The Perfect Couple (ARC) Read online

  O’Connor is still missing. Whether that disappearance has anything to do with his wife, is

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  connected to our other two killings or is down to something else entirely, we don’t know yet.

  But there’s something not right about his wife’s story, that’s for sure.’

  Devon, who’d been leaning against the wall to her right, stepped forward, a questioning

  look on his face. Helena nodded.

  ‘Go ahead, Devon.’

  ‘I just wanted to point out a few things that came out of our questioning of Gemma

  O’Connor,’ he said. ‘For the benefit of those who weren’t there.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She moved aside, taking his place against the side wall, and Devon turned to study the

  board for a moment, where a photograph of Gemma had been pinned next to that of her

  husband. Then he cleared his throat.

  ‘OK, so yes, Gemma O’Connor is now a person of interest. But there are a few things

  which don’t entirely add up. First, when we showed her the photographs of the bloodstained

  room, she seemed genuinely shocked. In fact, she looked like she was going to pass out for a

  bit, didn’t she guv?’

  He looked at Helena and she shrugged and nodded.

  ‘If she did attack Danny in that room then, which has to be one of our major lines of

  enquiry now, she’s a very good actress. In addition to that, she knew we were going to search

  that apartment a few days ago and didn’t react at all when we told her that. If she knew what

  we were going to find when we got there, I’d expect at least some reaction from her, some

  attempt to stop us going until she could cover her tracks, maybe.’

  ‘Could just be the good actress thing again though. Or, if she has done something to her

  husband, maybe she’s in some sort of denial, post traumatic shock, something like that. She

  was certainly in a bit of a state last night, sweating, crying, the lot, wasn’t she?’ Helena said.

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  ‘She was. And it could be PTSD, possibly, yes. I’ve started the ball rolling to access her

  medical records by the way. See if there’s any history of mental illness, violence, anything like

  that. She has no criminal record, but it would be interesting to see what else we can find out

  about her background.’

  ‘Good.’ Helena gave him a thumbs up sign. ‘OK, go on.’

  ‘As we already know, and we put this to Gemma last night, there’s no evidence of any

  email exchanges between her and Danny since the end of January, despite her claims to the

  contrary. However, there are a number of emails from Gemma’s account to Danny’s in the past

  week, in the days after she claims he went missing. A number of attempted Skype calls too, all

  of which have gone unanswered. She’s told us she tried numerous times to contact him after

  he went missing, in a desperate attempt to track him down. If she knew he’d died five weeks

  ago, would she be trying to email and Skype him like that?’

  ‘Could easily just be an attempt to throw us off the scent, make it look like she thought

  he was still alive. Just like all her calls to his mates, and to the hospitals and so on. Could all

  be part of her act.’

  This came from DC Tara Lemming, sitting on the edge of a desk in the centre of the room.

  Devon nodded an acknowledgement.

  ‘That’s true. So let’s just look at the timeline for a moment, and assume for a moment that

  Gemma did seriously assault, or kill, her husband. It would have to have worked like this.’

  He turned to the board, placing his finger at the left-hand end of a long red line, above

  which had been written various dates and comments.

  ‘A message was sent from Danny O’Connor’s email address to ACR Security on

  Thursday, the thirty-first of January, informing them that he would no longer be taking up his

  position with them in Bristol. Did Gemma actually send this message, and not Danny himself,

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  because she was planning to kill him, or indeed had already killed him, and didn’t want alarm

  bells to ring when he failed to turn up at his new place of work?’

  He ran his finger a little further along the line.

  ‘Sometime on Friday, the first of February, somebody dropped the Chiswick apartment

  keys off at the landlord’s office, with a note saying there’d been a change of plan and that the

  apartment had now been fully vacated. The landlord had already told the O’Connors that he

  was heading off on holiday for a few weeks and wouldn’t be able to check over the place until

  he got back. As it turned out, he didn’t actually get back to it until this week when we visited.

  So, if Gemma did kill Danny in the apartment, she most likely did that on the thirtieth or thirty-

  first of January. Knowing the landlord was away, she wouldn’t have been worried about being

  disturbed. But then – and this is the bit I’m struggling with – she’d have had to somehow move

  the body out of that apartment and hide it somewhere where it still hasn’t been found. And then

  she’d have had to calmly move to Bristol without even bothering to clean up after herself.

  Doesn’t quite add up, does it? Unless she’s totally psychotic, and hiding it very, very well.

  Which she could be, I suppose.’

  ‘Or maybe she had an accomplice, someone who helped her move the body? But yes,

  leaving that mess behind is a bit odd, to be fair.’

  Helena had moved back across to join him as he was speaking.

