The Perfect Couple

by Jackie Kabler

  She sounded faintly exasperated.

  ‘I just need you to answer the question, Gemma. Please try to think.’

  ‘Well …’ Gemma gave a small sigh. ‘Well, OK, we got married on the seventeenth, St Patrick’s Day. So that would have been two weekends before that, is that right?’

  Helena flipped a page to the calendar she’d printed off earlier, checked the dates and nodded.

  ‘That’s right, yes.’

  ‘OK, well in that case, that was the evening Danny had his stag do. His dad had died just a few weeks before that and he was still pretty upset, so it wasn’t a wild night out or anything, just a few drinks with some of the guys from work and one of his cousins. He was home by midnight, and I just stayed in on my own that evening because I had some work to finish up for the Monday. I remember because I was still up when he got in, which was quite unusual for me. I’m normally crashed out by ten.’

  Helena was making notes.

  ‘You’re sure about that? That date?’ she said.

  ‘Positive. Danny had his stag two weeks before the wedding, and I had my hen do one week before, so the following weekend.’

  ‘Right. And can anyone verify that you were at home alone on the evening of the third? Anyone come to the door, maybe a takeaway or something?’

  Gemma was frowning again.

  ‘No, not that I can think of. It was over a year ago, so obviously I don’t remember what I ate. I probably cooked something, I wouldn’t normally order a takeaway if it was just me. Look, why are you asking me about that date? How is it relevant to Danny’s disappearance?’

  The exasperated tone was back. Helena ignored the question, instead flipping to the next page of her notes to check the date of the Hounslow West tube station car park killing.

  ‘Just another few questions, if you don’t mind. Another date for you – can you remember what you were doing on the evening of Wednesday, the fourth of April last year? So that would have been a few weeks after you and your husband married.’

  Gemma stared at her for a moment, then sank her face into her hands, letting out a little groan. She stayed like that for several moments, fingers clawing at her scalp, and Helena and Devon exchanged a brief glance. Then Gemma straightened up again.

  ‘Look, what’s going on? What’s this about? I don’t understand any of it,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to be looking for my husband. Yes, I know you clearly think I had something to do with his disappearance, but I didn’t, OK? You need to find him, you need to be out there looking for him. How is this helping, asking me about what I was doing a year ago? This is ridiculous.’

  Her voice was becoming louder and louder as she spoke, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

  ‘I mean, how am I supposed to know what I was doing on a random Wednesday last April? Would you remember what you were doing? This is pointless, all of it, and in the meantime Danny is out there somewhere and he could be dead, or injured, and you’re wasting time with this … with this bollocks.’

  She banged a fist on the table, and her eyes filled with tears. There was the usual box of tissues at the end of the table, and Devon pushed it towards her.

  ‘There’s no need to get upset, Gemma. This is all part of our investigation, I promise you. Please try to answer the question. The sooner you can do that, the sooner you can get out of here, OK?’

  There was silence for a moment, then Gemma sighed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. She pulled a tissue from the box and wiped her eyes, then looked from Devon to Helena and back again.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just get so … so frustrated, you know? I don’t understand any of this, it’s like some sort of horrible nightmare and I’m just so scared about … about where Danny is and what’s happened to him. I shouldn’t take it out on you, I know you’re just doing your job, but it’s just … it’s just so hard, you know?’

  ‘Of course.’ Devon turned to Helena. ‘It was the fourth of April we wanted to know about, right?’

  Helena nodded.

  ‘Yes, Gemma. I know it’s not easy, but if you could just cast your mind back. It would have been about, what? Two and a half weeks after you got married. Can you remember anything about that period?’

  Gemma took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out. The flush in her cheeks had subsided but her eyes were still wet, and she dabbed at them again.

  ‘OK. Let me think. Can I see that calendar?’

  Helena slid it across the table, and Gemma studied it, running a finger across the dates.

