The Perfect Couple (ARC)

by Jackie Kabler

  she could call me, I thought, but I wasn’t expecting to hear from her. She hadn’t seemed to care

  that Danny was missing, and I was fairly sure she’d be equally disinterested in his

  reappearance. Strange, cold, horrible woman. When I turned the TV on to see the lunchtime

  news, there’d been just a brief mention of Danny.

  Avon Police say Danny O’Connor, the thirty-three-year-old man who’d been missing for

  nearly three weeks, has been found safe and well. It had been feared he might have been

  another victim of a so-called ‘serial killer’, after two men were murdered in Bristol last month.

  Two other murders and a serious assault in London are also being linked to the Bristol killings.

  A woman who was being questioned has now been released without charge. A spokesman said

  that finding whoever was responsible for the murders remained the force’s highest priority.

  I picked up the remote control and turned the television off. There was so much more I

  needed to know and, no doubt, so much more heartache still to come. But for now, I was

  content. Content to sit there, the sunlight pouring into the room, my belly full, my name cleared,

  my husband alive. It was over.

  278

  37

  ‘When we find him, I’m going to throw the bloody book at him.’

  Helena threw an apple core hard at the wastepaper bin next to her desk as if to illustrate

  that intention. It bounced off the rim and landed on the carpet, and she cursed softly under her

  breath and bent to pick it up. It was late on Wednesday afternoon, and the team had gathered

  for an update and to regroup, after the entirely unexpected discovery that Danny O’Connor was

  not, after all, a murder victim but had been the mastermind behind his own successful

  disappearance. Successful until the previous day, of course.

  ‘I want him done for perverting the course of justice, for a start.’

  She was scowling, pacing up and down the narrow gap between two rows of desks in the

  incident room.

  ‘The blood in that bedroom, the little shit … fabricating evidence, letting us think Gemma

  was a killer … that alone could get him years. Wasting police time … and if he’s got false ID

  documents too … any news on his whereabouts yet? Or on the whereabouts of his cousin

  Quinn? I want him too. Coming in here, lying through his teeth to us about Gemma, helping

  Danny with the whole bloody deception … I want them both, and now. So – any news?’

  ‘No, sadly.’

  ‘Not yet boss.’

  ‘Maybe whoever’s after him’s finally caught up with him. Good riddance.’

  The answers came from different parts of the room, and she sighed in frustration. They

  had an all-ports warning – the bulletin circulated to all international ports and airports which

  aimed to identify and apprehend a fleeing suspect – out on both Danny and Quinn O’Connor,

  but so far no sightings had been reported.

  279

  ‘Probably laying low somewhere in the UK,’ said Devon morosely. ‘They’re good at

  hiding, as we know.’

  Helena stopped pacing and stepped towards him, punching him gently on the shoulder.

  ‘Cheer up, mate. Stop beating yourself up for losing Danny. We’ll get him, one of these

  days. And in the meantime, we’re back to square one with these murders. We need to get our

  heads together. Danny and Gemma O’Connor were a distraction that’s taken up far too much

  of our time, OK? Forget them for now.’

  He sighed.

  ‘Yeah. I know you’re right, but I’m still furious with myself. I’m going for some teas,

  want one?’

  ‘Please.’

  Helena gave him a wry, sympathetic smile. Letting Danny escape through his bathroom

  window hadn’t been ideal, but she wasn’t about to take it out on Devon, or on Mike either.

  These things happened. She was more angry – extremely pissed off in fact – about the fact that

  the team had wasted so much time looking for Danny and investigating Gemma. There were

  still some coincidences that were bothering her a little – the physical similarities between

  Danny and the murder victims, for instance – but she knew she would have to let that go and

  move on. He wasn’t a victim, and he’d been responsible for his own disappearance. She had

  more important things to worry about right now; the press, always quick to sniff out a negative

  story, were back on her case, demanding an official update on what the next step in the so-

  called serial killer investigation was going to be, now that the prime suspect had been released

  without charge. She’d wondered briefly about bringing George Dolan, the man who’d claimed

  to have killed all five men, back into custody, but had almost instantly dismissed the idea. He’d

  clearly been lying through his teeth, something that was even more obvious now that Danny

  O’Connor was very much alive despite Dolan’s claims, and her gut told her the hours they’d

  280

  spent with him had been another complete waste of time. And she couldn’t afford to get it

  wrong again; she’d already had to deal with yet another irate call from the Detective Chief

  Super earlier that morning. It had not been a pleasant conversation.

  ‘We just need a break. One tiny little lead. Come on, universe, help me out here,’ she

  muttered, as she sat down at her desk and tapped her mouse. Her screen lit up, an email

  notification flashing in the corner. She clicked on it. It was, finally, the forensics report from

  the scene of the attempted murder of Declan Bailey in London, the attack which had happened,

  coincidentally it now seemed, so close to the pub where Gemma and Quinn had met up. Her

  heart skipped a beat as she started to scan the message. If they’d found DNA on the weapon

  the assailant had dropped … then she stopped scrolling, frowning.