  ‘Anyway, to extend that theory, she moves house, bringing all his stuff with her too, to

  make it look as if he’ll soon be moving in with her. Then she claims he joined her here a week

  later, and has been living with her ever since, until he vanished a week ago,’ she said. ‘That

  bothers me too. Why wait so long? Why not just wait until the day he was due to move to

  Bristol to join her, for instance, and then report him missing when he allegedly didn’t show, if

  that’s the route you want to go down? I’d love to be able to pin Danny’s disappearance on her,

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  it would make our lives a lot easier. But I agree, there are definitely some things that don’t

  really add up.’

  There was silence in the room. Then Devon spoke again.

  ‘We swabbed her yesterday, of course, and overnight the lab compared her DNA to that

  found in the Chiswick apartment. They say the only DNA found in the bedroom was hers and

  Danny’s, as you’d expect. But that doesn’t rule out somebody else being there, of course, if

  they were careful.’

  ‘Indeed. Hard to imagine whoever carried out that attack getting away without being

  covered in blood though, even if they did manage not to leave anything of themselves behind.

  We’re getting the forensic team into her house in Bristol today, by the way. We’ve already

  searched it, but now we’ve found what we’ve found in Chiswick, we need to tear her new place

  apart. If Gemma was responsible, there may well still be traces of blood on some of her clothing

  and so on, even if she’s tried to wash it off in the meantime.’

  ‘If it was me, I’d have dumped the clothes though,’ DC Mike Slater said from the back of

  the room.

  ‘I would too, Mike,’ Helena said. ‘But we also need forensics in there to check out

  Gemma’s claim that Danny has been living there for the past few weeks. They’ll know if he
r />   hasn’t.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Devon. ‘On that note, Frankie spoke to the letting agent, Pritchards,

  last night while we were interviewing Gemma – thanks Frankie.’

  From his perch next to Tara, DC Stevens nodded.

  ‘They couldn’t tell us much of any use though. They said that Danny did come to Bristol

  with Gemma when they initially viewed the house, and that the two of them were here again

  in mid-January to pay the deposit, sign the rental agreement and pick up the keys. They brought

  a van with a few bits of furniture with them that time and stayed in the house overnight before

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  returning to London the following day. But the agents haven’t been round to the house since

  Gemma moved in on February the first, so couldn’t say whether Danny has been there again

  or not.’

  ‘OK.’

  Devon sighed.

  ‘Well, those enquiries continue,’ Helena said. ‘But let’s not forget that we have two other

  murders which still remain unsolved too. And interestingly …’ She moved closer to the board,

  studying Devon’s red timeline, then looked up at the photographs of Mervin Elliott and Ryan

  Jones. ‘Interestingly, both of our killings happened after Gemma O’Connor moved to Bristol.

  What do we think about that, then?’

  A murmur ran round the room. She turned away from the board and shrugged.

  ‘Oh, highly unlikely, I know. Look, I know we don’t have a third body, not yet. And the

  first two murders were very similar – clean killings, with some sort of heavy weapon. The

  crime scene in Chiswick is totally different, as I said earlier. Speaks of a much more frenzied,

  passionate attack. But … could that be the difference between killing a relative stranger, and

  killing your own husband? I’m just saying. We can’t rule anything out.’

  Devon was staring at her.

  ‘You seriously think Gemma O’Connor could have killed three men, boss?’

  She shrugged again.

  ‘I don’t know. The thought’s only just occurred to me, if I’m honest. But I’m clutching at

  straws here, in the absence of anything more solid. And what possible motive would she have

  for killing our two local victims?’

  She paused, and blew out some air, staring at the photograph of Gemma O’Connor, and

  thinking. Then she turned back to Devon.

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  ‘Ridiculous, eh? I know. Far too many ifs and buts. But just do me one favour, Devon?

  Talk to her again and see where she was on the nights Mervin and Ryan were killed. And while

  you’re at it, check and see if there’ve been any similar, unsolved murders in London in the past

  year or so. Humour me, OK?’

  Devon nodded slowly.

  ‘Sure. You’re the boss.’

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  15

  Friday dawned bright and mild, the birds singing joyously outside my bedroom window, the

  clouds little white powder puffs in a baby blue sky. It was as if spring had suddenly decided to

  arrive in all its glory overnight, something which would normally fill me with delight after a

  long cold winter. Instead, I felt numb, low, my head and limbs aching. Albert, who usually

  slept downstairs, had somehow crept onto my bed during the night, his warm body stretched

  across my feet, tiny snores emanating from his glossy black nose. I’d stayed still for as long as

  I could, not wanting to wake him, trying to organize my thoughts, grateful that at least I’d

  somehow managed to sleep for a few hours, undisturbed by any more nightmares. Finally, my

  right foot beginning to cramp, I’d gently shaken my dog off it, and he’d yawned and stretched

  and licked my face, then suddenly leapt from the bed, running through the half-open door and

  back downstairs as if remembering he shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.

  When I’d finally arrived home from the police station late the previous night Eva had

  been anxiously waiting in the living room, but I’d brushed her questions aside, telling her I was

  too tired to speak, and that I’d fill her in on everything in the morning. When I finally crawled

  out of bed and made it, still in my pyjamas, hair a tousled mess, to the kitchen, she simply

  handed me a mug of tea and a newspaper.

