Paparazzi

by Jo Fenton

  “Okay, yeah. There was that tall girl who fancies the pants of him. Like a super-fan. What’s her name?” Gaz looks at Troy for confirmation.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yeah, her.” He gives Troy a suspicious look, perhaps wondering why his friend should remember the name so easily. Gaz shakes his head slightly and turns back to me. “Sarah was pretty obsessed with Troy, and got a bit stalker-ish. I reckon she’s a prime suspect.”

  “Thanks. She’s on our list. Who else?”

  “Dean is a wannabe rock star with no talent, and less sense. Troy’s been a bit harsh with him at times as well. Other than that, the only ones that really stick out are those two photographers that follow us around Manchester. Come on, Troy mate, you’re better with names than I am.”

  “Nigel and Penny you mean? Or Gemma?”

  “Gemma’s that student, isn’t she? Sweet girl. I don’t think you were ever horrible to her. I can’t imagine anyone being nasty to her.” Gaz looks at me. “You can take her off your list. No, I’m talking about the newspaper people – Nigel is a complete prick – even I’ve been rude to him. Penny is okay, but she seems a bit obsessive. I think Troy’s been a bit impatient with her occasionally.”

  “We’ve met all the people you mentioned. I wouldn’t argue with any of those comments.” Joanna is looking fascinated by Gaz’s observations. “Is there anyone else, or should we be focussing our attention on those four?”

  “Dean, Sarah, Nigel and Penny?” Troy sounds incredulous. “They’re all a bit odd, but surely none of them would kill. It’s ridiculous. We’re looking for a psychopath, not just some sad normal person. Although I remembered where I knew Nigel from. He used to work in the hospital when I met Linda, and he’d make excuses to see her. Like so many blokes, he was besotted with her. She got a bit freaked out by him – she used to say he was dead creepy, but when she went back to work after maternity leave, he’d left, and I didn’t see him again until he showed up with Penny at our gigs.”

  I give this some thought, but it seems a bit odd that someone who adored Linda would stab her so many times.

  Nothing of any further significance is discussed, and shortly afterwards, Joanna, Will and I leave the flat.

  Back at the car, we discuss tactics.

  “Becky, how would you deal with this if you were still in the police?” asks Will.

  “I’d set up a noticeboard and put on all the evidence and information so far. Then we can work out what should get done next and by whom.”

  “Brilliant,” says Joanna. “Will, drive us to the nearest B&Q. We need to buy a noticeboard.”

  ***

  An hour later, we’re sitting in Joanna’s kitchen. The new whiteboard is now adorning the wall above the kitchen table, and the said table is laden with sandwiches, coffee and markers. I help myself to a sandwich and a swig of coffee, then pick up a black marker pen and start writing.

  I’m a spider-gram person, so I start with a central bubble labelled TROY, and add branches out to his family, the band, and to the various suspects. I’ve got this far, when Joanna reaches over, takes the pen out of my hands, and cleans the board with a dish-cloth.

  “What are you doing? What’s wrong with what I wrote?”

  “You can’t organise it like that, it’s too messy.” She opens a drawer and grabs a ruler. A neat table appears on the whiteboard within a couple of minutes, showing columns for SUSPECTS, MOTIVE, OPPORTUNITY, EVIDENCE and SUPPOSITIONS. “There. That’s better.”

  I shake my head. “I led over a hundred cases using my diagrams. All my teams seemed to like them.”

  “They probably got used to them over the years. I agree with Mum. I prefer columns and lists. Sorry, Becky. You’re outnumbered.”

  I glare at Will. Who does he think he is? I’m about to argue, when I’m stopped in my tracks by a vivid recollection of Finn’s comments on my presentation style. “Fine. You two will have to do the writing then. I can’t do anything that neat.”

  A short while later, Joanna has completed the table with logic, neatness and accuracy, but we’ve still got remarkably little information. We have four suspects (although they all seem unlikely) and very little physical evidence (only the letter and envelope). Opportunity is currently blank, as we don’t know enough yet, and motive… we seem to be down to jealousy for Sarah, and possibly revenge for all of them, based on Troy’s own confession of making fun of them. It all feels very vague.