  ‘What? WHAT?’

  ‘What’s up?’

  Devon, who was still only halfway across the room, having paused for a chat with Tara

  as he headed towards the door on his tea mission, turned and started walking back towards her.

  ‘SHIT! This can’t be right. It can’t be, it just doesn’t make any sense …’

  She was standing up now, but still peering at her computer screen, unable to comprehend

  what she was reading.

  ‘Boss – what? What is that?’

  Devon was by her side now, trying to see what she was looking at.

  ‘It’s the forensics report from the assault in London. They’ve found DNA. And look,

  Devon. Look. ’

  He read it too, and gasped.

  ‘What? But that means …’

  Helena took a deep breath.

  ‘Exactly. It means we’ve got this wrong. We’ve got this all wrong.’

  281

  38

  ‘That is so kind of you, thank you. I really appreciate it.’

  I took the fragrant-smelling casserole dish from Jo and smiled. My next-door neighbour

  had just popped round to tell me she’d been keeping up with the news and had been greatly

  relieved to hear that I was free, and that Danny was alive.

  ‘I never met him, obviously, but you were so worried about him that time you came round,

  so I’m really happy it’s all worked out for you,’ she said. ‘We didn’t really know what to do,

  me and Jenny and Clive, while it was all going on, you know? All the press outside and

  everythi
ng. We talked about coming round to see if you were OK, but then we thought, well,

  we didn’t really know you, and … and, well, it was all so awkward. We probably should have

  though, sorry.’

  ‘Oh gosh, please don’t be sorry. I’m the one that’s sorry, so sorry, for all the commotion.

  I did see Clive a few times, and I could tell he felt really uncomfortable. I don’t blame him, or

  you. It was a horrible situation.’

  Jo smiled.

  ‘Well, good. Anyway, it’s over now, and I thought with all the shenanigans you probably

  haven’t had much time to cook. So here you go. It’s just a sausage stew but it generally goes

  down well when I’ve got friends round. Oh gosh – you’re not vegetarian, are you?’

  ‘I’m not. And it smells delicious. Honestly, this is so kind of you. And Albert clearly

  thinks so too. He doesn’t seem to want to stop eating at the moment.’

  I pointed at my dog, who was staring eagerly up at the dish, tail wagging wildly. Jo smiled.

  ‘He’s a sweetie. I’m sure there’s enough there for him to have some too.’

  I smiled back.

  282

  ‘Oh, he’ll make sure of that. He has ways of making me do whatever he wants, trust me.

  But seriously, people are being so, so kind, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. And again,

  I’m so sorry you’ve had to put up with the press outside all this time. They’ve gone now, for

  good hopefully.’

  Jo smiled again, her kind eyes wrinkling at the corners, and pushed an errant strand of

  hair back off her face. She was wearing it loose today, and it hung in a heavy grey curtain down

  her back.

  ‘No problem. And when you’re feeling up to it, come round for a drink. I’ll get Jenny and

  Clive round too. It would be nice to get to know you better.’

  ‘I’d love that, thank you. How do I heat this up?’

  ‘About half an hour at 170 should do it. Just make sure it’s piping hot. And now I must

  go, my friend Ally’s coming round in ten and I’ve got scones in the oven. Pop that in the fridge

  for now. I’ll let myself out. Take care, Gemma.’

  She patted me on the arm and headed out of the kitchen door and down the hallway. As I

  opened the fridge with my elbow and carefully manoeuvred the large dish onto the middle

  shelf, I heard her calling.

  ‘Gemma? Another visitor for you! I’ve let him in, bye for now!’

  A visitor? Clive maybe? I grabbed the towel that hung on a hook next to the sink and

  wiped my hands. Then I turned as I heard footsteps entering the room. A man was standing

  there, a tall man with a beard and glasses, his hair covered by a black beanie hat. Albert turned

  too, paused for a second, then yelped and launched himself at the visitor, yapping frantically,

  leaping in the air with joy, tail a frenetic blur.

  ‘What … who …?’ I stammered. I stared at the man.

  It couldn’t be. Could it?

  ‘Hello, Gemma,’ the man said, and I gasped.

  283

  Danny. It was Danny. He’d come home.

  284

  39

  In the incident room, the air was thick with nervous tension, the low hum of excited

  conversation fading to a whisper and then to silence as Helena strode to the front of the room

  and raised a hand.

  ‘OK, listen up. We now have a suspect, as you all know. The forensic evidence is very

  clear – the person who was interrupted during the attack on Declan Bailey and ran off, dropping

  the hammer being used as a weapon, left DNA behind, as we hoped. And that DNA was a

  match for a profile on the National DNA Database. It’s a shock, yes, but our priority now is to

  find the suspect as soon as possible and see if we can tie that attack to our two unsolved murders

  here, and quite possibly to the two London killings as well. It looks very likely, given the

  similarities between the cases, that this perpetrator is indeed the one we’ve all been looking

  for, and that the press have been right with their speculation all along too.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘What I’m saying is that we’re now officially on the hunt for a serial killer. And now we

  have a face and name too. Just not the face or name any of us were expecting, is it?’

