The Perfect Couple

by Jackie Kabler

  I’d batter him for that …

  It was a pretty extreme thing to say, wasn’t it? Surely, even if Quinn didn’t agree with ‘adultery’ as he put it, he wouldn’t actually beat Danny up over it? It wasn’t as if Quinn was particularly fond of me, and would feel affronted on my behalf. But even so, the fact that he’d said it, and the fact that he hadn’t reacted at all when I’d told him about the blood, was making me think. Could it have been Quinn who had attacked Danny in our old apartment? Could Danny have hidden his injuries from me because he didn’t want me to know that his cousin, his friend, had turned on him, and the reason why he’d done so? And … another thought suddenly struck me. Quinn had acted oddly, had left immediately, when I’d mentioned Bridget. Could she somehow be involved in all this after all, but maybe not in the way I’d first considered? I’d originally wondered if she was protecting Danny, helping him to hide away in Ireland possibly. But what if it was Quinn she was actually trying to protect? If he had attacked Danny, did she know about it? Is that why she’d asked me about the police investigation when I’d spoken to her, trying to find out if they might be on to Quinn? But why would she protect Quinn if he’d hurt her son – did she dislike Danny that much? Or was all this in my imagination?

  Even if I was right, it still didn’t explain where Danny was now or why he’d disappeared, I thought, as I kneaded the dough, mechanically pummelling it, flipping it back and forth on the flour-covered table. But if I went to the police, told them about my fears about Quinn, that might at least divert their attention away from me, and help them get closer to the truth of all this.

  I needed to talk it all through with Eva first, I thought. And would the police even listen to me this time? They certainly hadn’t seemed to have given my previous theory any serious consideration; they still appeared to think every word I said to them was a lie, an attempt to mislead them and stop them looking at me as prime suspect. Maybe if Eva came with me though … she was a respected crime reporter, surely they’d listen to her?

  BEEP.

  I jumped at the sound of my mobile phone text alert. Wiping my floury hands on my jumper, I leaned across to the worktop and picked the phone up, tapping the screen to open the message. I read it, and a chill ran through me. What? WHAT?

  It was from a withheld number, and the message was short and to the point.

  I know what you’ve done. Time to confess. Or else.

  Chapter 28

  On Saturday morning Devon was in the process of dialling Gemma O’Connor’s number to ask her to attend the police station yet again for further questioning following the visit from Quinn O’Connor when, across the room, somebody called his name and told him the woman had just walked into reception downstairs and had asked to speak to him.

  Weird, he thought, as he headed down to meet her. She just keeps on turning up, doesn’t she? Is she here to tell us where her husband is, or where she’s buried the body?

  He snorted. Chance would be a fine thing. He needed to confront her about the domestic abuse allegations made by her husband’s cousin, and Helena would be joining him shortly to carry out that interview, but he’d see what Gemma wanted first, he decided. Despite the increasing quantities of circumstantial evidence, he still couldn’t quite make his mind up about her. Helena was out for her blood, more and more convinced that she was responsible for Danny’s disappearance at the very least, and very possibly for all four murders too, and while he could definitely see why she thought that, despite the lack of any logical motive, he was still clinging on to the fence he’d been half-sitting on, reluctant to entirely give up on other possibilities just yet. The evidence against her was becoming increasingly compelling though, he thought, no doubt about that, and if she really was the perpetrator of domestic violence on top of everything else …

  Gemma was waiting in reception, bundled up in a black wool coat, her face pale and tired looking. Unexpectedly, she wasn’t alone, accompanied by a woman with long red hair and arresting green-brown eyes who she introduced as: ‘My friend and former colleague, Eva Hawton. Eva’s the crime reporter for The Independent I mentioned to you before. Is it OK if she comes in with me?’