  We need to speak to Finn.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I am finally getting closer – manoeuvring into a position where all can be claimed.

  There are just a few finishing touches required for my plan to work…

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Finn’s call comes through when I’m back at home, catching up on the hated but much-needed ironing.

  “Hi, how are you doing?” I turn the iron off at the socket and hit my head on the ironing board as I resurface. The iron falls on to Cheryl’s blouse, and I rescue it without further mishap.

  “You okay, Becks?”

  “Yeah. Good thanks. How’s it going?”

  “Er, fine. Erm, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Just wrestling with the iron.” I feel the lump forming on my forehead where I banged it. “Anyway, when are you going to come and see us? I think it’s time for us to compare notes.”

  “Are you free this evening? I’ve told the team I’ve got a family commitment and I need to finish at five. I can be with you and Joanna for six-thirty if that works for you both. Takeaway is on me.”

  “I’ll check with her and Will and get back to you.”

  Joanna and Will agree to meet up then. Meanwhile, it’s time for me to do some work. I need to contact my friend in Huddersfield. With all arrangements in place, and confirmed with Finn, I put the iron away and turn on my laptop.

  I start by checking emails. Most of it is junk, but there’s a message from Sylvia with a link to the Russian course she wants me to take. I fire off a quick email to say thanks, and open my contacts to find Ellie. I dither for a moment between phone and email, but it’s fairly urgent, as before we meet up with Finn I need to know if Penny is lying. But before I call, I search for the newspaper article reporting the burglary and murder of the three girls. All their names are mentioned, so it would be perfectly possible for Penny to have used the article for her own purposes – even if I don’t understand why she would do that.

  Ellie answers my call on the fourth ring. “Howdy stranger! Not heard from you for yonks. What have you been up to?”

  “Hi, Ells. I’m fine, thanks. You remember I wrote to tell you I’d resigned.”

  “Yeah, you’re going to have to tell me what happened.”

  “Not today. It’s still a bit raw – even after all these months. But I’ve started up a detective agency now, and we’ve got a couple of cases. I could do with your help, actually, if you’ve got a few minutes?”

  “Sure, fire away. I’m armed with coffee and hobnobs.”

  I smile, even though she can’t see me. We had many a case discussion with those same refreshments all those years ago. I explain the situation with Penny and the news article about the burglary.

  “Actually, Becks, I’m working on that case. The girls were murdered horribly. Stabbed with a kitchen knife or something similar, according to the post-mortems. Obviously that information is not freely available.”

  “Is it possible to find out the girls’ history, and discover if they were really at university with Penny, and if she ever lived with them?”

  “Yes, that should be straightforward enough. I’ll get my Sergeant on to it. I’ll get back to you. I’m not sure why your client would lie to you about that, but I trust your nose for a fib.”

  Ellie calls me back an hour later. “Your nose might have failed you this time, Becky. Penny did live with those girls. At least in the first year, according to university records.”

  “Hmm. Something still doesn’t feel right thoug
h. Okay, thanks Ellie. I’ll see if I can find out a bit more. Have your team questioned the neighbours?”

  “Yes. One side, Number 17, were there, and heard some noise, but thought the girls might have been having a party. Apparently they could be a bit wild. The occupants at 17 were devastated when they found out what happened. The people at Number 21 were on holiday. They got back yesterday to find a crime scene on their doorstep. They’re not happy.”

  “Is there any chance I could go to speak to them? On both sides?”

  “I can sort something out. They might be a bit more open with you. Number 17 holds a family of sorts. Mum is in her early thirties. Michelle Turner. She has a son of six years old, but there have been occasional episodes of shop-lifting. She doesn’t really like the police. Step-dad, Barry, is a bit older – nearly forty. Also, a bit of a history of burglary and petty theft. Obviously we’re looking closely at them because of the history, but neither of them have a record of violence.”