  ‘Right, well, we got married on the seventeenth of March as I said. We stayed in London until the Monday, the nineteenth, and then we flew to Paris for a week for our honeymoon, so we would have been back on the following Monday, the twenty-sixth. Danny took the rest of that week off work and I didn’t have much on so we just sort of hung out for a few days, kind of extended honeymoon but at home kind of thing. Then we both went back to work properly on the following Monday, the second of April. So that week you’re asking about would have just been a normal one. I remember Danny had a few late nights at work, catching up on stuff he’d got behind on while we were away, and I was busy again so pretty much chained to my desk. But we didn’t go out that week, as far as I can remember, because we’d spent a lot of money on the wedding and in Paris and everything, so we thought we’d better be good for a while. So, to answer your question, I would have been in the apartment on the night of Wednesday, the fourth. All night.’

  Helena, who’d been scribbling again, put her pen down.

  ‘Alone?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, until Danny came home from work. Then it would have been the two of us.’

  ‘OK.’ Helena paused for a moment. ‘Two other dates. Recent ones this time. We need to know where you were on the nights of Tuesday, the twelfth of February and Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of February this year. The nights Mervin Elliott and Ryan Jones were murdered. The two men Devon here mentioned to you in a previous meeting?’

  ‘What?’ Gemma sat still, looking stunned, for a moment, then stood up suddenly, pushing her chair back so violently that it toppled over and crashed to the floor.

  ‘WHAT?’ she said again, her voice tight and angry. ‘Are you serious? You really think I could be involved in those deaths, just as you think I’m involved with whatever’s happened to Danny? I mean, look at me. Come on, look at me.’

  She put both hands on the table, angling her body across it towards them.

  ‘I’m a journalist. I work from home, writing articles about woolly hats and Pilates and lip glosses, for fuck’s sake. I’ve never been in trouble with the police in my life, not once. So do you seriously believe that now, at the age of thirty-four, I’ve suddenly decided to take up murder as a hobby? That I’ve spent my time in Bristol popping out every other night to kill some random man? Why? Why would I do that?’

  She straightened up again, backing away from the table and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

  ‘I was at home, on both of those nights, OK?’ she continued. ‘Danny and I didn’t go out together at all since we moved here, because we were too busy sorting out the house. I went to yoga a few times, and for drinks in the evening once, with some new friends, but that wasn’t on either of those nights. Otherwise we stayed in. And yes, I’m saying WE, because despite what you think Danny was here in Bristol, alive and well, living with me for the past few weeks, until he disappeared exactly a week ago today, OK?’

  She was breathing heavily now, her face red again. Helena sat in silence, watching her, but Devon held out a placatory hand and stood up.

  ‘All right. Let’s take a moment. Gemma, I know this is difficult, but getting angry isn’t going to help, OK? Sit down.’

  He moved around the table to pick up the fallen chair and gestured for her to sit in it. She did, still panting slightly, her fists clenched.

  ‘Are you all right to carry on?’ Helena asked.

  Gemma nodded, eyes fixed on the table in f
ront of her.

  ‘Sorry, again,’ she muttered.

  ‘It’s OK. We understand that you’re going through a lot right now,’ Helena said. ‘But you must also understand that we are now very, very concerned for your husband’s welfare, and on all of these dates we’re asking you about, men who bear a striking resemblance to Danny were killed in what so far remain unsolved cases. So as you see …’

  Gemma’s head had snapped up, her eyes locking onto Helena’s.

  ‘All of them? What, those two London dates too? Men were murdered in London as well? So that’s … that’s four?’

  Helena paused for a moment, then nodded.

  ‘Four, yes. We don’t know if any of them are connected, not yet. But there are certain distinct similarities, and as Danny is now missing …’

  Gemma was shaking her head, an incredulous look on her face.

