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

drink and to speak to Cheryl. My phone beeps several times whilst we’re on the call, but I’m too busy catching up to check on it. But when I disconnect and check my messages, I see eight WhatsApp messages and five missed calls from Joanna. The messages just say to call her, each one become increasingly urgent and rude. I’m about to call back when Cheryl comes in. She’s looking a lot better, but still tired.

“Did you get some more sleep?” I ask.

“Yes, thanks. Was that Wendy on the phone?”

“She’s coming round this evening to chat to you. Is that okay?”

“That’s great. Thanks, Mum. And I’ve blocked everyone from my accounts that isn’t a proper friend, so hopefully I’m not too late doing that.”

“Good girl. Yes, let’s hope you were quick enough. If not, we’ll deal with it. So don’t worry too much, but better to prevent than have to cure.”

“God, yeah! I’d hate to go through what Dan’s had to deal with.”

“It’s funny hearing you talk about Dan. You always used to call her Danni, and that was fine, but my best friend at Uni was called Dan.”

“I know. We went to his wedding at the beginning of last year. He married that gorgeous guy that looked like he’d stepped off the front cover of GQ or something.”

“Gray Monton. Yes, he was a bit of a dish. Dan’s still in good shape though.”

“Mum! Dan’s nearly fifty. Gray can’t be a day over thirty-five.”

“He was forty last month. I sent him a card on MoonPig. Such a sweetie as well. Very suited to Dan.” My phone pings again.

‘Where the f*** r u?’

“Sorry, love. I’m going to have to call Joanna. We’ll chat later, okay?”

She smiles and leaves the lounge.

I don’t bother replying to Joanna’s message; I just click on her number to return a call.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” She doesn’t bother with hello.

“I was on a call with an ex-colleague. I’ll tell you more about it later. What’s the matter?”

“Troy’s been in touch. His wife’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

Chapter Eighteen

I pick Joanna up five minutes later, and we drive to the address she got from Troy. It’s in Didsbury – a four-bedroom detached house on a quiet road. At least, it looks as though it’s usually quiet. This morning it’s heaving with police and forensic teams, methodically working the area. The road is sealed off with police tape, and we park on the next street up, walking a couple of hundred yards to join the onlookers and gathering press teams. Finn is standing in the road at the end of what must be Troy’s drive. He’s talking to his Sergeant; a pretty girl whose name I remember after a minute or two of racking my brains. Molly. She joined GMP just before everything kicked off and I left, so I didn’t know her well. I’m hoping she won’t remember me.

Joanna and I loiter at the barrier of the tape, and after a moment or two, Finn comes over. Molly heads in another direction, towards the house.

“Becky, what are you doing here? How do you know about this? What do you know?”

“Troy is a… client. He was due to visit us today, but he called Joanna to tell her his wife had been killed.”

He frowns and then glances at my business partner. “You must be Joanna. I’m Finn. I’ve been assigned to this case as Inspector. I used to work with Becky.”

My breath catches in my throat at the cold impersonality of his tone.

“Nice to meet you, Finn.” Joanna holds out her hand to him and he shakes it. “Any chance of coming through? Troy really wants to see us.” She shows him her phone, presumably with the message she showed me earlier.

‘Please come. I need your help.’ His address follows.

Finn speaks into his own phone for a moment, turning his back to us and walking away as he does so. Joanna gives me a look, as if to say, ‘Is he letting us in or not?’ I shrug. He needs to check. He may be in charge of the case, but he can’t just let us in on our say-so. I’ll explain this to her sometime, but not now. Not while we’re surrounded by press and curious neighbours.

Eventually, Finn returns and beckons us through. With a quick glance at each other, Joanna and I duck under the tape. It’s a bit too high to climb over.

Molly comes over. “What’s going on?” she says. “We can’t have just any old body swarming through here.”

“Do you remember, Becky, my old partner?” I cringe as Finn introduces me. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Oh yeah. You left after—”

“Becky’s working on private cases now, with her partner, Joanna.” Finn interrupts. “They were engaged by Troy, but we don’t know why yet.”

“He’s pretty devastated,” says Molly. She sounds hostile, and I guess she sees me as a threat.

“He wants to see them. Away from the press though. Where do you suggest?”

“My car is the other side of the cordon. Away from this lot.” She points to the hungry media folk pressing in as close to the tape as they can get.

“Hey!” Troy is standing near a bush, just out of sight of the photographers. He looks grey and ill. We move towards him, but Molly stops us.

“Troy, come this way. You can all sit in my car.” She hands over a set of keys to Joanna. “Go chat in there.”

Joanna takes off her coat and gives it to our client to shield his face as we emerge into the road. But we’re only in their sights for a minute as we turn away from them towards Molly’s car.

I sit in the front passenger seat, but turn towards the back where Joanna is sitting next to Troy. He slumps forwards with his head in his hands, and his body shakes with sobs. My partner rests her hand on his back, providing a bit of comfort through his utter devastation. I allow