From the back of the room, DC Slater gave him the thumbs up sign.
‘No problem.’
‘Great, thanks. We’ll continue to leave his family in Ireland out of it for now, don’t want to panic them unnecessarily. We’ll obviously need to speak to them at some point fairly soon though if he doesn’t turn up. OK, a couple of other strange things. The fake job – where did Danny go every weekday between Monday, the eleventh of February when he said he was starting his new job, and Thursday, the twenty-eighth of February, which was the last day his wife saw him? He didn’t drive, so wherever he went he was using his bike. Gemma O’Connor says she has absolutely no idea. But the guy couldn’t make himself invisible. Somebody, somewhere must know where he was spending all those hours every day.’
He pointed to two new photos on the board, under the image of Danny.
‘We took these yesterday afternoon when we visited Gemma. They live in a very nice house in Clifton, and this is the back courtyard, where O’Connor kept his bike. And this is the alleyway that runs behind the row of houses, so he would have gone out through that back gate and cycled along there every day to access the main road. Our problem is that there aren’t any CCTV cameras in the immediate vicinity, so we’re trying to pick him up on private cameras, those used by homes and businesses in the area. Not knowing which direction he was going is problematic of course, because we’re going to have to cast the net wide, which will take time.’
Helena spoke again.
‘And again, where he was going every day might well be irrelevant to our enquiry. It could be anything, and if he was just having an affair or whatever, taking some time out from work, having some sort of breakdown, well, all very sad but none of our business. Tough thing to say, but it’s really only if he’s dead too that he’s any concern of ours, otherwise we can hand him back to Missing Persons. But with the dating app connection, we do need to pursue it for now, see if it can throw up any leads. Was he meeting someone? He’s now vanished, so did that person hurt him in some way? Kill him? And maybe kill the others too? We need to find out … yes, what is it?’
Another hand had been raised, that of a short, ginger-haired officer whose name escaped Helena.
‘I was just thinking – I mean, we don’t want to panic anyone, obviously. But just assuming for now that the two murders are connected, and Danny O’Connor is a third victim, well … there were what, another nine, ten men on that EHU site who all came up in the same search, weren’t there? Isn’t it possible that they’re all at risk too, if someone really is bumping them off one by one for some weird reason? Should we be warning them?’
Helena ran a hand across her forehead. She could feel a headache starting.
‘It’s far too early for anything like that. We still don’t know what’s going on here, and if the dating app really has any link to the murders. So, no. If we made an announcement like that, there’d be mass hysteria … every man in Bristol with dark hair and dark eyes would be after police protection.’
There was silence in the room, and Helena sighed.
‘Look, I hope I’m not making the wrong call here. But there may be something else that connects our victims that we haven’t discovered yet, and of course we still don’t know if Danny is dead or alive. We could be barking up the wrong tree entirely, and until the picture becomes clearer I don’t think it would benefit anyone to start warning people about a potential serial killer who’s using a dating app to pick his, or her, victims. Everyone OK with that, for now?’
There was a murmur of assent, heads nodding. Helena turned to Devon again.
‘Go on, finish what we have so far on Danny.’
‘Right. So, there’s the non-job and the mystery about where he was spending his days, and his appearance on the EHU app. The other strange aspect is the financial one. No money’s gone into his bank account since his final pay check from his job in London, which is as expected as it seems now he probably wasn’t working in Bristol, so we wouldn’t expect any deposits. But no money has left his account either, not since the thirty-first of January. No cash withdrawals, no purchases, nothing. And yet his wife says he paid for any number of things since he joined her in Bristol – takeaways, furniture and so on. If he wasn’t taking money from his bank account, where was it coming from?’
There was silence for a moment, the assembled officers clearly thinking. Then:
‘Another bank account, a secret one his wife didn’t know about?’
‘Maybe he was working cash in hand for those three weeks? Something dodgy, off the books?’
Devon nodded, acknowledging the suggestions.
‘Yes, both possible. We can definitely look into the alternative bank account theory right now … Tara, do you want to take that on? Call around as many as you can? The current and savings accounts we know about are with NatWest, so try the others. Whether they’ll release confidential information at this stage though, I don’t know. Danny O’Connor isn’t a criminal – well, not as far as we know anyway – and we don’t have any evidence he’s actually in danger. Still, give it a go.’
Tara nodded, her ponytail bobbing.
Devon turned to Helena.
‘And that’s where we are, for now. We’re going to search the O’Connor house, this afternoon probably, just in case that throws up anything, and then—’
‘Boss!’
The door had just opened, and a young officer was striding across the room towards them, an excited expression on his face.
‘Yes, David? What is it?’
Devon and Helena took a simultaneous step forward.
‘Got something to tell you. Something very odd indeed.’ He was slightly out of breath, and he paused, gulping in air.
‘OK, go on.’ Helena moved closer.
‘Right. Well, we’ve been checking private CCTV footage for any sign of Danny O’Connor, as you know. There aren’t many cameras in the area, and nothing’s come up as yet, but we’re still working on it. But while we were at it, we thought we’d check out the neighbours, just to see if any of them had seen him cycling past every day, you know – if they noticed which direction he went in, help narrow it down?’