  ‘Oh my GOD,’ she said. ‘You really do think I’ve got something to do with all this, don’t you? OK, so if you really don’t believe me about Danny only being missing a week, what exactly did I do then? Show me some proof that I hurt him, that I hurt any of them. Tell me how I overpowered my big strong husband, slashed him to death with a knife and then … well, then what? Carried his body out of our apartment all by myself, and hid it somewhere? Buried it? All without anyone else noticing a thing? Where is it then? And again, look at me, for fuck’s sake. I’m five foot four, and Danny’s over six foot. I don’t know why his blood is all over that room, I can’t explain that. But I didn’t hurt him. He was absolutely fine when I last saw him. I didn’t do anything, to any of them. This is crazy, all of it. You’re crazy.’

  She was still in her seat but looked as if she was about to leap out of it at any moment, her hands shaking, her face suddenly drained of colour, ashy white. There was silence in the room for several moments, then Helena cleared her throat.

  ‘OK, we’ll leave that for now,’ she said. ‘Just one more thing. We’ve accessed your medical records, and we’ve noticed that you suffered from a period of anxiety and depression a few years ago. Can you tell us a bit about that?’

  Gemma sighed wearily. She looked drained, Helena thought, the dark rings under her eyes even more pronounced now that she was looking so pale.

  ‘It was work-related. I was working as a newspaper reporter back then and it was really high pressure. It all got on top of me, so I quit my job and got help. I’m fine now. Being freelance is much better because I’m in control. I can turn down jobs if I have too much on. And again, how is that relevant to Danny’s disappearance? It was before I even met him.’

  Her words were defiant, but she just sounded sad now, her voice low and monotone. Helena looked at Devon, who gave her a small nod. It was time to wrap things up. And so they’d let Gemma O’Connor go home, not really any further forward than they’d been when she’d arrived.

  ‘Here you go.’

  Devon was back, carrying two steaming mugs. She accepted hers gratefully, desperate for the small caffeine hit the tea offered. After a couple of sips she put the mug down again.

  ‘Right, so now we wait for the forensics on the O’Connor house. Maybe that will tell us what to do next, Devon, because I don’t mind telling you, I’m struggling here.’

  He sighed.

  ‘I know, boss. And I know what you mean about Gemma O’Connor. There’s a lot there that points to her, but things don’t entirely add up. By the way, notice how she still talks about him in the present tense? I was just thinking about that when I was getting the drinks. “I’m five foot four, he’s over six foot”, remember that? It’s a little thing, but the psychs would say that means she believes he’s still alive. Otherwise it would have been more like “he was over six foot”.’

  Helena picked up her mug again.

  ‘I know. I noticed that too. And if she did kill him in that apartment, she had a point – she’s not very big, or very strong looking. Unless she did have help, how would she have been able to overpower him? When he was asleep, maybe? And how would she dispose of the body? I just don’t know. But she’s a clever woman, Devon. She’s a journalist, remember, and they’re tricky. We can’t let her fool us.’

  She took a sip and put the mug down.

  ‘And also, that episode of mental illness she had a few years ago? She says she’s OK now, but how do we know it’s not back and worse this time, making her do things she might not even be aware of? We can’t take anything for granted, there’s too much at stake here. I mean, now it’s potentially four murders we’re talking about. Four, and maybe five. We need to find Danny O’Connor’s body. Because he’s dead, Devon. I know he is. And I still think his clever little wifey knows a lot more than she’s letting on.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘Well, thanks a lot. Thanks for nothing.’

  I cut the call and flung my phone down onto the sofa, then sank onto it myself, a sudden wave of shame rushing over me to replace the surge of anger I’d just felt. Shit. What was wrong with me? I’d just lost my temper with the police again, just like I had in that interview room the previous night when they were asking me all those ridiculous questions. I needed to get a grip.

  ‘Who was that? They’re still out there, you know. In fact, I think there are more of them now than there were last night.’

  Eva appeared in the doorway of the living room, long hair in a plait down her back, a half-eaten apple in one hand. Albert scampered in behind her and ran across the room to sit at my feet, resting his head on my knee.

  ‘Hello, you,’ I said, and stroked his soft nose, then turned back to Eva.

