The Perfect Couple (ARC) Read online

  police officers, and scrutinize it, scrutinize me? And yet, I thought, did it matter if they did? I

  had nothing to hide, whatever they thought, for it seemed clear to me that they thought

  something now, something they hadn’t thought before. DS Clarke was looking at me with a

  new interest, the gentleness I’d seen in his eyes previously replaced with something more

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  piercing, as if I was a fascinating exhibit in a museum. DCI Dickens wasn’t looking at me at

  all, instead staring intently at a page of notes in front of her. Suddenly, she cleared her throat,

  the rasping sound in the silent room making me jump. She raised her dark blue eyes to mine.

  ‘Gemma, as you know, yesterday morning DS Clarke here, and another colleague, DC

  Stevens, who I know you’ve also met, visited your previous address, at number 10 Homefield

  Avenue, Chiswick.’

  She paused, looking at me, and I nodded.

  ‘Yes, I know. I haven’t heard anything though, so I assume … well, was it any help?’

  DCI Dickens glanced down at her notes again, then returned her cool gaze to my face.

  ‘It was certainly interesting, Gemma. I’m now going to show you some photographs,

  OK?’

  ‘Errr … yes, fine.’

  The DCI reached for a large envelope which had been lying on the table to the left of her

  notebook and slid two prints out of it. Slowly, she pushed first one and then the other across

  the smooth wood.

  ‘These were taken in the master bedroom of the apartment yesterday. Can you take a look

  please, and tell me about what you see?’

  I glanced down at the two photographs, confused, for a moment not sure what I was

  supposed to be looking at. Then my stomach lurched.

  What the …?

  Yes, this looked like our old bedroom, the one we’d spent those heady, early days of our

  relationship in, wrapped around each other, planning our lives together. But at the same time,

  it wasn’t the same room at all. The pictures showed some twisted, nightmarish version of our

  cheerful bedroom, the walls, carpets, even the bed streaked and stained and polluted with

  something dark and sinister, something that looked viscous and evil. My vision blurred, and I

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  gripped the edge of the table for support, my stomach contracting violently. I was going to be

  sick, I was sure I was, but first I had to ask, had to know …

  ‘Is that … is that blood?’

  My voice was a strangled whisper. There was a brief silence, then the cup of tepid water

  was pushed towards me.

  ‘Have a drink, Gemma.’ DS Clarke’s voice.

  Slowly, eyes still glued to the horrific images in front of me, I let go of the table edge

  with my right hand, reaching for the cup, trying to steady it as I moved it to my lips, swallowing

  a little water, the liquid spilling over the sides as I shakily put it down again.

  ‘Are you all right to continue?’ DS Clarke again.

  I nodded, the nausea subsiding a little as the water slid down my dry throat.

  ‘I’m OK, but … these pictures. What … please, what happened there? Has something

  happened to Danny?’

  There were a few moments of silence. Then DCI Dickens spoke, her voice low and calm.

  ‘That’s what we’d like to know, Gemma. Because, yes, that is blood. A lot of blood. And

  we know now that it’s Danny’s blood. So, the question is, do you know what happened in that

  room?’

  Danny’s blood? I dragged my gaze away from the photographs. What does she mean,

  Danny’s blood?

  ‘What? How would I know? I moved out weeks ago, I haven’t been back … oh God,

  what’s happened? Please …’

  My chest was tightening, a trickle of sweat running down my back, my stomach rolling

  again. What were they trying to tell me? My brain felt fuzzy. Danny’s blood? Did that mean

  …?

  The DCI was speaking again.

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  ‘Yes, we know you moved out weeks ago, Gemma. On Friday the first of February, you

  said? And you also told us that your husband stayed on in London and moved here to join you

  a week later. The thing is, we have a very, very good forensics laboratory here, Gemma. And

  they’ve told us that that blood, Danny’s blood, was most likely splattered all over your former

  bedroom approximately five weeks ago.’

  She paused, as I stared at her. Five … what?

  ‘Five weeks ago, Gemma. Which, by my calculations, would mean that Danny did a hell

  of a lot of bleeding in that room on or around the first of February. Around the time you packed

  up and moved to Bristol, in fact.’

  I shook my head, aware that a low hum had now started up inside my skull. Was I going

  to faint, instead of vomiting? It was so hot, unbearably hot, and my brain didn’t seem to be

  working properly, DCI Dickens’s words not making any sense.

  ‘No. No, that didn’t happen,’ I said. I was finding it hard to move my mouth, I realized;

  as if some external force was slowing the movements of my lips, my tongue. ‘It must be a

  mistake. Danny was fine, when he moved down here. He wasn’t hurt … I don’t understand,

  what’s going on?’

  Sweat was beading on my forehead now, running into my eyes, and I wiped it away with

  my sleeve, wondering as I did so why I was the only one who seemed to be feeling the heat in

  the small, stifling room. The two officers weren’t sweating. Why aren’t they sweating? What’s

  wrong with me?

