She spotted something else: a uniformity of style in the official press pictures. Checking the provenance of the images, she found that the same news agency had taken them, which probably meant that Sabira had been targeted by one specific photographer. She called the agency but it was shut for the night, so she checked PhotoNet’s list of clients and found Hard News at the top of the supply list. She rang the editor, Janet Ramsey, on her mobile.
‘Janice, you’d better have a damned good reason for calling me on my private number,’ Janet warned. The unscrupulous editor was well known to the staff of the PCU.
‘Do you have someone at PhotoNet permanently assigned to cover Sabira Kasavian?’
Janet sounded as if she was in a crowded cocktail bar. ‘I wouldn’t say he’s permanently assigned. We have a special-interest list of public figures and their partners, as I’m sure you’re well aware.’
‘I guess you’ve been waiting for her to screw up.’
‘Of course. We all want a good story, darling. And she has, hasn’t she? I assume that’s why you’re calling me.’
‘Who took the shot of her being carried out of the Guildhall last night?’
‘You’d have to take that up with PhotoNet.’
‘Obstruction, Janet. You know how that goes.’
‘OK, it’s no secret. His name is Jeff Waters. He likes taking shots of her. She’s a very photogenic girl. She brightens a page on a slow news day.’
‘Do you or Mr Waters get any instruction on the taking of photographs? I mean, from the Home Office. Her husband’s—’
‘—in the security department, I know. There are guidelines. The smudgers aren’t usually allowed inside the ministerial venues, and if they are, they have to stay within specifically defined spaces. It’s implicit that we don’t take shots if they’re tipsy, but negotiable. There are other protocols which you’d have to speak to the HO about.’
‘How did you get away with last night’s shot?’
‘You’re slipping, Janice. Take a careful look at the sequence. She’s off the front step of the building. That’s pavement under her shoes. Technically public space. She’d been cautioned by the police, which made her fair game. Permissible material.’
Longbright rang off. Sabira Kasavian must have noticed that she was being targeted by the same photographer every time she appeared in public. Perhaps that was part of the reason why she thought there was a conspiracy against her.
The detective sergeant pushed back from her desk and rubbed her eyes. It didn’t seem like much of a case. But there was something else in Sabira’s photographs – a certain look in her eyes, a certain angle of the head. Unable to put her finger on it, she closed down her screen for the night and decided to head home.
Jack Renfield stuck his head around the door. Although the room was cold, he was sweating. ‘I’ve been whacking the punchbag upstairs. Didn’t realize you were still here. I wouldn’t get too close to me if I were you. D’you fancy a quick beer?’
‘Not tonight, Jack,’ said Longbright.
‘You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to jump on you or anything. At least, not without a shower. Joke.’
‘No, I’m really not up for it.’
‘A drink is just a drink, y’know. You look like you’re going out later in that clobber anyway.’
Longbright toned down her look for work, but there was still a touch of the nightclub hostess about her. She had long ago decided that she would die in high heels. ‘I’m just in a bit of a weird mood tonight.’
‘Gonna start thinking you’re avoiding me soon.’
‘I’ll take you up on the offer, I promise.’ She knew how much Jack liked her, and was slowly getting used to his rough-and-ready manner, but while she thought of him as a tree or a fence-post, something strong you could lean on or shelter under, he seemed a bit too rooted to the soil. She still dreamed of achieving something beyond her work on murder investigations. ‘What do you think about Kasavian’s wife?’ she asked.
Renfield shrugged. ‘She’s rich and bored and feeling neglected. Give it a few years, she’ll start studying horoscopes and supporting cat charities; it’s what they all do.’
‘Thank you for your rich insight into the female psyche.’
‘I mean it; she’s going against the grain to try and assert some power, to tell him she’s still got free will and that he can’t take her for granted.’
‘John and Arthur say she thinks she’s being sort of – hunted.’