  ‘It was the police. I rang them to tell them we were under siege by the press, that we couldn’t even open the front door without a billion flashbulbs going off, and the desk sergeant or whoever it was just said there was nothing they could do, not unless they were trespassing or there was damage to property or something. I got mad and just put the phone down on him. I feel really shitty about it now.’

  Eva crossed the room, dropped the remains of her apple onto a plate that was sitting on the coffee table, and sat down beside me.

  ‘Oh sweetie, they’ll understand. You’re under massive pressure, especially after last night. And you’ve been on the other side of things often enough in the past to know that he was right – the press are perfectly entitled to stand outside someone’s house on a public road as long as they obey some basic rules. Nothing we can do, sadly.’

  She squeezed my arm, and I sighed.

  ‘I know. I just can’t bear it, Eva. This whole thing … it’s just getting more and more bizarre. I don’t think they’re even looking for Danny alive anymore, you know. I think they’re absolutely convinced he’s dead, and that I had something to do with it. And with those other murders too. I mean, seriously? Two murders in London, and another two in Bristol? They seem to think that because I once suffered from a bit of anxiety that I’m some sort of psycho. Me, Eva. If it wasn’t so bloody nightmarish it would be funny.’

  ‘I know. It’s crazy. I’m so glad you’ve got some new friends here, you know. I’ll feel so much better about leaving you here and going back to London. I did really like them.’

  ‘Good. I like them too.’

  Earlier, Tai and Clare had come round for coffee. They’d obviously heard the news, seen my picture on the front of the paper, and Tai had rung first thing, asking if I was OK and if she and Clare could come over.

  ‘We’ll bring cake. Sounds like you might need it,’ she said.

  An hour later they were on the doorstep, looking anxious and flustered after pushing their way through the press pack in the street.

  ‘God, that was horrible! This is horrible, I can’t believe what’s going on here,’ Clare had gasped as I closed the front door behind them.

  ‘Welcome to my world,’ I said drily. ‘And yes, it’s not much fun. Come in and meet Eva, she’s dying to say hello.’

  True to her word, Tai had brought cake; not just one, but a selection of cupcakes fro
m one of the bakeries in Clifton Village.

  ‘There’s lemon, banoffee, carrot, rocky road and, errrm, salted caramel, I think,’ she said, as she lifted the beautifully decorated mini-sponges carefully out of their white box and laid them neatly on a plate, Albert hovering nearby, eyes following her hands, hoping for some dropped crumbs. Clare had arrived without Winnie and Albert’s disappointment had been clear, his frantically wagging tail drooping as the door closed and he realized that it was just two humans standing in his hallway, no poodle in sight.

  I smiled at Eva.

  ‘Told you they were nice,’ I said, and she grinned back as Tai and Clare laughed. The cake had lifted the mood a little, and for a few minutes we sat and ate and chatted about not very much.

  Then Clare said: ‘Gemma, I know you probably don’t really want to talk about it, it must be so awful with Danny still missing, but are you OK? I mean, when we saw in the paper that you’d been questioned, and that the police seem to be linking Danny’s disappearance to the two murders on The Downs, well, we were just horrified.’

  I hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to tell her, then decided to keep things simple. What had been in the papers was enough for now.

  ‘I’m OK. Well, as OK as I can be under the circumstances,’ I said. ‘The police just brought me in to get some more background stuff on Danny, that’s all. The press outside, they’re just hoping for a new angle on the story. If Danny is dead …’

  I swallowed hard, trying not to cry, and Tai who was sitting to my left on the sofa immediately slipped an arm round my shoulders. She smelled, as always, of oranges and bergamot, a fragrance she imported from a tiny perfumerie in Paris twice a year. She’d told us she’d discovered it on a weekend trip to the French capital years ago, and had never worn another perfume since.

  ‘Oh Gemma, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,’ she said. ‘We are so sorry, honestly.’

  ‘I just wish you’d met him, before he went missing,’ I said quietly. ‘You’d have liked him. Hopefully, one day …’