  ‘We’re confused too, Gemma.’ DS Clarke this time.

  I looked at him, trying to focus.

  ‘We spoke to your former landlord, after we discovered the blood in the bedroom. Mr

  Evans? He was kind enough to come and let us in to the place. He told us that you both vacated

  the apartment on the same day – that Mr O’Connor didn’t stay on for a week after you left, as

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  you claim. He says he thought that was originally the plan, but that in fact the keys were left at

  his office – posted through the letterbox, so he wasn’t sure which of you left them – sometime

  on Friday the first of February, with a note saying that you’d both moved out after all.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t keep the note, and there aren’t any CCTV cameras on his premises,

  so we haven’t been able to verify which of you dropped off those keys, or at what time. But we

  believe it was you, Gemma. Because it’s pretty clear that something terrible happened in that

  apartment, on or around that date. And it’s Danny’s blood. So whatever that terrible thing was,

  it happened to him.’

  He stopped talking and leaned back slightly in his chair, but his eyes were still locked to

  mine. The humming in my head had grown louder. I stared back at him for a moment, then

  looked at DCI Dickens. She was watching me too, and I realized they were both waiting for

  me to speak.

  ‘I-I.’ I swiped at my damp forehead again. My heart was pounding, as if I’d just sprinted

  up a long, steep staircase. What was I supposed to say, when everything they’d just said was

  wrong, was ridiculous? Of course Danny had stayed on in London. Of course he hadn’t been

  hurt. How did I get them to understand that? I took a deep breath.

  Just tell them. Tell them calmly, and firmly.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but none of this is making any sense to me,’ I said at l
ast, trying hard to

  make my mouth cooperate, to enunciate each word clearly. ‘Danny stayed on in London, at our

  apartment, for a week after I left, like I told you. And when he arrived in Bristol, he was fine.

  He wasn’t hurt, or cut, or anything. I’d have noticed – we shared a bed, for goodness’ sake. I

  don’t what else to say. This is wrong, all of it. None of it is true. Somebody’s made a huge

  mistake, or is lying to you. That’s the only explanation.’

  DCI Dickens stared at me in silence for a few moments, then sighed.

  ‘Right. Well, let’s look at what else we have here, shall we?’

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  She tapped a finger on her notepad.

  ‘None of your Clifton neighbours have ever laid eyes on Danny – they say they believe

  you moved into the house alone. He accepted a new job in Bristol, and then mysteriously pulled

  out of it. We’ve now checked his main email account, the one you gave us details of when you

  first reported him missing, and he sent the email to ACR Security to tell them of his change of

  plan on the thirty-first of January. No further activity on that account since that date. His bank

  account also hasn’t been touched since the end of January.’

  She turned a page.

  ‘We’ve also checked your email account, Gemma. You say you last heard from Danny

  via email on the night of Thursday, the twenty-eighth of February, when you were away on

  your press trip. There’s no sign of that email, or indeed, as I just said, any other emails between

  you and Danny after, again, the end of January. I know you mentioned to my colleagues that

  you were having some trouble with your phone, that some photographs and emails had gone

  missing, but … well, as well as no recent emails, you also don’t seem to have any photographs

  of your husband since the move, just photos from your time in London. And nobody we’ve

  spoken to so far – his friends, his former colleagues – have heard anything from him, also since

  the end of January. We’re planning to speak to his family today, but I strongly suspect that it

  will be the same story there.’

  She paused, regarding me coolly.

  ‘Do you see a bit of a pattern developing here, Gemma?’

  I swallowed. ‘Yes, but there are explanations for all that. I mean, the job thing, I still

  haven’t got to the bottom of that. Or the bank account. But he doesn’t have a phone at the

  moment, so that’s why he hasn’t been in touch with people much. And my phone’s just playing

  up, not saving stuff, I’m sure I’ll track those photos and emails down …’

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  DCI Dickens was holding up a slender hand. She wore a wedding ring, I noticed for the

  first time, a narrow gold band.

  ‘In addition, Danny seems to have vanished but taken absolutely nothing with him. His

  passport, clothes, everything is still there, correct?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I’m so worried, so scared …’

  ‘Well, we’re worried too, Gemma. Very, very worried.’

  DCI Dickens leaned towards me across the table, and I smelled a faint scent, a soft floral

  perfume.

  ‘We’re very worried indeed,’ she said. ‘Because, looking at all of the evidence, it does

  very much seem now that Danny has actually been off the scene for quite a few weeks. Since

  the end of January in fact. Since just before you packed your bags and moved to Bristol,

  Gemma. Did you discover his profile on that dating app, is that what happened? Because it

  can’t have been very nice, discovering that your husband was on the hunt for other women to

  have sex with. Not nice at all, is it, Devon?’

  She leaned back in her seat again, turning to look at her colleague. He nodded slowly.

  ‘Not nice at all, boss. Nobody would blame you for losing your temper, Gemma, after

  discovering something like that. Is that what happened? Did you and Danny get into a fight,

  and it went too far?’