  Devon had shrugged and nodded, seeing no reason to refuse the request and, if he was being honest with himself, feeling for the first time in months a small flip of the stomach – that undeniable sign that he was physically attracted to someone – when he looked at Eva Hawton. She’d looked back with a cool gaze and then given him the smallest of smiles, and his insides had somersaulted.

  Wow. She’s gorgeous, he thought, as he led the two women into the interview room. Was this a good sign? Did it mean he was finally starting to get over Jasmine? He certainly hadn’t even looked at another woman with the slightest stirring of interest since his relationship had ended, so he hoped it was, and he began to wonder how he could discreetly find out if she was single. Then his heart sank a little. After such a long dry spell, trust him to suddenly find his interest sparked by a woman who was best friends with a possible serial killer.

  When they were settled at the table, the two women sitting side by side opposite him, Gemma reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her mobile phone. She tapped at the screen, and Devon noticed that her hands were shaking.

  ‘It’s this … I need to show you this,’ she said. ‘It arrived yesterday, from an anonymous number.’

  She held the phone out, and he took it and read the message.

  I know what you’ve done. Time to confess. Or else.

  Interesting, he thought instantly.

  ‘OK. And it’s from a withheld number. So who do you think sent this?’ he said.

  ‘Well that’s just the thing, I have no idea. But it’s threatening, isn’t it? That bit – “or else”? It sounds like someone is planning to hurt me, doesn’t it? And I’m scared, DS Clarke. I’m suddenly really scared. I haven’t done anything, nothing at all, but with all the press and the publicity and everything, clearly there are people out there who think I have, and … and I’m just scared. Pictures of my house have been on TV, in the newspapers, it wouldn’t be that hard to find me, and I’m alone there most of the time, anyone could …’

  Her voice, which had become more and more hysterical as she spoke, suddenly cracked and she burst into tears, sinking her face into her hands. Her friend slipped an arm round her shoulders, then looked at him.

  ‘Look, this is unacceptable,’ she said, and Devon was struck again by how beautiful her eyes were. ‘You can see how terrified she is, and she’s right, if some nutter’s got hold of her phone number, what next? Is there any way you can give her some protection, put an officer outside her home for a few days? Come on, DS Clarke. This isn’t fair. If you really do think Gemma has committed a crime, provide the evidence and arrest her. But if not …’

  Devon nodded, eager to please her. ‘OK, I’ll discuss it with my superiors. Leave it with me. Is there anything else?’

  Gemma was still sobbing quietly.

  ‘Shall I tell him?’ Eva asked her gently.

  ‘Please.’

  Eva turned her attention back to Devon, and he felt that tiny flicker of desire again. Then he checked himself. There’d be plenty of time to think about women when all this was over. Concentrate, Devon.

  ‘Well, on Thursday Gemma went to London, to meet up with Quinn O’Connor, Danny’s cousin,’ she began.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Devon. ‘And in fact, when you arrived I was just about to get in touch with you to discuss Mr Quinn O’Connor, Gemma. You saved me a job.’

  ‘You … you know? How? Did you have me followed or something?’

  Gemma, face still tear-streaked, looked up at him, clearly alarmed. Devon shook his head.

  ‘No, we didn’t. But …’

  He turned as the door opened and Helena walked in, brown envelope in hand.

  ‘Ready?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Devon. ‘Mrs O’Connor, we need to ask you some more questions with regards to t
he disappearance of your husband. Miss Hawton, I’m afraid we’ll need you to step out now. Are you still declining legal representation, Mrs O’Connor?’

  The two women looked stunned.

  ‘But … but we wanted to tell you …’ began Gemma.

  ‘Oh, come on, now what?’ said Eva, sounding exasperated.

  ‘Legal representation?’ Devon repeated.

  ‘No, I don’t need any, I haven’t done anything …’

  ‘Gemma, maybe you should, this time? If they’re questioning you yet again …’

  Eva sounded concerned, but Gemma shook her head vehemently.

  ‘I’m fine, Eva. Go. I’ll see you outside.’

