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

badgering him to go out with her, it’s not an unreasonable reaction for her to pretend they were having an affair.”

“Come off it, Mum. Of course it is. Why not just deny fancying him in the first place? It’s a lot more sensible. Especially when his wife’s just been bumped off.”

“You’ve heard the phrase about a woman scorned, Will.”

“Yeah. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. All the more reason she did it, and why she should try to cover it up by pretending never to have liked him.”

I frown, thinking it over. “So, by that logic, she can’t have done it, otherwise why would she be so stupid as to pretend to be having an affair, even if she doesn’t admit to the terminology?”

“Perhaps she’s so obsessed with him she believes in her own story and is oblivious to the fact that she could be a suspect?” says Joanna.

“Only an innocent person could be oblivious. The murderer must either know they’re a suspect, or believe themselves to be safe. But whichever it is, they’re not in cloud-cuckoo-land about the concept.”

“So, does that rule Sarah out?” Will glances at the satnav and applies the brakes sharply as he turns left down a side road.

“You concentrate on driving. Becky, what do you think? I’m inclined to think that exonerates Sarah, even though I didn’t like her.”

“I’d say it puts her lower down the list.” I glance round as Will parks at the side of the road behind a white van. “Are we here?”

“Yeah. I reckon it’s that house.” He points at a scruffy terrace, set slightly back from the road by an overgrown patch of grass and an uneven path. The house, lit up by a street lamp and the moon, looks to need a decorator, and probably some building work.

“Do you want to take the lead this time, Joanna?”

“No, you’re fine. You’re the expert.”

“Thanks.” I get out of the car and pull my coat round me. The temperature feels like it’s dropped five degrees since we left Sarah’s twenty minutes ago.

I let Joanna ring the bell as she gets there first. There’s no sound. We wait for a minute, but still nothing.

“Do you reckon the bell’s broken?” I use the knocker, but it’s heavy, and falls back against the door with more of a dull thud than a rousing knock.

“Let me.” Joanna grins at me, removes an umbrella from her handbag, and thumps it several times against the wood.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” shouts a muffled voice from inside. A minute later, the door opens. “Why didn’t you use the bell?” The owner of the voice is a short, balding man dressed in a dirty grey sweater and baggy jeans. He looks about thirty-five. “Who are you anyway?”

“White Knight Detective Agency, and your bell doesn’t work. Are you Dean?” Joanna smiles pleasantly at him. I’m about to do the same, but a whiff of either boiled cabbage or serious BO hits my nostrils, and I try not to gag.

“Yes, I’m Dean. Dean Bennett.” Do you want to come in?”

“No, it’s okay. We can ask you some questions here for now.” I reckon I’ll need to give myself a really awful cold if I need to come back. I try to breathe shallowly as I take a discreet step backward. Unfortunately, although cold, it’s a still night. A bit of a breeze might have helped.

“I believe you know Troy Cassidy?”

“Yes, a bit. Once, he offered me a chance to play with the band, but after a couple of rehearsals, he said it wouldn’t work out. He was all right about it – just said I wasn’t the right fit. He’s always friendly when I see him at gigs.”

“Did you ever meet his wife?”

“That poor girl that got herself killed? No, I never met her. I think she was working both times when I went there for rehearsals.”

“So you knew where they lived?”

“Yes, of course. Is that it now?”

“Not quite. Where were you on Friday night?”

“Here, in my front lounge, watching telly.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No. I live by myself. I thought about going to the pub, but I was tired and couldn’t be arsed. I watched Breaking Bad on Netflix.” He scowls. “Sorry I don’t have an alibi, but I’m not a killer, so it didn’t occur to me I’d need one.”

“I totally understand. Thank you. Just one more thing.” I take the photo of Penny from my bag. “Do you recognise this girl?”

“I don’t think so,” he says, after staring at the picture for a minute. “Her face is vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t tell you where from.” He shakes his head. “No, not got a clue. Who is she?”

“It’s not important. She’s a photographer. I just wondered if you’d seen her at any of Troy’s gigs.”

“I don’t really pay any attention to young girls. Now if you’ve finished, and you really won’t come inside, can I go? I’m bloody freezing here.”

“Sure. Thanks for your time, and sorry for keeping you.” I put the photo back in my bag, glance at Joanna and turn to go.

“Hey,” Dean calls after us. “There was a lot of conflict in the band. Maybe one of them did her in.”

“Thanks.” I nod. I don’t trust him, but I’ve not discounted the band members either yet.

The journey back to Joanna’s house is much quieter. We’re all tired and hungry, and I’m getting anxious now about Cheryl. I’ve not heard from her yet, although she’s been back from school for hours. It’s nearly seven now. After we’ve been in the car for ten minutes, I take out my phone and type in a WhatsApp.

‘R u ok?’

There’s a moment’s pause. Will puts the radio on to fill the silence in the car.

‘When r u coming home?’ Cheryl’s message only partially answers my question. If she wants me home, I guess she’s not totally okay.

“How far away are we?” I ask Will.

“About half an hour. Plus takeaway collection. Maybe forty minutes.”

“Can you drop me back at my car before