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

several times to give me her number, and a fair few times to get me to go out with her. I’ve told her I’m happily married, but she doesn’t seem to take no for an answer.” Shock and horror show on his face, as the awful possibility crosses his mind. “No, she couldn’t. Surely not.” But doubt is there too.

“What’s her name?” I ask gently.

“Sarah. I don’t know her last name, but I’ve got her number too.”

I refrain from asking him why he’s got the number of a girl he was trying to reject. Maybe he was trying to be nice, but it could easily have raised her hopes – perhaps catastrophically.

“Finally, what do you know about the girl in this photo?”

He identifies my final potential suspect as Gemma Harris, a photography student, who’s done some portraits of him and the boys.

“She’s a nice girl; really into the band, but in a good way. She wouldn’t harm a fly, I’m sure.”

“Actually, I’ve just got one more photo to show you.” I bring up a photo of Penny, one that Joanna took at the gig we attended – I can’t believe it was only three days ago.

“Yeah, I know Penny. She’s a press photographer. Turns up to a lot of our gigs. I think she’s a bit of a secret fan, but she tries not to let on. I don’t know her that well, and I’ve not got her number, so you might need to contact the newspaper if you need to speak to her.”

“No, that’s fine, thanks. We’ve got her number already. I just wanted to know how well you knew her.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really know her that much. She seems okay. There’s that bloke that hangs around with her sometimes, Nigel, who’s a bit of a prick. In fact, didn’t I see him hassling you on Friday?”

“Yes, and he is a prick. How well do you know him? Was he still at the gig after Penny left on Friday?”

“Sorry, I don’t remember seeing him. I was trying to work out where I know him from, but he seems to be vaguely connected in my head with… oh my God… with Linda. I can’t think about it now.” He looks away from the screen. “I think Mum and Dad are back. I’d better see them. Thanks for letting me talk. I’m sure I’ve told you more than I’ve said to the police. That stupid cow with the red hair never seems to ask the right questions. Let me know if you find out anything.”

Joanna laughs. “Sure. Speak soon.”

“Of course. Thanks, Troy. Take care.” I wave, and turn Skype off.

A couple of minutes later my phone pings three times. Each one is a contact sent via WhatsApp. Gemma Harris, Sarah Fan, and Dean Fan. Joanna looks across the table at the messages.

“I guess Fan is a designation rather than a surname.”

“It must be. Troy said he didn’t know their full names.” I dial the first number.

Two hours, a tuna sandwich and three cups of coffee later, we all head to Will’s car. It’s now four o’clock, and the traffic will be building up.

“It seems a shame not to use it, and I might as well ferry you around while I’m here. Also, being in a hire car will lend some additional anonymity.”

“Thanks, Will. And it’s nice not having to drive.”

“No worries. You’d better get in the front though. If Mum navigates, we’ll end up the opposite end of the country to where we need to be.”

I sit in the front, but defend my friend. “To be fair, she’s navigated very well so far. We’ve not been lost yet.”

“Thanks. I am here you know, while you talk about me. Who do you want to see first? I’m sure Becky can program the satnav as well as I can.”

I turn my head and grin at her. “What would we all do without satnav? I think we should start with Gemma. She seems to know Troy and the band best, and is also the least likely suspect. Also, she lives furthest away, so we can start with her and work back in this direction.”

“Where do they all live?” asks Will.

I consult the addresses I’ve typed into my phone. “Gemma’s in Stockport. Sarah’s not that far from her, in Parrs Wood, towards Didsbury. Dean lives in Chorlton.”

“Where does Troy live?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before adding, “Becky, can you type Gemma’s address in to the satnav please, so we can get started?”

I start typing and leave Joanna to reply to his first question. “Troy’s wife was murdered in Didsbury, less than a mile from Sarah, four miles from Gemma, and about four miles in a different direction from Dean.”

I sit back and fasten my seat belt, as Will starts the car. He spends the first few minutes of the journey swooning over the smooth ride, quiet engine and general beauty of the car, but then we discuss the three suspects we’re about to see. We’d gleaned little from the phone conversations, other than an agreement for us to visit. Actually, the order of visiting works out well with the requests from the suspects. Gemma has no lectures on a Monday afternoon, so is home anyway. Sarah and Dean both requested visits after six to give them time to get home after work.

I’ve warned Matt that I’ll be back late, so he can sort out dinner for himself and Cheryl.

Between the rush hour traffic and a loss of GPS signal getting lost in Stockport, it’s almost five by the time we pull up outside Gemma’s house.

“Big house for a student, isn’t it?” Joanna says as she gets out of the car.

“Most likely a house-share. I reckon she’s just got a room.”

Will’s probably right, but I refrain from making assumptions at this stage. It’s a pleasant road, with lots of trees and grass verges. The houses are large semi-detached properties, dating from probably the 1950s or 60s.

“Do you want me to stay in the