  The humming in my head faded to a low buzz, and then stopped. Suddenly, with growing

  horror, I understood. I understood perfectly. They thought … they thought that Danny’s

  disappearance was down to me. Me. They thought I’d … what? Seriously injured him – killed

  him – in our London apartment, and then calmly moved to Bristol on my own? And then what?

  That I’d waited a few weeks, and then reported him missing, when all the time I knew exactly

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  what had happened to him, because it had been me that had done it. That was what they thought,

  wasn’t it? It was … it was insane.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘ No.’

  They both sat in silence, watching me, waiting. Waiting for what? A confession? I felt a

  sudden surge of anger. How could they think me capable of something like that?

  ‘NO.’ I practically shouted the word this time, banging both fists on the table. ‘That’s not

  true. None of it is true. Danny’s been here, in Bristol, living with me for the past few weeks.

  He was fine, everything was fine. Or I thought it was fine, until last week when I came home

  and he was gone. I know it looks bad, none of what you’ve told me makes sense and I don’t

  understand any of it either. But I’m telling you the truth …’

  I paused for a moment, my voice suddenly thick with tears, my chest contracting, my

  breath coming in shallow gasps.

  Then I said: ‘You have to believe me. Nothing can have happened to Danny in that room,

  not five weeks ago or whenever you said it did. Because he’s been here, with me. He’s been

  here with me …’

  I stopped, unable to continue speaking, the tears pouring down my cheeks, my whole

  body starting to shudder. This couldn’t be real, could it? Could the police really think I’d hurt,

  I’d killed, Danny? It was like some sort of sick nightmare. And now DCI Dickens was leaning

  towards me across the table again, her voice low and hard.

  ‘He’s been here, with you? Here with you, since early February? OK. Prove it, Gemma.’

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  14

  The Friday morning papers bore the headlines Helena had been dreading.

  BRISTOL SERIAL KILLER – IS THIS A THIRD VICTIM?

  FEAR IN BRISTOL AS A THIRD MAN VANISHES

  ‘SHIT,’ she said. ‘And where did they get that photo of Danny O’Connor? It’s not one

  we’ve seen before, is it?’

  Devon, who’d been adding some notes to the incident board, put his marker pen down

  and turned to face her.

  ‘Nope. It looks as if it was taken at a party or a night out, so my guess is one of his mates

  got in touch with the press about him being missing, as we feared, and the journos have put

  two and two together and made … well, made their serial killer theory stand up even more.’

  ‘Probably. It’s so frigging frustrating. Just fuelling the fire when we don’t even know if

  any of these cases are connected yet. Or if Danny’s even bloody dead, although that does seem

  highly likely now. I wish we could find his body. Where the hell is it?’

  She groaned and ran her hands over her hair. It was getting long, she thought distractedly,

  little curls beginning to snake over her ears. She needed to make an appointment at the salon,

  but who knew when she’d have the time to do that. She’d look like bloody Rapunzel before

  this case was solved at this rate. And her back was still killing her too. Another app
ointment

  she needed to make. She looked around the room. It was only just 8 a.m., and not everyone

  was at their desks yet, but she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. This enquiry needed to be

  stepped up, urgently.

  ‘Can everyone gather round please? Guys?’

  When all the officers had shuffled themselves forward, some still in outdoor coats, others

  clutching coffee mugs, all with tense, weary expressions, she began.

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  ‘OK, so as you all probably know we released Gemma O’Connor on bail late last night.

  Yes, there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence, and the quantity of blood in that Chiswick

  bedroom is extremely worrying. But at this point we have no body, and no proof that Gemma

  has done anything to harm her husband. There are a lot of things that don’t add up in her story

  though, so we’ll be keeping a very close eye on her and I’m ready to haul her in again if we

  find even the slightest …’

  She took a breath.

  ‘However, what I do want to do now is stop thinking of Danny O’Connor as just a missing

  person. This is now significantly more likely to turn into another murder enquiry, which I want

  to run alongside our current two cases. The Met will probably want to get involved with the

  London end at some point, but for the moment I’m hoping we’ll be able to keep it ourselves as

  it does seem to tie in somewhat with what we have here.’

  She turned to point at the board behind her, where the gruesome photographs of the

  Chiswick bedroom sat next to the image of Danny.

  ‘All the evidence we do have points to Danny either being very seriously injured or killed

  in that room approximately five weeks ago, which is a bit of a time gap but still doesn’t rule

  out it being linked to our other two cases. It looks to be a very different type of killing though

  – all that blood – but we need to keep an open mind on that. And, of course, we have the added

  complication of his wife claiming he was alive and well and living with her until a week ago.

  She also claims that she’s going to prove that to us, despite the fact that nobody else seems to

  have laid eyes on him in weeks, et cetera et cetera.’

  She waved a hand at the board, and to the list of the things they’d discovered about

  Danny’s recent past.

  ‘We await that proof with interest,’ she continued. ‘But in the meantime, Danny