half an hour ago. But I’ve not eaten yet, and dinner will be ready soon.”

  “We won’t keep you long. It smells great though. What are you having?” asks Joanna. She’s a great liar.

  “Lentil stew. I grow my own herbs and spices and use them in my cooking. I’m a bit of a health freak.” She says all this without a hint of a smile, and I realise we’re not going to warm her up at all. Time to dive straight in.

  “So I believe you’ve met Troy a few times?”

  “More than that. He came back here several times after gigs.”

  “In what capacity?”

  She glares at me. “What do you think? He liked to brush my hair.” She sneers. “We slept together. You must be crap detectives if I have to spell it out for you.”

  “We’d rather you told us in your own words.” Joanna’s still trying to be friendly. “How long had you two been having an affair?”

  “I wouldn’t say it was an affair exactly. He’s said he wanted to leave his wife for me, but couldn’t because of their little girl, so we had to be very discreet.” She reaches behind her head and removes a band from her hair. Shaking out an enviable mane of dark brown wavy hair, she adds, “He was in love with me.”

  “Were you in love with him?” My suspicion is growing th
at this is a load of bullshit.

  “I held out for a while, particularly when one of the other band members let slip that Troy was married. But he’s a charming guy. And he’s pretty hot in bed.”

  “So you had reason to hate his wife?”

  “He’d have tired of her after a while. There was no rush. I wouldn’t have killed the silly bitch anyway.”

  A buzzer in the kitchen calls an early halt to the interview.

  “Just one quick question before we go, if you don’t mind.” I take a photo of Penny out of my handbag and show it to her. “Do you know this girl?”

  “I don’t know her name. I recognise her face though.” She pauses, staring at the photo. “Hang on, is she a photographer? I think I’ve seen her hanging around Troy and the band taking photos.”

  “Okay, thanks.” We take our leave, wishing her a pleasant evening (which she doesn’t deserve).

  Back at the car, Will asks us how it went.

  “She’s a bloody lying bitch, but I don’t think she’s Penny’s stalker,” says Joanna.

  “I agree. And I’m pretty sure she’s not been having an affair with Troy. It sounds like she was making it all up – a figment of an overactive imagination.”

  “Yeah definitely. She’s clearly obsessed with him. Do you think that’s sufficient motive for her to kill Linda? She was pretty horrible about her.” Joanna puts her seatbelt on. “Anyway, let’s get out of here. One more to see this evening.”

  As Will drives to our next destination, we discuss the chances of obsession leading to murder.

  “Surely it’s mostly a device for crime fiction?” says Will.

  “You’d be surprised. Nearly thirty years in the police force, and I saw a lot of obsession, and yes, it’s often a motive. Obsession with power, money, hatred, jealousy, revenge – they’re all very real, and powerful, reasons for harming someone. Having said that, I can’t say I’m convinced that Sarah would have done it. As we’ve said, a lot of her story was pure invention, but I didn’t get a genuine sense of what the girl was really like.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, hen. She wasn’t a nice girl, but I couldn’t get a sense of what she was about. Gemma, on the other hand, was really sweet.”

  “So far, they’ve both been how we’d have expected from Troy’s descriptions.”

  “So, sorry for asking, I don’t mean to be rude…”

  “But you’re going to be anyway. Carry on, Will, ask what you like.” I grin at him, but he’s watching the road, and he doesn’t notice.

  “Okay. Do you think your perceptions have been coloured by Troy’s comments, or is it just that you’re both great judges of character?”

  “We’re excellent at character assessment of course,” says Joanna. I turn around to look at her, and she winks at me. “Seriously though, I suppose that’s a point, but if Troy reckoned Sarah was constantly badgering him to go out with her, it’s not an unreasonable reaction for her to pretend they were having an affair.”

  “Come off it, Mum. Of course it is. Why not just deny fancying him in the first place? It’s a lot more sensible. Especially when his wife’s just been bumped off.”

  “You’ve heard the phrase about a woman scorned, Will.”

  “Yeah. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. All the more reason she did it, and why she should try to cover it up by pretending never to have liked him.”

  I frown, thinking it over. “So, by that logic, she can’t have done it, otherwise why would she be so stupid as to pretend to be having an affair, even if she doesn’t admit to the terminology?”

  “Perhaps she’s so obsessed with him she believes in her own story and is oblivious to the fact that she could be a suspect?” says Joanna.

  “Only an innocent person could be oblivious. The murderer must either know they’re a suspect, or believe themselves to be safe. But whichever it is, they’re not in cloud-cuckoo-land about the concept.”

  “So, does that rule Sarah out?” Will glances at the satnav and applies the brakes sharply as he turns left down a side road.

  “You concentrate on driving. Becky, what do you think? I’m inclined to think that exonerates Sarah, even though I didn’t like her.”

  “I’d say it puts her lower down the list.” I glance round as Will parks at the side of the road behind a white van. “Are we here?”

