The Girl Behind the Lens: A dark psychological thriller with a brilliant twist

by Tanya Farrelly

  She had phoned his office that morning to arrange to retrieve her USB stick, and he had agreed at once to meet her. She had listened for any semblance of wry amusement in his voice when she mentioned the forgotten device, but she heard none and assumed that he had not looked at any of the files saved there. A part of her had hoped that he would be curious enough to look, but maybe not everybody was as much a snoop as she was. Oliver worked on the side of the law, after all, and probably had ethics.

  Just then the door opened, Oliver came in, briefcase in hand, and looked around the bar. Joanna stood and waved to get his attention. He smiled when he saw her and weaved his way across the room.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I’m grand, thanks,’ she told him, lifting her glass of wine.

  He took off his heavy winter coat and put it on the back of the chair. Beneath it he was wearing a smart grey suit, white shirt and tie. And, on his left hand, Joanna looked for and found, a slim gold wedding ring. How had she managed to miss it last time – or had he simply forgotten to put it on? She wondered how it tallied with his quip about living alone and resolved to somehow bring it up during their conversation.

  Oliver put his pint of Guinness on the table and then searched his coat pocket. ‘Before I forget,’ he said, producing the USB and handing it to her. ‘I found it in the computer last night but, unfortunately, I didn’t have your number.’

  Joanna nodded, but said nothing about her return visit to the house or of her sighting of the young foreign woman. She would find a different way to get the information she wanted.

  ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience,’ he said.

  ‘Not really, I had to scan the wedding pictures again, but there wasn’t anything else on it I needed.’ She cast him a furtive glance. He was smiling and she wasn’t sure if she imagined it or if there was a spark of mischief in his eye. ‘There are some other pictures on it, from other photo shoots I did.’ She twirled the USB and leaned forward. ‘I don’t suppose you looked?’

  Oliver took a sip of his pint, and licked the froth from his top lip. ‘No, what are they of?’ he asked.

  Was that a smirk as he put down his glass?

  ‘Well, there’s one file of self-portraits, arty kind of shots.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Arty in what manner?’ he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘You missed your chance to find out.’

  Now he laughed openly. ‘Maybe I did,’ he said. ‘And on the other hand …’

  Joanna swatted his arm. ‘You did, didn’t you?’ she said.

  He lifted his glass. ‘A lawyer has a dictum – never write anything down if you can say it, and never say anything if you can nod. If possible, don’t nod.’

  ‘Claiming the fifth, eh?’ she said. ‘I hope you liked what you saw.’

  He laughed again, but refused to be drawn in.

  When she noticed he was nearing the end of his drink, she offered him another. ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from anything?’ she said.

  When he said no, she took her purse, feeling his eyes on her as she made her way to the bar.

  ‘I meant to say, I was very impressed with your pictures, the wedding ones, I mean.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ She set his pint down in front of him.

  ‘Particularly the one with the bride in the Doc Martens. Very grungy!’

  She spotted her chance and took it. ‘Would you have thought that if your wife turned up in a pair of the Docs on the day?’

  His expression darkened. He glanced at the gold band on his finger. ‘It wouldn’t have been her style,’ he said.

  ‘Have you been married long?’

  He hesitated. ‘I’m separated. My wife left me a little over a month ago. You probably noticed there was nothing well, womanly, in the house. She just took all her things, upped and left.’

  Joanna touched his arm. ‘I’m really sorry … I didn’t mean to …’ So who was the woman she’d seen coming out of the house? She fought the urge to mention it. Was it his wife, returned to pick up her things while he was out – or some other conquest? If she mentioned it now she would look too interested.

  ‘That’s okay. You weren’t to know.’

  ‘All the same, I feel like I really put my foot in it. Do you miss her?’

  ‘Sure. It’s different being on your own. Mercedes and I were always fighting, but we had our good times, of course. I’m just sorry it ended the way it did – we had a massive row and she walked out.’

  ‘Mercedes?’

  ‘Yes, she was … is … Spanish.’

  Spanish. It must have been her. Was he unaware that she had been back? Maybe she ought to tell him, but it was too late to mention it now. She would seem like a snoop, a spy. ‘It hasn’t been long, maybe she’ll come back?’ she said.

  Oliver shook his head emphatically. ‘No. It’s over for good this time.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t want her back. We said things, things that can’t be unsaid … and even though it’s difficult, I know it’ll be better in time. I haven’t really been out since it happened – this evening’s been nice. I’ve really enjoyed it, up to the point where you had to ask me about my wife, of course …’

  Joanna put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Nah, I’m teasing you. Kind of. It’s all very raw right now, but I’ll get over it.’ He drained his glass. ‘Right, I suppose we’d better go. By the way, those photos – they really are … intriguing.’

  He grinned as Joanna punched him in the arm.

  ‘Having the conversation we’ve just had, this might not seem the right time to ask, but I think maybe you’d better give me your number. Just in case you come round and leave any of your other belongings in my place.’