‘Good idea,’ said Devon. ‘And?’
David took another deep breath.
‘Well, that’s the thing. We managed to speak to the people who live either side of the O’Connors. And they said – both lots said the same thing – well, they said something we didn’t expect.’
He paused again, turning to the room and looking from one expectant face to another.
‘They said that as far as they were aware, they only had one new neighbour. They’ve never seen a man at the property, not even once. They said that, as far as they knew, Gemma O’Connor moved into that house alone.’
Chapter 9
‘They won’t be much longer. Sorry, I know this isn’t very nice. It’s important though, you know? They might find something that might help find your husband.’
The plain-clothes police officer sitting opposite me smiled, looking at me kindly with her dark eyes, and I nodded, slipping my hands around my coffee mug again, seeking comfort from its warmth. We were at my kitchen table, and through the open doorway I could hear drawers being opened in the lounge, heavy footsteps crossing the master bedroom upstairs, the low rumble of voices as the three officers who were currently searching my house conferred.
‘Like what?’ I asked, more out of politeness than from a real desire for information. I’d had enough, more than enough, unexpected and unwanted information from the police about my husband in recent days and if I heard much more I thought my head might actually explode.
Earlier that morning, desperate to get out of the house which suddenly felt suffocating and claustrophobic, I’d finally decided to call Clare and Tai, telling them something horrible was going on and asking if they happened to be free for coffee. Despite it being a Tuesday morning, I’d been hopeful; Clare was a freelance bookkeeper, who’d told me she preferre
d to keep her mornings free and settle down to work after lunch, while Tai was a piano teacher who tended to only be busy from three o’clock onwards on week days, when her pupils were released from school. Clare had immediately invited us both to come to her place, a beautiful three-storey Georgian villa not far from the south end of The Downs, with a stunning view of the Clifton Suspension Bridge. I’d been there once before, when I’d called in to pick Clare up for the second yoga class I’d gone to with the pair of them, and had only seen the long, tiled hallway and huge, clearly recently modernized, gleaming white kitchen, but it had immediately struck me as being incredibly stylish and, almost definitely, worth a fortune.
‘This place is AMAZING!’ I’d hissed to Tai, who’d also met us there before the walk to yoga, when Clare ran upstairs to grab her mat and handbag.
‘I know,’ she’d whispered back. ‘Her husband, Alex, has family money. Something to do with banking. He only works part-time too, he’s a strategy consultant, whatever that is. But they bought this without a mortgage. Lucky, eh?’
‘Very. Wow.’
That morning, I’d pulled on a thick sweatshirt and jeans and walked to Clare’s with Albert, shuddering as I approached Clifton Down, remembering what DS Clarke had told me about the two murder victims. I’d googled them, of course, staring with horror at their photographs in the news articles, seeing their unmistakable similarity to Danny. The previous night, I’d even dreamed about them, dreamed that I was standing, shaking and terrified, over the bodies of two dead men, their corpses stiff on damp grass, mist swirling around us, their sightless eyes fixed on my face, hands rigidly outstretched. I’d woken in a cold sweat, gasping, screaming Danny’s name, and had had to run to the bathroom to throw up. Their faces had swum across my vision again as I walked across The Downs to Clare’s, my stomach tightening and my footsteps quickening until I was almost jogging. Albert ran alongside me, glancing up at me now and again in what looked like bemusement, unused to such a rapid pace. When we arrived at Clare’s though his joy at seeing Winnie was unrestrained, his whole body wagging, little yelps of happiness escaping him, the poodle bouncing with delight too.
Laughing, Clare opened the bifold doors at the rear of the kitchen and the two dogs bounded out and began chasing each other, first one way and then the other, around the walled garden, weaving in and out of tall ornamental grasses and red-leaved Japanese maples. I stood for a moment, watching them, supressing a shiver as images from my dream continued to float through my mind, then took a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down, trying to concentrate on the dogs and their antics. They were so funny together. Albert had definitely been subdued since Danny had vanished, and to see him so happy, so carefree, even for a short while, suddenly lifted my spirits a little, a hint of a smile even playing on my lips as the dogs cavorted and yelped.
‘So, Gemma, what’s going on?’
It was Tai, already sitting on one of the high chrome stools that surrounded the marble-topped kitchen island. She was wearing a denim mini-dress, perfectly shaped, toned legs neatly crossed at the ankles.
‘We’re worried. What horrible thing is going on?’
‘Yes, sit down, Gemma. You look pale. Here, coffee. And I’ve got cake too, if you want it. A Victoria sponge.’
Clare pushed a steaming mug of coffee across the smooth marble towards me, then added hastily: ‘I didn’t make it. The cake I mean. My cleaner, Eleanor, dropped it off last night. She does that. Makes a big batch every now and again and then gives them all away. It’s delicious, actually.’
She pushed a blonde curl back off her forehead and grinned. I smiled back.
‘I’m OK. But thanks. And as for the horrible thing that’s going on, well …’
I took a deep breath. Should I be doing this, when I hadn’t even told my parents or Danny’s mother that he was missing? I was still putting off doing that, hoping against hope that any minute I’d hear his key in the door, but now … suddenly this seemed very real.