  Eva frowned, clearly reluctant to oblige, but Gemma waved her hands in a shooing motion.

  ‘Go, honestly.’

  She did, and when they were ready Helena began.

  ‘Mrs O’Connor, some allegations have been made against you, and we’d like to put them to you. It’s been alleged that on at least one occasion, and reportedly on numerous occasions, your husband Danny was the victim of domestic abuse. And that you were responsible for that abuse. What’s your response to those claims?’

  Gemma stared at her, wide-eyed.

  ‘Domestic … domestic what? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Domestic abuse. Or domestic violence, as it’s commonly known. We have evidence that, on at least one occasion as I said, you punched and kicked your husband so severely that he was left with significant bruising …’

  ‘I did what? That is absolutely ludicrous. I love Danny. I would never … who told you that? And what evidence?’

  Her face was flushed with anger, her voice getting louder with each word. Devon raised a hand.

  ‘Mrs O’Connor, please try to stay calm. We want to show you a couple of photographs.’

  She took a couple of deep breaths, obviously trying to regain control, and he waited a moment then slid the two photographs Quinn O’Connor had presented them with out of the envelope Helena had brought with her. He placed them on the table in front of Gemma.

  ‘What can you tell us about these pictures, Gemma?’ Helena asked. ‘Are these the injuries you inflicted on your husband on one of the occasions when you attacked him?’

  ‘I never …’ Gemma leaned forward, staring at the photos. Then a look of relief crossed her face, and she straightened up again.

  ‘Those aren’t injuries inflicted by me,’ she said firmly. ‘I know exactly how and when Danny got those bruises. It was back in early November, during that really icy spell? He was cycling home from work and a car pulled out of a side road right in front of him. He braked but the bike slid on the ice and he went over the handlebars, straight onto the bonnet of the car. He cracked a rib and got that awful bruising all down his right side. It lasted for weeks. Who on earth said this was domestic violence?’

  She sounded calmer now, the flush in her cheeks lessening.

  Helena reached across and picked up the photographs, then said: ‘And this accident was reported to the police?’

  ‘Well …’ Gemma hesitated. ‘No, it wasn’t actually. By the time Danny had managed to get himself up the car had driven off, and it was all so quick he didn’t get the number plate or even the make or model. And it was dark and quite late – he’d been doing a late shift at work. There was nobody else around, no witnesses. He thought about reporting it anyway, but in the end he didn’t bother. He said he didn’t see the point.’

  ‘I see.’ Helena raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Look, what’s going on here? Who told you … oh, hang on. Hang on.’

  Gemma shook her head slowly, a look of incredulity on her face. She turned to Devon.

  ‘When I mentioned going to see Quinn in London, you said you already knew about it. And you said you didn’t have me followed, which means the only way you could know about my meeting with Quinn is if he told you about it. Shit, it was him, wasn’t it? He told you I’d been abusing Danny! Why on earth would he?’

  Suddenly, she was on her feet, her face bright red again. Devon made a move to stand up too, but Helena put a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘Just a moment,’ she whispered.

  Gemma had begun pacing up and down the small room, muttering under her breath.

  ‘What is it, Gemma? Is there something you want to share with us?’ Helena asked. Her tone was low and steady, but Devon could tell exactly what she was thinking.

  Come on, Gemma. Now’s the time. Tell us. The truth, this time.

  Gemma stopped her pacing. She looked at Helena for a long moment, then at Devon. And then she laughed.

  ‘I give up,’ she said simply. ‘No, I have nothing to share with you. You don’t believe a word I say anyway. What’s the point, in any of this? Is there anything else? Anything else I can do for you? Any more ridiculous accusations you want to throw at me, without a shred of evidence? Because if not, and if I’m not under arrest, I’d like to go home now please.’

  ***

  When she was gone, to his chagrin her friend Eva glaring at Devon as he showed a clearly very upset Gemma back out into the reception area where she’d been waiting, he and Helena retired to the canteen for a tea and a regroup. When he filled her in about the threatening text message Gemma had received, Helena pursed her lips.