  “Yeah. I reckon it’s that house.” He points at a scruffy terrace, set slightly back from the road by an overgrown patch of grass and an uneven path. The house, lit up by a street lamp and the moon, looks to need a decorator, and probably some building work.

  “Do you want to take the lead this time, Joanna?”

  “No, you’re fine. You’re the expert.”

  “Thanks.” I get out of the car and pull my coat round me. The temperature feels like it’s dropped five degrees since we left Sarah’s twenty minutes ago.

  I let Joanna ring the bell as she gets there first. There’s no sound. We wait for a minute, but still nothing.

  “Do you reckon the bell’s broken?” I use the knocker, but it’s heavy, and falls back against the door with more of a dull thud than a rousing knock.

  “Let me.” Joanna grins at me, removes an umbrella from her handbag, and thumps it several times against the wood.

  “Hang on, I’m coming,” shouts a muffled voice from inside. A minute later, the door opens. “Why didn’t you use the bell?” The owner of the voice is a short, balding man dressed in a dirty grey sweater and baggy jeans. He looks about thirty-five. “Who are you anyway?”

  “White Knight Detective Agency, and your bell doesn’t work. Are you Dean?” Joanna smiles pleasantly at him. I’m about to do the same, but a whiff of either boiled cabbage or serious BO hits my nostrils, and I try not to gag.

  “Yes, I’m Dean. Dean Bennett.” Do you want to come in?”

  “No, it’s okay. We can ask you some questions here for now.” I reckon I’ll need to give myself a really awful cold if I need to come back. I try to breathe shallowly as I take a discreet step backward. Unfortunately, although cold, it’s a still night. A bit of a breeze might have helped.

  “I believe you know Troy Cassidy?”

  “Yes, a bit. Once, he offered me a chance to play with the band, but after a couple of rehearsals, he said it wouldn’t work out. He was all right about it – just said I wasn’t the right fit. He’s always friendly when I see him at gigs.”

  “Did you ever meet his wife?”

  “That poor girl that got herself killed? No, I never met her. I think she was working both times when I went there for rehearsals.”

  “So you knew where they lived?”

  “Yes, of course. Is that it now?”

  “Not quite. Where were you on Friday night?”

  “Here, in my front lounge, watching telly.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “No. I live by myself. I thought about going to the pub, but I was tired and couldn’t be arsed. I watched Breaking Bad on Netflix.” He scowls. “Sorry I don’t have an alibi, but I’m not a killer, so it didn’t occur to me I’d need one.”

  “I totally understand. Thank you. Just one more thing.” I take the photo of Penny from my bag. “Do you recognise this girl?”

  “I don’t think so,” he says, after staring at the picture for a minute. “Her face is vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell you where from.” He shakes his head. “No, not got a clue. Who is she?”

  “It’s not important. She’s a photographer. I just wondered if you’d seen her at any of Troy’s gigs.”

  “I don’t really pay any attention to young girls. Now if you’ve finished, and you really won’t come inside, can I go? I’m bloody freezing here.”

  “Sure. Thanks for your time, and sorry for keeping you.” I put the photo back in my bag, glance at Joanna and turn to go.

  “Hey,” Dean calls after us. “There was a lot of conflict in the band. Maybe one of them did her in.”

  “Thanks.” I nod. I don’t
trust him, but I’ve not discounted the band members either yet.

  The journey back to Joanna’s house is much quieter. We’re all tired and hungry, and I’m getting anxious now about Cheryl. I’ve not heard from her yet, although she’s been back from school for hours. It’s nearly seven now. After we’ve been in the car for ten minutes, I take out my phone and type in a WhatsApp.

  ‘R u ok?’

  There’s a moment’s pause. Will puts the radio on to fill the silence in the car.

  ‘When r u coming home?’ Cheryl’s message only partially answers my question. If she wants me home, I guess she’s not totally okay.

  “How far away are we?” I ask Will.

  “About half an hour. Plus takeaway collection. Maybe forty minutes.”

  “Can you drop me back at my car before the takeaway please? I think I need to get home.”

  “Sure.”

  “Is everything okay?” Joanna touches my shoulder, and I turn to look at her. She looks worried, but I think the trip out has been good for her.

  “I think so. Cheryl’s got some stuff going on at school. She wants me to get home.”

  “Course. Why don’t we drop you straight home, then you can call Will when you need to collect your car, and he’ll pick you up?”

  I agree, and thank them, then type back in my phone. ‘Back in about 30 mins. See you soon. If you can get Dad to order or cook pizza, I’ll be eternally grateful.’ I forget sometimes to use text-speak when I’m messaging her.

  ‘k.’ There’s no other response, so I guess she’s too stressed to worry about my perfect grammar. Hopefully she’ll pass on the message about pizza. I don’t feel ready to deal with her problems on an empty stomach.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jumping out of the car as it stops in front of my house, I notice there’s a rustle in the bushes. My pulse rate picks up a few notches, but Will is watching me as I put my keys in the door. I unlock it and step inside before turning to wave goodbye. As the car moves away, I shut the door quickly and lock and bolt it from the inside.