  ‘Popped out while you were sleeping. He’s on the front page, Gem. Someone’s obviously

  been talking. There’s not much detail, nothing about all the weird stuff about his job or his

  bank account or anything like that, it just says he’s missing and remarks on his resemblance to

  the two murder victims. But still, it’s out there now. I’m so sorry.’

  FEAR IN BRISTOL AS A THIRD MAN VANISHES

  I read the headline, the knot which had begun to form in my stomach again the moment

  I’d woken up tightening painfully. Then I looked at the big photo of Danny, instantly

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  recognizable as one taken at a friend’s wedding about eight months ago . Where had they got

  that one from? And ‘Fear in Bristol’ ? Fear? Terror was closer to what I was starting to feel

  now. Fear wasn’t a big enough word for this, not big enough for this all-consuming anguish,

  this confusion, the growing sense that everything around me was spinning faster and faster,

  completely out of control. Knowing I couldn’t hide what was happening for much longer, and

  that the press were bound to get hold of it, I’d finally called my parents on the way home last

  night, trying to play things down, telling them only that Danny had gone missing, trying to

  reassure them that I was certain he would be home soon and not to believe anything they might

  hear or read in the papers. They were distraught, of course, my dad offering to get on a train

  first thing in the morning, but I eventually persuaded him to stay put.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘My friend Eva’s here, and it’ll all blow over in a few days, don’t worry.

  I’m sure he’ll turn up. I’ll keep you posted, OK? I love you both. It’ll all be all right.’

  My parents lived in Cornwall, where I’d been born, neither of them in the best of health.

  My dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer a year earlier, and although his treatment had

  gone well and was keeping the disease at bay, he had aged noticeably in recent months, his

  frail appearance a shock when I had last visited just before Christmas. My mother had always

  been a delicate woman (‘I suffer terribly with my nerves’ was her constant refrain), and not for

  the first time in my life I wished I had a sibling, a brother or sister who could share this load

  with me. At least Danny had Liam – if not someone he could share his troubles with, at least

  someone to distract his mother from what was going on. I couldn’t bring myself to ring Bridget

  though, and I hadn’t heard from her, even though I assumed the police would be calling her

  any time now, if they hadn’t already. Would she even care that Danny was missing? She didn’t

  seem to even like her son very much. The thought of speaking to her about Danny’s

  disappearance … I didn’t think I could, couldn’t face it, and I couldn’t read the article in the

  newspaper Eva had handed me either, and so I didn’t. Instead, I pushed the paper aside, and I

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  started to talk, telling Eva everything the police had said to me. Told her about the pictures, the

  blood. Danny’s blood, in our old bedroom.

  ‘Blood that’s five wee
ks old? Five? But that doesn’t make any sense.’

  Eva was wide-eyed, gaping at me as I recounted the story.

  ‘I mean, you’d have noticed if he had any injuries that severe, wouldn’t you? Surely?’

  ‘Of course I would. He was absolutely fine when he arrived in Bristol. Shit, Eva, what’s

  going on? I feel like I’m stuck in one of those horrible dreams where everything’s back to front

  and upside down and nothing makes sense. And that’s not all. Apparently our landlord said we

  both moved out on the first of February, because the keys were left at his office that day with

  a note. That’s the day I moved down here, but Danny stayed on in London for a week to finish

  up his final project for Hanfield Solutions. Or at least, that’s what he said he was doing. He

  certainly didn’t stay in the apartment though, it seems now. So where the hell did he go?’

  Eva shook her head slowly, eyes even wider.

  ‘Whaaat?’

  ‘I know. And it gets worse. They accused me, Eva. They think I hurt Danny, attacked

  him, even killed him maybe. In our bedroom, back at the end of January. And they think I’m

  making it up about him moving down here. They don’t believe he was ever here, because the

  neighbours never saw him, and he hasn’t used his bank account, and he didn’t start his new

  job, and all the other stuff. But he was here, Eva. He was fucking here, until last week …’

  I stood up, feeling panic rising, my heartrate speeding up. Eva stood up too, reaching a

  hand out towards me.

  ‘Gemma … Gemma, calm down, come on. We can sort this, this is ridiculous. How can

  they think that? There’ll be loads of ways of proving it, there must be. I mean, it was three

  weeks, wasn’t it, that he was here? There must have been heaps of people who saw him and

  can vouch for the fact that he was fine. Sit down, come on.’

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  Her tone was soothing, and I took a deep breath, trying to regain control. Slowly, I

  lowered myself onto my chair again, and nodded.

  ‘OK. But I need you to help me make sense of this. My brain is all … muddled. The stress

  … I can’t think properly. They’ve got no real evidence, not against me, not yet, otherwise

  they’d have arrested me, charged me. I’ve been released on bail, and they haven’t put any

  restrictions on me or anything, for now. But they’re coming here again later, to do forensic