Paparazzi Jo Fenton (the first e reader .txt) 📖

at 17, and Carly at 21, confirmed the argument. Jennifer, or Jen, seems to have been the informant for both, although…” I hesitate.

“What?”

After a quick glance at me, Will picks up the tale. “Barry conveyed the idea that the girls would sleep with him in return for cash or drugs, and that he had consensual sex with Jen on the occasion that she told him about the row. Meanwhile, Jen told Carly, who seems to be a kind of mentor, that Barry had raped her.”

“So it’s not impossible that Barry staged the burglary to cover up the rape.” I rub my nose, and Ellie immediately picks up on the action.

“You don’t think he did though?”

“Firstly, if he raped her, why would she tell him about the row?”

“Perhaps she told him over a cup of tea, then he raped her?” suggests Will.

“Okay, let’s go with that for a minute. Becky, what else is bothering you?”

“I suppose I just felt that Barry, coarse though he is, didn’t seem like a rapist. And I can’t help thinking Penny fits in somewhere. Otherwise, why would she lie about an intended visit to the girls, when she didn’t have to bring them into it at all?”

“Yes,” says Will, “but Penny came to us because she was ‘feeling more threatened’ after her friends were killed. Perhaps Barry has been following her?”

“Carly is going to let us know if Barry was at the pub with her husband on the nights when Penny said she was being followed. It’s darts night on Fridays, apparently. It seems probable that he’ll have an alibi for those nights.”

Ellie is looking thoughtful. “So if Penny lied about the intended visit to the girls, perhaps she was also lying about being stalked.”

“It doesn’t make sense though. She’s no motive for doing that.” Will frowns. “Why pay money to a detective agency to track a non-existent stalker?”

“You’re both right.” I say. “Something definitely doesn’t add up.”

A call comes through at that moment for Ellie, so we take our leave, thanking her for her help, and promising to liaise. We head back to Joanna’s for our meeting with Finn.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It’s easy to take the child. Even with the precautions they’ve put in place following my letter.

A forged letter to her school paves the way, introducing the relative that might pick her up as her family is so indisposed at this troublesome time.

So when I turn up, a bit before ‘home time’, to collect the child (“Yes, we must leave now. So sorry, but I’m in a rush. I’ll be dropping her off with her grandparents shortly, but they can’t make it here today.”) they release her with minimal fuss.

Her resemblance to Troy freaks me out, but if I have to kill her, so be it. Just a means to a necessary end…

 

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It’s nearly six when we get back, and we’ve just got inside when my phone rings. Troy’s name is on the screen.

“Hi,” I start greeting him, but I’m immediately interrupted.

“Becky. You’ve got to help. She’s gone.”

“Who? Your daughter?”

“Yes, my little Emma. Taken out of school. The bloody idiots at school let her go because they’d had a letter supposedly from me. A friggin’ typed thing. They didn’t even sodding think to check with me.”

“What time was she collected?” I ask, keeping my voice deliberately calm.

“Quarter past three. How soon can you get here? I’m still at Gaz’s. I’ve only just found out she wasn’t with Linda’s parents. They were supposed to pick her up, but when they arrived, school said she’d already been collected. They assumed I’d picked her up, until I phoned to talk to her just a few minutes ago.”

I promise to be with him as soon as traffic allows, and the three of us set off. Joanna is feeling better now, although she still looks a bit peaky. Will drives again, and I drop Finn a message to inform him of what’s happened.

‘Don’t come roaring up with all lights flashing. They’ll be looking for evidence of police involvement, and you might put the girl in danger.’

‘Sure. I’m not stupid, Becks. And we don’t even know where she is yet. I’m going to have to wait for you to let me know.’

A few incidences of when he’s been dangerously gung-ho cross my mind, but I suppress them, and send back a reassuring message that I don’t doubt him.

Will puts his foot down on the journey, dodging cars on the motorway and nipping through traffic lights on amber on the ordinary roads. Consequently, we’re with Troy 23 minutes after his call, although Joanna is looking even paler than she did when we left.

“Are you okay, Mum?”

“Just a bit queasy after that manic journey. If Gaz can make me a cup of tea, I’ll be fine.”

But once inside Gaz’s flat, all thoughts of tea are forgotten. Troy’s phone rings the second we get inside. He holds it up to show that it says ‘No Caller ID’, and presses the green Answer button, followed by the speaker icon.

“Hello?” He answers cautiously. At this stage it could be British Gas!

It’s not.

“We’ve got your little girl. You need to come and get her. Come alone. No police.” It’s a man’s voice. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t pinpoint it.

“I can’t drive at the moment. I’m on meds.”

“You can bring a driver. Just you and the driver though.” He gives an address. One that makes my body go into overdrive. It’s the location of a warehouse. I’ve been there before. My mind blanks for a moment, and I miss the rest of the instructions, although the call ends just a few seconds later.

“Becky?” Will crouches down near the chair I don’t remember sinking into. “Are you okay?”

I take some deep breaths and grit my teeth. Troy’s daughter has been kidnapped. The cogs in my brain resume their usual motion, and a lightbulb comes on. I now know why Lesley’s comment about fake photos jarred. It wasn’t exactly the photos that were fake in this case, but