Paparazzi by Jo Fenton (best free e reader .txt) 📕

“That was sensible to get a taxi,” says Joanna, apparently having controlled her own impatience. “We can check out the moped with the garage if you give us the details. For now, though, when was the next time you were followed?”

I try to pay attention as Penny describes the subsequent events in her soft tones, but I find myself watching her instead. There’s a soft sheen of sweat on her forehead, not warranted by Joanna’s central heating. As she talks, her eyes dart between the two of us. There are lots of reasons she might be nervous. Few people have cause to visit a private detective, and she seems very young. This appears to be a simple case of a stalker; probably an ex-boyfriend, or some admirer she’s picked up at the gig. She’s pretty and slim, both factors that are likely to provide wide appeal.

I suppress a surge of envy. My middle-aged spread no longer attracts such attention, having gone beyond that description – I’m now bordering on chubby. A lack of exercise combined with comfort eating since the events last summer have been bad for my health in far too many areas.

Joanna and I had rehearsed the questions yesterday after she made the appointment, so I let her follow the plan, and focus my observations on Penny’s body language. My business partner is surprisingly good at this, and is gradually putting the client at ease. Using a technique I learned from a valued colleague, I separate out the different senses, and work out what each one is telling me.

Penny’s eyes are doing less darting now, focussing mostly on Joanna with the occasional glance at me. Her voice has become stronger too; she’s now talking in almost normal tones – still a bit softer than most people, but definitely more audible. Whilst her eyes are on Joanna, I take a discreet sniff. There’s a hint of perfume. Perhaps she was expecting someone more romantic than us. Maybe ‘White Knight’ conjured up the idea of more masculine assistance. The perfume itself is one I recognise – a brand preferred by my own elder daughter. Touch is always harder, as I’m not about to make contact, but I already have done once, and recall clearly that limp, nervous handshake. Taste will have to wait, and is far less important. I don’t care whether she prefers tea or coffee, or is vegetarian or carnivore.

I turn my attention to Joanna for a moment. She’s doing a superb job at interviewing the client and taking notes at the same time. Note-taking was never one of my strong points. I always relied on recordings for the details, and on my senses to fill in those gaps where gut instinct is required. My police training focussed on the facts, but years of experience taught me to follow my instincts until the facts turned up. My instincts only betrayed me once. Trust hasn’t yet returned.

Joanna ties up the end of the interview neatly, explaining the fees and the next steps, before seeing Penny out into the pouring rain. I glance out of the window, and watch as she extracts a black umbrella from her handbag, and opens it up. She walks hurriedly in the direction of the bus stop, but only in the manner of someone wanting to escape the foul weather. She doesn’t appear to think her stalker may be in the vicinity.

Chapter Twelve

I stand entranced as the music flows around me. The audience is intent, focussed on the band playing so brilliantly.

But I have eyes for just one: a person I am desperate to know better, to know intimately, and to possess. Only when this occurs can I become fulfilled.

Until that moment, I will need to satisfy my craving with images. I raise my camera and focus the lens, but a rush of longing defeats me. After only two shots, I lower the expensive equipment, and gaze with naked eyes at the object of my desire.

It won’t be long now. I’ve begun my quest.

Chapter Thirteen

The morning after our first client meeting, I pull up outside Joanna’s house in the car. I’m about to turn the engine off, but I sense that something is wrong. I release the handbrake and drive off, do one lap around the block, and then ease the car into a space outside the next-door house but one. I sit in my car for a moment, surveying the street through the heavy rain. It’s nearly 11am, and most people will be out at work by now. There are a few cars dotted around, parked on the edge of the road. My gaze rests on each and I locate my first source of unease. There’s a spotless black Audi, parked just a bit further down the road. It’s not totally out of place on this street, but it’s newer and more expensive than most of the other cars. It wasn’t here yesterday, or the day before.

Obviously there could be many innocent reasons for its presence, but my body is telling me otherwise. Goosebumps, shivers and nausea have always been signs for me – even before the warehouse, although if I’d paid them more attention that day, it could have all turned out differently. Here and now, it’s important that I don’t make the same mistake, but I’m now a private individual with no reason to get attacked. So why don’t I get out of the car?

I take some deep breaths. Who’s likely to visit Joanna? As far as I know, the only person who knows her whereabouts is her son. But then, any investigator worth his salt would have tracked down her location by now. I know from my years as a police detective that it’s quite difficult to hide from the authorities. I’m hiding, but from criminals, not from the police. Joanna has no chance against whichever secret service she was working for. It’s almost certain that her visitor is from that source. So I have nothing to hide.