  “What about the holiday crew on the other side?”

  “More traditional family. Husband, wife and three kids. He’s a teacher.”

  “Hang on, why was he on holiday? It’s not half-term yet.” I check my mental calendar for Cheryl’s holidays and realise she’ll be off next week. “Or are the holidays different here?”

  “Yes. It was half-term last week, and that school had an inset day on Monday, so they returned on Sunday night, with a day to recover, supposedly.” Ellie follows up with the names of the parents – Frederick and Carly Granger. “I’ll send you over their contact details when I’ve cleared it with them that you’re coming to visit.”

  “Great, thanks so much. Please let them know that I’m just going to be asking for information about the girls, and their habits and that sort of thing. Hopefully, they’ll be able to tell me what I want to know.”

  It takes a little while to sort out arrangements, by which time I’ve been able to have a coffee, and update Joanna and Will on the latest developments. They agree I should go into the interviews with the neighbours by myself, but Will is happy to drive me there for support. If it looks dodgy, he can come in with me. Joanna is feeling headachey and wants to have a sleep this afternoon.

  Will picks me up at half past three.

  “Hi Becky. Chauffeur at your service.” He grins at me as I get in to the posh hire car.

  “Thanks. I appreciate this. I could drive myself, but it’s good not having to. How much longer have you got this beauty for?”

  “I’m driving back up to Edinburgh tomorrow. There are a few things I need to sort out, like giving notice on my flat, taking the car back on Sunday, and I’ll have to get myself a car for the future. I’ve already spoken to work. They’re happy for me to work from home permanently, so they don’t care where I live. I reckon by the time I’ve sorted everything out, I can be back here again by the end of next week. It doesn’t matter if my flat’s empty for a few weeks.”

  “You’ve got a daughter, haven’t you?” I ask tentatively. I don’t want to upset him, but I think we know each other well enough now for me to ask.

  “Yes. My ex-wife has just moved in with her new partner, who lives in Preston, so it works out much better for me to live down here, then I can see my little girl at weekends much more easily.”

  “Have you met the new partner?”

  “Yeah. He seems okay. A nice bloke. A bit boring, but that’s her lookout. I guess she sees something good in him.”

  By the time we draw up in the required street in Huddersfield, I know all about his daughter, his ex, and the history of the relationship. He turns to me a little sheepishly as he turns the engine off.

  “Sorry. I’ve not stopped talking for the last half an hour.”

  “It’s fine. It’s interesting to hear about your family. I’m pleased you’ll be close enough to see Chloë when you move in with your mum.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be living with Mum for long – probably just while Dad’s a threat, and then I’ll find myself somewhere to live around here.” He looks out of the passenger side window. “There’s someone at the door. He looks like he’s waiting for you. Do you want me to come in?”

  I’m about to decline when I glance over at the man on the doorstep to Number 17. “Yes, please. He looks like he could eat me for breakfast.”

  Will nods, and we get out and approach the large man, who’s wearing a dirty white vest. His bare arms are covered in tattoos, and his expression is less than welcoming.

  “You that detective?” he calls to us before we’re halfway up the garden path.

  “Yes. I’m Rebecca. This is my associate, Will.” I very rarely use my full name, but it seems sensible when faced with a probable ex-con, who looks as though he might know all my enemies. I vaguely recall Ellie saying this guy had no history of violence, but I’m reluctant to push him too far.

  “You better come in. Least you don’t look like cops.”

  I glance at Will, and then down at myself as we follow Barry into the house. Will’s wearing black jeans and a plain bottle-green hoody. I’m dressed in my current standard work clothes – black trousers, a flowery blouse, and a black woolly cardigan. We both look safe and innocuous. We could be collecting for charity.

  The house is untidy and smells of weed. The poor kid is not growing up in the healthiest environment, but that’s not why we’re here. Although, apparently it gives us cover, as Barry’s next comment shows.

  “Yer look like the bleeding social services. I’m sure you and her could be sisters.” He leads us into a sitting room with a grubby blue sofa, covered in dog hairs. “Wife and kid are out taking the dog for a walk, so you can say what you like. We won’t be over’eard.”

