Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(74)

‘I’m sorry, could you call one of my colleagues at…’ said Moss, trying to get her off the phone, but she went on:

‘The fourth period of work was for a photographic studio in New Cross, called Camera Obscura. He was there for six weeks during early 2016…’ There was something about the photography link which made Moss listen. She put the phone under her chin and pulled out her notebook and pen. Lisa went on, ‘It’s run by a man called Taro Williams. It’s an old-fashioned photographic portrait studio.’

‘Do you know why the job ended?’

‘No. Joseph’s records show that this was meant to be a full-time position as a photographic assistant, but after six weeks he unexpectedly quit. Which was odd, as we worked hard to get him into the job, and he was very enthusiastic about it.’

‘There was nothing else? No complaint from the employer?’

‘No. It’s such a shame Joseph didn’t get the chance to pursue his passion for photography.’

‘How well did you know Joseph?’

‘I worked on his case, and used to see him twice a week when he signed on, that for three years.’

‘I’m afraid to say that Joseph recently took his own life.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said, wearily. It sounded like she often heard this kind of news about her claimants. Moss thanked the woman, and came off the phone. She looked back at Mrs Fryatt’s dark house, weighing up her options. New Cross was only a short drive away.





Fifty-Four





Taro Williams was a tall, broad man in his late thirties, with a thick wide forehead and large features. He’d inherited Camera Obscura, and the living quarters above it, from his father, who had started the business during the 1960s. It was on Amersham Road, a residential street of large crumbling terraced houses, a few minutes’ walk from New Cross station. In years gone by, these grand four-storey structures had been built by merchants who had found their fortune during the industrial revolution. They’d boasted well-to-do families and quarters for live-in staff. As well as three storeys rising above the street, each house had a large basement. The shop front of Camera Obscura, with a plate glass picture window, was set back from the road, and partly shrouded by a huge hawthorn bush by the front wall.

The photography shop had functioned for many years as a studio, but over the past few years, with the advent of digital cameras and smartphones, business had slowed. This didn’t worry Taro. He was independently wealthy, and he liked to have time to himself. When it took his fancy, he worked as a wedding photographer. He only opened the shop a couple of times a week to take portraits, mostly of young couples who’d got engaged, and couples with small children who wanted to document their little darlings in an official capacity.

It depressed him that most of the parents with small children shunned the solid silver-gilt frames he had on offer, and instead wanted their photos printed on cushions or jigsaws, or even worse, baseball caps and mugs.

Taro was just breaking down the lights and backdrop from a photoshoot that morning. A young Japanese couple had been to have pictures produced for their engagement invitations. It always struck him how tiny the Japanese were. They’d seemed quite intimidated by his huge frame and his serious face, but he’d broken the atmosphere with a joke and a broad smile, which transformed him into a jovial bear of a man. They had both giggled along with him during the shoot, but hadn’t noticed that the smile never quite reached his eyes.

He was just packing away the last lighting softbox when a short red-haired woman came up the path to the front door. She tried to open it, and when she found it locked she knocked on the glass.

He strode over and pointed at the sign propped up at the bottom of the window:

PLEASE RING FOR ASSISTANCE





His face broke into a smile and he indicated that she should ring. She rolled her eyes and pressed the bell by the door. He smiled and gave her the thumbs up, then unbolted the door.

‘Hello, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Moss,’ she said, holding up her warrant card. ‘Can I have a few minutes of your time?’

‘Of course.’ He smiled. He stood to one side and she came through the doorway.





Fifty-Five





‘How can I help you?’ asked Taro, as he invited Moss to sit down in one of the oversized chairs he used for photo shoots. There was a camera on a tripod, a huge sheet of white reflective paper hanging along a square of the wall, and several lights dotted around on stands.

Moss sat down and pulled out a file from her bag. ‘I’m here to ask a few questions about a former employee of yours. Joseph Pitkin. He worked here for six weeks in early 2016.’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘Can I ask why he left?’

Taro nodded regretfully. ‘I’m afraid I had to fire him.’

‘Why?’

‘He was… dishonest. He stole from me…’

Moss nodded. ‘How much did he steal?’

‘Nothing vast. I think it was fifty pounds.’

Moss looked around at the cash register, which was alongside the wall, towards the plate glass window.

‘Did you inform the police?’

‘No.’