‘My husband is missing,’ I said quietly.
I didn’t go into too many details, didn’t mention any of the weird stuff I’d discovered since Danny had disappeared; amidst horrified gasps, my two new friends staring at me wide-eyed, I simply told them that when I came back from my press trip on Friday evening my husband had vanished, and that the police were investigating. They bombarded me with questions, of course, and I answered as best I could. No, he wasn’t depressed or in any sort of trouble as far as I knew. No, I had no idea where he might have gone, and no, he’d never gone missing before. No, he didn’t take any clothes or his passport. He was just gone, and I was playing a waiting game.
‘God, Gemma, this is just awful. I’m so sorry. I was only reading an article the other day about how someone’s reported missing in the UK every ninety seconds or something, it’s crazy. Look, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but we’re here for you, OK? If you need anything, anything at all …’
Tai reached across and squeezed my arm, and Clare nodded fiercely.
‘Absolutely. Call us any time, day or night. What an awful thing to happen. I can’t even imagine how I’d feel, if it was Alex.’
I left soon afterwards, feeling a little less alone, a little less numb. Their kindness had brought tears to my eyes, and the hugs they’d given me as we’d said goodbye had been warm and genuine.
But back home, as the police officers arrived to start searching the house, I was still reeling from the bombshells of the previous day, shaky from another night of little sleep. It was all becoming too much, too impossible. Danny pretending to go to work. No money taken out of his bank account for weeks. Danny appearing on a dating app. And two murders. Two dead men. Two victims who looked so similar to my husband, and who had been using the same app before they died. I could no longer think in any sort of logical way, couldn’t even begin to process it all. What did it mean? Where was Danny? Was he dead now, too? Why had he lied to me about so many things? Was he sleeping around, seeing other women, or was his appearance on the dating site just a stupid, juvenile joke by one of his friends? But why? What would be the point? I just couldn’t work it out … and then there was this latest thing, the thing they’d told me earlier, when they’d arrived to start trawling through my cupboards. What had it been again, exactly? That my closest neighbours, both of them, when questioned, had said they thought I’d moved in here alone? That they’d never seen or heard anything of Danny, of a husband, living here? I’d tried to recall the few interactions I’d had with our new neighbours, remembering brief ‘good mornings’, smiles and waves, little more … but had Danny really never been with me on any of those occasions? He must have been, surely? I didn’t know, couldn’t think, and I was just so tired …
I realized with a start that the police officer sitting at my kitchen table was talking to me, answering my question about what sort of thing the search of my house might throw up that could possibly help, and I tried to drag my attention back to her.
‘—Not really sure until they find it, to be honest,’ she was saying. ‘Sometimes when someone goes missing they just walk away, but some leave evidence of plans they might have. And of course, we don’t even know yet what happened in your husband’s case – whether he left by choice or whether … well, whether something unfortunate has happened to him …’ Her voice tailed off and she paused for a moment, picking at a loose thread on her dark grey jacket, then raised her eyes to mine again. ‘I really hope that’s not the case,’ she added. ‘Sorry.’
I opened my mouth to reply, to tell her it was fine, when two of the other officers appeared in the doorway. One was DC Frankie Stevens, the one who’d been here with DS Clarke, the other a new one, one I hadn’t met before. DC Stevens was brandishing two clear plastic bags, and I squinted, trying to see what was in them, my heartbeat suddenly speeding up.
‘We’re done, I think, Mrs O’Connor. I think we’ve left everything pretty much as we found it, but apologies if there’s any mess.
We haven’t found anything that throws any light on your husband’s disappearance right now, unfortunately.’
He waved the bags.
‘We’ve grabbed these though, if that’s OK? Just in case … well, in case we need Mr O’Connor’s DNA at any point, for elimination purposes? We assumed the green toothbrush was his, the one on the left-hand side of the basin, and this comb? They were alongside the shaving foam and so on.’
I leaned closer to see and nodded.
‘Yes, they’re Danny’s. Take them, that’s fine. So … so what happens now?’
DC Stevens handed the two plastic bags to his colleague and nodded, and the man turned and headed down the hallway.
‘We’re going to take a quick look at your previous address, in London, just to see if there’s anything still there that might help. You said your husband stayed on there for a week or so after you moved down here? Don’t suppose you know if it was being rented out again immediately, do you?’
‘I don’t know but I don’t think so. I seem to remember our landlord saying he was going to give the place a fresh coat of paint first, and I know he was going away for a few weeks after we moved out so I doubt he’s got round to it yet. And yes, Danny stayed for a week after me. He had to finish working his notice at his old job and it made sense for me to come ahead, get the basics sorted here. He was due to start his new job pretty much as soon as he got here and I wanted everything to be organized so he wouldn’t have to …’ I stopped talking, remembering. ‘Well, that’s what I thought, at the time. What he told me.’
Even I could hear the bitterness in my voice. I felt a sudden, unexpected flicker of anger, and looked from one police officer to the other, my chest tightening.
The Perfect Couple Page 8
