Renfield.
‘No, they’re off limits.’
‘I wonder if this is for her health or because she’s become a major embarrassment,’ said May. ‘Which clinic?’
Longbright checked her notes. ‘Somewhere in Hampstead. It’s called the Cedar Tree Centre, just off Fitzjohn’s Avenue. She’s not allowed any visitors tonight.’
‘She’s at risk, but not from herself,’ said Bryant. ‘Bring her smudger in. I want to meet him.’
Jeff Waters arrived in the doorway of Bryant and May’s office a little over an hour later. The handsome Australian was in his late thirties, unshaven and long-haired, still slung with cameras. He plucked at his lapel and grinned. ‘I don’t need the photographers’ jacket now that we’re fully digital, but I can’t bring myself to give it up. I’m on my way to work.’
‘I suppose you keep late hours,’ said Bryant.
‘It’s mostly night assignments, and when I’ve not got a schedule I make sure I’m outside the Ivy by eleven p.m. Then I do the rounds of the clubs to see if anything’s going on.’
‘How do you know who’s going to be there?’
‘There’s a network of tip-offs. We bung some of the maître d’s.’
‘You’ve got some misdemeanours on your record, I see.’
‘Small stuff. In this job it happens.’
‘Grab a seat, Jeff,’ said May. ‘We need to know just how well you know Sabira Kasavian.’
‘Janet Ramsey appointed me to tag her. I cover about fifteen women for PhotoNet. Sabira photographs like a dream. You get to know your clients pretty quickly.’
‘Do they want to know you?’
‘Most of them act like they don’t care about having their photos taken, but they love it. I can always tell the ones who want to get their faces in the press. They find excuses to slow down when they walk past us, stop and talk to their partners, turn and laugh about nothing. If a woman adjusts her dress as she passes you, you knowshe wants her shots done. But they never want to speak to you. I’m careful, I only have one chance to get the right shot, so with some of them I stick to “Over here, love, turn to your left” – that sort of thing. Sabira Kasavian isn’t like that. She’s always happy to be photographed. She loves the camera; the camera loves her.’
Bryant watched the photographer’s hands. He was glib, fast, hard as nails, but there was something else. He was smoothly moving the conversation on, trying to control it.
‘So the two of you never get to talk?’
‘No, not at all, you can’t when you’ve been railed into a ten-by-eight with a dozen other paps, security all around, and you’ve got maybe ten seconds for each target. Overstep your mark and you risk being blacklisted.’
‘Have you ever spoken to Mrs Kasavian privately?’
‘No, not so much as a single word. I’m sure she’d be fine with it if I did, though. She seems honest and friendly, a bit more fun, not like the others.’
‘But you do form some kind of relationship with your subject?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You fancy her – she appeals to you.’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Waters laughed. ‘We’re not in the same class, are we? Christ, I used to push a vegetable barrow in Melbourne. I mean, I know her background but even so … there might as well be bullet-proof glass between us. It’s all over this city, the glass.’
‘Is she always with her husband?’
‘No. One evening outside a conference centre in Canary Wharf he had to take the driver and it took fifteen minutes to find her another car. She was standing there with a friend – they were speaking to each other in Albanian. Not many people speak it, so I guess she’s glad when she finds someone who does.’
‘Do you know any Albanian?’
‘I know a little of every language. In this job you have to. I got talking to the friend while they waited. Sabira was standing off to one side, a bit aloof. Then I realized she was shy. It was raining hard, so I lent the pair of them my umbrella.
‘No, they’re off limits.’
‘I wonder if this is for her health or because she’s become a major embarrassment,’ said May. ‘Which clinic?’
Longbright checked her notes. ‘Somewhere in Hampstead. It’s called the Cedar Tree Centre, just off Fitzjohn’s Avenue. She’s not allowed any visitors tonight.’
‘She’s at risk, but not from herself,’ said Bryant. ‘Bring her smudger in. I want to meet him.’
Jeff Waters arrived in the doorway of Bryant and May’s office a little over an hour later. The handsome Australian was in his late thirties, unshaven and long-haired, still slung with cameras. He plucked at his lapel and grinned. ‘I don’t need the photographers’ jacket now that we’re fully digital, but I can’t bring myself to give it up. I’m on my way to work.’
‘I suppose you keep late hours,’ said Bryant.
‘It’s mostly night assignments, and when I’ve not got a schedule I make sure I’m outside the Ivy by eleven p.m. Then I do the rounds of the clubs to see if anything’s going on.’
‘How do you know who’s going to be there?’
‘There’s a network of tip-offs. We bung some of the maître d’s.’
‘You’ve got some misdemeanours on your record, I see.’
‘Small stuff. In this job it happens.’
‘Grab a seat, Jeff,’ said May. ‘We need to know just how well you know Sabira Kasavian.’
‘Janet Ramsey appointed me to tag her. I cover about fifteen women for PhotoNet. Sabira photographs like a dream. You get to know your clients pretty quickly.’
‘Do they want to know you?’
‘Most of them act like they don’t care about having their photos taken, but they love it. I can always tell the ones who want to get their faces in the press. They find excuses to slow down when they walk past us, stop and talk to their partners, turn and laugh about nothing. If a woman adjusts her dress as she passes you, you knowshe wants her shots done. But they never want to speak to you. I’m careful, I only have one chance to get the right shot, so with some of them I stick to “Over here, love, turn to your left” – that sort of thing. Sabira Kasavian isn’t like that. She’s always happy to be photographed. She loves the camera; the camera loves her.’
Bryant watched the photographer’s hands. He was glib, fast, hard as nails, but there was something else. He was smoothly moving the conversation on, trying to control it.
‘So the two of you never get to talk?’
‘No, not at all, you can’t when you’ve been railed into a ten-by-eight with a dozen other paps, security all around, and you’ve got maybe ten seconds for each target. Overstep your mark and you risk being blacklisted.’
‘Have you ever spoken to Mrs Kasavian privately?’
‘No, not so much as a single word. I’m sure she’d be fine with it if I did, though. She seems honest and friendly, a bit more fun, not like the others.’
‘But you do form some kind of relationship with your subject?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You fancy her – she appeals to you.’
‘No, nothing like that.’ Waters laughed. ‘We’re not in the same class, are we? Christ, I used to push a vegetable barrow in Melbourne. I mean, I know her background but even so … there might as well be bullet-proof glass between us. It’s all over this city, the glass.’
‘Is she always with her husband?’
‘No. One evening outside a conference centre in Canary Wharf he had to take the driver and it took fifteen minutes to find her another car. She was standing there with a friend – they were speaking to each other in Albanian. Not many people speak it, so I guess she’s glad when she finds someone who does.’
‘Do you know any Albanian?’
‘I know a little of every language. In this job you have to. I got talking to the friend while they waited. Sabira was standing off to one side, a bit aloof. Then I realized she was shy. It was raining hard, so I lent the pair of them my umbrella.
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