‘What have you got there?’ Will asked.
‘It’s an interview with Owen.’
‘You think that was Owen Cassidy?’
‘Of course it was.’
Will shook his head. ‘It wasn’t.’
Janice seemed at a loss for words.
‘He’s a lookalike,’ Will told her.
‘Oh come on!’
‘I know.’ Will nodded sympathetically. ‘He’s good, isn’t he? Makes a damn fine living out of it, I believe.’
He had flustered her, he could see. ‘Okay,’ she said finally, regaining her composure. ‘If he’s just a lookalike, what areyoudoing here?’
‘I have my client’s reputation to protect,’ Will said smoothly.
Janice snorted, probably at the idea of Owen having any reputation worthy of protection.
‘Look,’ Will continued reasonably, ‘I have no problem with the bloke making a living impersonating Owen. Everyone has to pay the rent. But when he tries to pass himself off as the real deal, that’s another story. And when he poses as Owen to give interviews to gullible journalists,’ he said, ‘I have to put a stop to it.’
The girl eyed him warily. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, eyes narrowed to slits.
‘You to delete the recording.’ Will gestured at her pocket.
‘No way!’
Will eyed her, sizing up the situation. He was relieved that there was no photographer, and no evidence of pictures. He reckoned she was just an opportunist who had happened to get lucky – or so she thought. ‘That recording is no earthly use to you,’ he told her, ‘so you might as well delete it. You’re freelance, right?’
‘Actually, I’m on the staff ofRolling Stone,’ she said defiantly, with a toss of her head.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Because if you worked forRolling Stone– or any other reputable music paper, for that matter – you’d have gone through our press officer.’
The girl shrugged, but she was obviously spitting teeth at having her bluff called.
‘Won’t stop me selling it,’ she said sulkily.
‘Maybe not. Some rag might buy it, but if you’re hoping to build up any sort of reputation for yourself as a serious music journalist, I wouldn’t advise it. Who do you think is going to be interested in an interview with some wanker pretending to be Owen Cassidy?’
‘It was Owen,’ she said. ‘You know it and I know it.’
‘Prove it.’
Janice’s eyes sparked, but she said nothing.
‘It’s your word against mine,’ Will said coolly, ‘and Owen’s. Believe me, the real Owen Cassidy doesn’t take any more kindly to this sort of thing than I do.’
Janice was pink with rage and her mouth had disappeared into a thin line. ‘I could write about this,’ she threatened. ‘I could write a story about how I was strong-armed by Walking Wounded’s manager into suppressing a damaging story about Owen.’
‘Thereisno story about Owen, remember? Anyway, I’m not strong-arming you,’ Will reminded her. ‘I’m just trying to stop you making a damaging career move.’
