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

in the crowds that could be relevant. I had a quick look, but didn’t notice anyone. Thanks.’

Curiosity wins out against sleep, and I put the kettle on to make myself a strong coffee before turning on the laptop. I leave the study to Matt in case he has any more interactions with Roger today, and take my coffee and laptop, and a spiral-bound notebook and pen, into the lounge.

The photos are easy enough to extract from the zip file, and I have a quick skim through first. Penny has sent me thirty-eight pictures, and the initial surf through is sufficient for me to see that she’s only sent the audience ones. The reason for this could be purely convenience for me. It’s bulky to send lots of photos, even by zip file, and some email servers have limits on the size of file that can be attached, although it’s easy enough these days to send files and folders through file-sharing apps. She might also have tried to save me time, by removing the photos that are just of Troy and his band.

I examine my increasing irritation. Am I annoyed because I wanted to get the full picture (pardon the pun), or is there something else? Is Penny hiding something on purpose?

Nearly thirty years in the police force taught me that everyone has secrets. People hide information for the most trivial and mundane of reasons. Often nothing to do with the crime or investigation, and they muddy the waters just because they don’t want to reveal their sordid and unimportant thoughts. I spent many years chasing red herrings until I developed some intuition about which were important, even if only to shed some light on the bigger picture. That same instinct is telling me I need to see the pictures that Penny hasn’t sent.

But for the moment, I settle down to view in more detail the photos she’s sent me. She labelled the folder Band On The Wall, Troy, September to January. Each photo is named with the date and a number. The pictures would have originally been numbered sequentially, but I only have a few from each date – another clue that she’s only provided some of the images.

All the photos were taken inside the club, in the gig area. I recognise the walls and layout from my visit, even though I was only in that room for a short time. I scribble a few observations in the notebook:

-dark-haired girl – mid twenties – tall and slim – every gig

-short, balding guy – maybe early thirties – every gig except October

-short fair-haired girl with wavy bob – appears to be alone – all gigs

There are a few other people who crop up at more than one gig, but never more than two gigs each, and they all seem to be part of a group – whether three or four friends, or a larger group or party. None of them ring any alarm bells.

I isolate the photos with my three ‘persons of interest’ (I’m reluctant to call them suspects at this stage). Each photo needs some editing to make the relevant person the only face in the picture. Online face-matching software provides me with names. The entire process takes over three hours, and when Matt brings me a tuna sandwich at quarter past twelve, I’m just about ready to turn off the laptop.

I eat quickly, keen to tell Joanna of my developments, but then I remember that she has her own problems today. I slow down and force myself to chew my food.

“That’s better.” Matt’s watching me across the table as he eats his own sandwich. “You’ll make yourself ill if you keep downing your food like that. Why don’t you talk to me about it?”

“About what?” I stall for time. I know exactly what he’s asking me, but I’m not used to discussing my cases with him.

“Come on, Becks. I know you. We’ve been married long enough for me to see when you’re stressing about things. And Cheryl’s not here now, so you wouldn’t be upsetting her if she overheard.”

“There’s so much going on at the moment. It’s hard to get my head around it all, but this morning I whittled down some of Troy’s fans into three… call them super-fans. They were at all, or nearly all, his Manchester gigs for the last few months, and they may be of some use in identifying either Penny’s stalker or even Troy’s wife’s killer – although that’s probably a bit of a stretch.”

“Have you talked to Joanna about it yet?”

“No, that’s the problem. I told you last night about her ex coming out of prison.”

“Yeah – I got the feeling there was something you weren’t telling me about that.”

“I didn’t want to worry Cheryl any further, but Joanna’s ex apparently wants to find her and kill her.”

“Shit! That’s… I don’t know what to say. Anything would be pretty inadequate. But I think she needs to talk to Roger. He might help.”

“I guess that’s not a bad idea.” I finish my lunch and make the call.

“Joanna?”

“Hi Becky.” Her voice sounds as if she either has a cold or has been crying.

“Are you okay? Is Will still with you?”

“I’m fine, and yes, Will’s still here.”

“Would it be okay if I come round? I’d like to meet him, and also, I think we have a lot to discuss.”

“Sure. I want you to meet him. You need to hear the full story for yourself. Come round about two o’clock. We’re just having lunch.”

“Thanks. See you then.” I end the call.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Matt asks. He looks concerned.

“Maybe not this time. Perhaps tomorrow. But if you want to help, you can check out the local press and the internet to see if there’s any information about prisoner releases in Edinburgh.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Shit, no. Not yet anyway. I’ll message you discreetly as soon as I know it. Meanwhile, it might take you a while to find out how