  His grin gives me the creeps, but I take a calming breath, and perch cautiously on the cleanest part of the sofa. I can’t be accurately described as fastidious, but I have my limits. Will is a much more particular person than I am, and almost squats against the sofa. After a moment his legs give, and he succumbs to sitting properly. He grimaces at me though when our host’s back is turned, and I send a sympathetic grin back.

  When Barry finishes piling up papers and pushing the toys into a corner, he slumps in the armchair and looks expectantly at me.

  “I expect my friend told you when she arranged this visit, but we’re trying to find out some more about your next-door neighbours – those girls that were killed a few days ago?”

  “Yeah. What d’you wanna know?”

  “What were they like?” It’s best to start with the basics, but I won’t take it too slowly. I’m having to breathe shallowly as it is.

  “Pretty girls – least, two of them were. Leigh, the ginger one, was a bit mingin’, but can’t have everything. They were all happy to spread their legs for a bit of cash when they got short. Sometimes they’d do it in return for drugs, but they weren’t addicts or nowt.”

  “How often did you sleep with them?” I understand now why he’s pleased his wife is out.

  “Varied. One or two times a week with one or other. Went through phases. Kim was pretty keen for a while, and we’d be at it a few times a week for no other reason than she fancied me. Then she got herself a thug of a bloke. Easier to stick it in one of t’other girls after that. I’ll miss ‘em to be honest.”

  I avoid glancing at Will. A sudden urge to giggle is threatening, and I need to stay focussed.

  “Did you ever meet one of their friends? A blonde girl called Penny?”

  “Yeah. She wouldn’t let me near ‘er though. Bit stuck-up, that one. But a few weeks gone, she had one ‘eck of a row with them. Was calling ‘em slags and all sorts.”

  “Did you hear this?” Will interjects.

  “A bit. Least, I ‘eard shouting. Jen told me everything later, after a quick shag that evening while the wife was at bingo, and kid was with his gran.” He wipes his nose on his already grubby vest.

  “What did Jen say?” The urge to laugh has been replaced by nausea, but I need to know what
happened.

  “They’d fallen out over something stupid. Jen wasn’t even sure what started it, but then this stuck-up cow started calling ‘em all sorts of names, and saying ‘You’ll be sorry’, and that kind of shit. Jen didn’t believe her, but kicked her out.”

  “Did Penny come back at all?”

  “Not sodding likely. Jen told me a couple of days before the burglary that she never wanted to see Penny again. Even though they’d been friends for years. Said the cow had been slagging ‘em off on Facebook and stuff.”

  “Thanks Barry, that’s really helpful.” I glance at Will, and he nods. He’ll be able to drill through the social media channels and show us the side of Penny that she’s never revealed to us.

  I feel vindicated. I was right. If Jen had previously told Barry that they’d fallen out, Penny couldn’t have been due to spend the weekend with them.

  We say our goodbyes to Barry, giving him ten pounds for his trouble. Maybe he’ll get fish and chips for his family instead of blowing it all on girls, drink and drugs. You never know.

  Two doors away, on the other side of the crime scene, is Number 21 – the residence of the Granger family. Unlike Barry, they wait until I ring the doorbell before opening the door. Carly lets us in. She’s a pretty, athletic-looking redhead.

  I show her our business card. “I’m Rebecca. This is Will. He’s only joined us recently. We’re still waiting for the new cards to be printed. May we come in?”

  “Of course. Sorry. I was just busy with some work. I run my own accountancy business from home. It makes sense with three kids and works well when they’re all at school.” She leads the way into a living room that couldn’t be more different from Barry’s if it tried. The proportions were the same, but everything else is unrecognisable. The wallpaper and carpets are complemented by spotlessly-clean furnishings of crimson and gold. There is no clutter at all, and after instructing us to sit down, Carly offers us a cup of tea. Moments later, we’re served with tea in china cups and slices of carrot cake.