  ‘Somebody else thinks like I do then. That she did it, and it’s time she confessed. Either that, or she sent it to herself. She’d do anything to draw our attention elsewhere, that one. That random guy on the CCTV footage at the gym that she tried to convince Frankie was her husband? And now that hasn’t worked she’s trying to make herself into a victim, trying to make out someone’s out to get her. She was right when she said we don’t believe a word she says – I certainly don’t believe that flimflam about Danny having a bike accident. Very convenient that it was never reported, wasn’t it?’

  Devon swallowed the piece of chocolate brownie he’d just put in his mouth.

  ‘The alleged domestic abuse was never reported either though. So yet again, we can’t prove it. We can’t prove any of it, boss.’

  Helena stretched her arms above her head, arching her back, and groaned.

  ‘Bloody back’s killing me again. Still haven’t managed to find the time to make an appointment with anyone to sort it out,’ she said.

  Then she reached out and broke a large chunk off Devon’s brownie.

  ‘Oi!’ he said, with mock outrage. ‘You said you didn’t want anything to eat! And you don’t even eat chocolate. Get your own, Muriel!’

  She scowled.

  ‘I hoped you’d forgotten about my delightful middle name.’

  He stuck his tongue out at her, and she grinned.

  ‘As for not eating chocolate, I do today. Share and share alike, boy. And as for not being able to prove any of it …’

  Her face grew serious.

  ‘Well, maybe we won’t have to,’ she said.

  Chapter 29

  BEEP.

  I jumped, a jarring sound rousing me from an uneasy sleep. The luminous digits on the alarm clock on my bedside table told me it was 4.25 a.m., and I whimpered. I hadn’t fallen asleep until gone two. I groped behind the clock for my phone, wondering who on earth was trying to get hold of me at this hour. My alarm clock – a white, chunky, old-fashioned thing with big yellow numbers on its display – had always been a great source of amusement for Danny.

  ‘Who uses an alarm clock nowadays, you mad woman? Use your phone like everyone else does!’ he’d say, but I always ignored him. I liked my clock; I liked being able to see at a glance what time it was when I opened my eyes, without having to fumble for my phone. Finally, I found it, and squinted at the screen. My body stiffened, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through me, making me jerk upright in bed.

  ‘No! Not again, please!’

  I stared at the screen. It was another text message, sender’s number withheld.

  Tell them what you did. If you don’t, you’ll be next.
/>   There was a sudden movement at the door and for a moment I stopped breathing.

  ‘Gemma? What’s wrong? I just got up to go to the loo and I heard you shouting.’

  Eva. I exhaled, my body sagging with relief.

  ‘Sorry. It’s another text, look.’

  She crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to me, reaching for my phone.

  ‘Shit, Gem. This is getting out of control. You need to go back to the police and make them take this seriously. They haven’t even bothered to put anyone outside, have they? If anything happens to you …’

  I shivered, and she grabbed my hand.

  ‘Oh bugger, I’m sorry, I’m no help, am I, scaremongering like this. But I’m worried, Gem. Come on, let’s go and make a hot chocolate or something. We’re not going to sleep now. Where’s your dressing gown?’

  ‘On … on the back of the … the door.’

  My teeth were chattering, even though the room was warm, and I had a sudden urge to hide, to crawl under the bed or into the wardrobe, to stay there until all this was over. But when would it be over? This nightmare was never-ending, a dark stain spreading through my life, slowly obliterating all that had ever been good and right and happy.

  I’ve lost everything, haven’t I? I thought suddenly. All of it was gone, all of it. My sense of security, my feeling of being loved, belonging. My self-esteem. My marriage. My life. So what did it matter what happened to me now? I’d lost everything worth living for. The police might as well arrest me, lock me up. I was beyond caring. I was done.