  ‘Ha! You think, do you?’ Joanna gave him the number, conscious that something had started between them. ‘And yours?’ she said, taking out her phone. She frowned at the screen. She had a missed call from Rachel Arnold. She checked the time – it had come in about an hour before.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘A missed call from my father’s wife. I wonder what she wanted.’

  ‘Will you call her back?’

  ‘Yes – there are things I’d like to ask her. Anyway, your number?’

  Oliver called out the number and she punched it into the phone, distracted now by Rachel’s call. She hadn’t got back to her about the picture. She wondered what she would tell her about it – the truth, she supposed. There was no reason not to.

  FIFTEEN

  Oliver whistled as he turned his key in the lock. He didn’t know if it was the girl’s buoyant mood that had been catching, or if he had turned a corner somewhere inside his head, but the dread of homecoming that had been so prevalent on recent nights was absent as he pushed open the front door and stepped into the darkened hall.

  He reached for the light switch, removed his coat and hung it on the end of the banister. As he sat on the stairs, undid his shoelaces and kicked off his shoes, he contemplated that it was the first good day he’d had since the night he and Mercedes had argued. He didn’t know if Joanna was wholly responsible for his improved mood, but he vowed that he would call her again soon.

  Oliver kicked his shoes under the stairs and looked in vain for his slippers. He walked in his stocking feet towards the living room, but when he reached the entrance he stopped dead without knowing why. There was something there – a presence – blocking the doorway. He reached out a hand and felt nothing, but the feeling did not go away, and a cold shiver ran the length of his spine. It was then that he also noticed a smell of smoke and he began to worry that there was a problem with the heating or that he had left something switched on. Thwarting the palpable presence between him and the living room, he stepped through the doorway. Suddenly, he noticed a red ember glowing in the blackness of the room and the
acrid smell of smoke became stronger.

  ‘Good evening.’

  He fumbled for the light switch, his heart thumping in his chest, and when he turned the light on, stinging his eyes and illuminating the room, the sight of Carmen Hernandez sitting in his armchair smoking a cigarette greeted him.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to say hello, is it Oliver?’

  Carmen tapped her cigarette into an ashtray by her side and crossed her perfectly shaped legs. She dangled a key in her right hand and smiled at him. ‘I had it from last time, remember?’

  He crossed the room and snatched the key from her fingers. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call first?’

  ‘I did. I called and called, but the phone is always busy. Where is Mercedes? I’ve tried calling her mobile too, but she doesn’t answer.’ She looked around the room as though Mercedes might appear at any moment.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He spoke quietly, trying to remember how he’d decided to play it. It had to be anger in the first instance – that is what she would expect, and given how he felt about her sudden appearance it wouldn’t be difficult.

  ‘You don’t know?’ She raised one eyebrow. ‘What? Has she left you?’

  She got up and began to walk around the room. She stopped a few feet away from him and waited for an answer.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘I think yes, but she’ll be back.’

  ‘Why did you have to tell her?’ he said. ‘Or was that your plan all along? What did you think would happen? That you could take her place? Because, believe me, that will never happen. You’re nothing like Mercedes.’

  ‘And that’s why you wanted me.’ Carmen’s red lips parted in a smile. ‘If it were me, I’d want to know. Mercedes is my sister. I was thinking of her. She deserved to know the truth.’

  Oliver felt his anger rising. ‘The only one you were thinking of was yourself,’ he said. ‘Does it surprise you that she doesn’t answer your calls? I’d be surprised if she ever spoke to you again. What kind of sister are you anyway? I’m not the only one to blame in all this. You were there, too. In fact, you were the instigator of the whole thing. It’s your fault that she’s gone. She’d never have known if it weren’t for you. She’d be here now.’

  Carmen had walked to the window to stare out into the darkness. ‘What happened?’ she said. Her reflection in the window looked worried. Her fingers crept over the glass, tracing a senseless pattern.

  ‘She went crazy, that’s what happened. You know Mercedes. She couldn’t believe we’d done that to her. She said that she never wanted to see you again.’

  The reflection looked disturbed. ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry, she didn’t make any excuses for me either.’

  ‘Sure, but what did she say about me?’

  Oliver shrugged. This was his opportunity to fabricate it. He would give her enough reason to believe that Mercedes’s failure to answer her calls was a natural consequence to what had happened.

  ‘She said that she was going away and that I needn’t bother trying to contact her, she’d have changed her number. I asked her if she intended to return to Spain, and she said no, that as far as you were concerned she hoped she’d never have to speak to you again. She couldn’t believe how you’d betrayed her. She said that she hated you, hated both of us.’

  Carmen wasn’t smiling now. She lit another cigarette, hand shaking. ‘We must find her.’

  ‘What for? What can you tell her that she doesn’t already know? Accept it, Carmen, she wants nothing more to do with either of us.’

  Carmen let the curtain fall, and turned from the window. If anyone had seen her through the glass, he thought, they would have mistaken her for Mercedes. She was the same height, had the same tiny frame and dark hair.

  ‘Look, maybe it was stupid, me telling her. If I’d known that she was going to leave like this, I wouldn’t have. When I told her, she was angry, yes, but I thought she’d come round. You know what we’re like. I didn’t think she’d go off … Where do you think she’s gone?’ She stopped talking to bite on one scarlet painted thumbnail.

  He was glad to see that he’d unnerved her. Now was the time to pull back a little. He didn’t want to push her into doing something drastic.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve tried calling people, friends, but no one has seen her. Maybe if we give it time, she’ll come back like you said.’

  ‘I’m not leaving until I find her.’ Her eyes challenged him, and he shrugged.

  ‘I want to find her, too. I’ve been going mad since she left. I don’t know where else to look, to be honest. I’ve tried all of her close friends. They haven’t heard from her, or at least that’s what they’ve said. I suppose, if she were with them she’d have instructed them not to tell me. This is what she wants, isn’t it? Us going crazy worrying about her.’

  ‘I’ll call them. Maybe they’ll tell me.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You’re as much a part of this as I am. All we can do is hope that she shows up, or at least contacts us.’

  Carmen sat back in the armchair and drew on the cigarette. She held the packet out to him, and he shook his head.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

  She exhaled; smoke curling from her glossy lips. ‘I thought I might stay here.’

  Oliver looked at her. ‘You can’t be serious. I mean, you can’t. What if Mercedes did come back? Can you imagine how she would react if she found you here?’

  Carmen laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m staying at a hotel,’ she said. ‘You, you’re like a clock, so easy to wind.’

  She shifted in the chair, and as she did so her skirt rode up to reveal one tanned thigh. He could have her now. He felt like doing it in anger. He could show her who was in control, but he resisted the temptation she posed. It was what she wanted. It was what she’d wanted from the start, but he had preferred Mercedes’s subtleness to her sister’s palpable sexuality.

  ‘You should go,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t intend staying.’ Carmen tapped her cigarette on the plate she’d been using as an ashtray and stood. Her coat lay across the arm of the chair, and she held the cigarette between her lips as she put it on. ‘I’ll come tomorrow. You can give me whatever numbers you have.’

  ‘I’m working.’

  ‘What – all night?’ She brushed against him as she passed.

  ‘Look, it’s probably better if you don’t come here. I’ll call you,’ he said.

  Carmen’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t think you can get rid of me. I came to find my sister, and I won’t go until I know where she is.’

  Oliver stood at the living room window and watched her retreat. The sound of her heels clacked on the pavement, and he hoped that the neighbours would see her and assume that she was Mercedes. The room smelled of cigarettes. He emptied the plate of ash into the fireplace and opened the window. A rush of icy air entered the room, and he welcomed it. Her appearance had left him shaken. How would he convince Carmen to leave without having seen Mercedes?

  SIXTEEN

  Joanna walked down a busy Grafton Street towards Bewley’s café where she had agreed to meet Rachel Arnold. The country may have been in recession, but you wouldn’t think it to look at the sea of surging bodies out for the last of the sales. Outside Brown Thomas, she managed to fall out of the horde to stand for a while and watch a young woman with pink-tipped hair busking outside the store. She took her camera from her coat pocket and took a few quick snaps of the musician before dropping some coins in her case. Ambivalent feelings about meeting Rachel slowed her steps. She didn’t want to betray her mother, but she did want to find out more about the man who had been her father.

  Rachel was already there when she arrived. She half-rose from her seat and waved, almost upsetting the cup and saucer in front of her. She steadied them with an unsteady hand, and cleared awa
y the newspaper she’d been reading. As soon as Joanna was seated, a waitress approached. Joanna ordered, and then observed Rachel as she too told the girl what she wanted. Despite her carefully applied make-up, Rachel Arnold looked worn. Dark smudges encircled her eyes and told of lack of sleep. Instantly, Joanna felt sorry for her. What must it be like to suddenly lose your life partner, particularly when there were no children to fill the void?

  After exchanging a few niceties that, unsurprisingly, didn’t include asking after her mother, Rachel jumped right in.

  ‘Did you ask about the photo?’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Mum said that she sent it to Vince after I’d made my confirmation, so it was a long time ago.’ As she said the words, Joanna felt a stab of guilt, but she was not betraying her mother, not really; it was only a picture, after all, sent well over a decade before. ‘It was the only time as far as I know. She said there had been no contact in years.’

  ‘She could have just told me that.’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘I think it still smarts … what happened. She doesn’t like to talk about it. Seeing you after all that time, hearing that he was dead … she went on the defence. You’d probably have done the same thing.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What was he like? I don’t mean what did he look like, I’ve seen pictures; I mean what was he like, as a person?’

  Rachel didn’t answer immediately. She looked beyond Joanna at nothing. ‘Well, I don’t want to just list things, but he was clever, passionate – maybe too much so.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He was obsessive about things, about people even. He’d meet someone new and get totally smitten; they’d become inseparable for a while until, eventually, Vince would tire of them.’

  ‘You mean my mother?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘No, I mean anyone. Everything was a fad. The same with activities; he’d throw himself into something, become totally consumed by it, and get bored of it just as quickly. The more difficult it was, the more he wanted to conquer it.’