  285

  40

  Danny and I sat at the kitchen table, Albert stretched out underneath it, just like old times.

  Except it wasn’t like old times at all, because my husband had just finished telling me exactly

  how he’d managed to disappear so completely. Eva and I had been right about that, after all.

  He had been hiding in plain sight in Bristol, he had planned it all. He hadn’t told me why, not

  yet – he said he’d come to that later. But he’d told me how. How he’d planned it all for ages,

  worked out exactly how to do it, and how to do it perfectly, and how Quinn, who knew

  everything after all, had helped him. Helped him stage his own death. The blood. Cleaning our

  house with bleach to make it look like he’d barely been there. Making sure I didn’t see that he

  was using a strange, foreign bank card when he paid for things, using the cash he’d stashed

  away as often as he could. Squirreling money away for his future. Finding out the locations of

  all the CCTV cameras in Bristol and choosing our new house because it was in a location where

  he knew there were none. Deleting all my recent photos of him and emails from him from my

  phone. Pulling out of his new job in Bristol, and instead spending his days at the gym, hiding

  away. I’d been right about that too, but the plan, all of it, the whole incredible, organized plan

  which had worked so well, so brilliantly, stunned me. He’d known, too, that the police would

  suspect me of attacking him. He’d hoped they’d suspect me. He’d even confessed, almost as

  an afterthought, that he’d been repeatedly unfaithful throughout our marriage, ‘addicted’ to sex

  with other women, sneaking off for regular hook-ups with people he’d met online, when I

  thought he was working late or off on one of his solitary bike rides. With each new revelation

  came an apology, an expression of regret at what he had put me through, but I barely heard his

  remorseful words, the scale of his deception hitting me with such force that I felt as if I was

  being physically attacked, my chest so tight I was struggling to catch my breath, waves of

  nausea washing over me. If it hadn’t been my life, if I’d read about it in a newspaper, I would

  286

  have thought someone had made it up. But it was my life, and I felt yet again as if somebody

  had just thrown a bomb into it and blown it into a million pieces.

  ‘So go on, Danny. Why, for God’s sake? You’ve told me how you did it, now tell me why.

  Why did you have to run, to pretend you were dead? What can have been so bad, that you had

  to do that? That you had to frame me, for your murder? Me, your wife?’

  My voice was shaking. If, over the past few horrible weeks, I’d ever dared to allow myself

  to imagine this day, the day when Danny would be home, safe and well, I’d never imagined it

  like this. Never imagined that the man I loved so much could treat me like this, use me,

  deliberately put me in such a terrible situation. I’d been suspected of being a serial killer, for

  fuck’s sake, and it was all down to him. I stared at him, waiting for him to explain, to tell me

  why, my heart thu
dding dully in my chest, and I realized with sudden, awful clarity what I had

  suspected for a while; that I had never known this man at all. This man who I had vowed to

  spend my life with, for better or for worse. This man who had made the same vows to me. It

  had been a lie, every single tiny bit of it, and although I had wondered about that in the dark

  days of the past few weeks, now it was real, and I was reeling. In fact, no, not reeling – reeling

  was too small a word for what I was feeling. Reeling sounded kind of fun, a gentle, dizzying

  spin across a dancefloor, maybe. What I was actually feeling was as if my world was spinning

  wildly, completely out of control, at sickening, breakneck speed, and with no return to

  normality ever possible. How did you recover from something like this? How would that ever

  be possible?

  ‘I do love you, you know.’

  I jumped. He’d started talking again, my husband, looking at me with those beautiful,

  chocolate brown eyes, and I tried to drag my attention back to him, away from my own anguish,

  away from the edge of the abyss I was sinking into, the dark, deep place I knew I would plunge

  into fully as soon as he left, the place I doubted I would ever be able to return from.

  287

  ‘What?’ I laughed, a short, hoarse laugh, and he flinched a little. He’d taken his disguise

  off, removing the hat and glasses, peeling the beard from his chin. It sat on the table between

  us like a small, sleeping animal.

  ‘I do. I know you won’t believe that, not now. But I do. All I wanted was a normal life, a

  family. You, me and a couple of kids, living somewhere lovely like here in Bristol. It just didn’t

  work out like that.’

  I snorted.

  ‘Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word love, Danny. Nobody who loves

  someone would treat them the way you’ve treated me. And you still haven’t told me why.

  WHY, DANNY?’

  I shouted the last two words, banging my fists on the table, and he flinched again.

  ‘I’m sorry, so sorry, that you’ve had to go through all this. I’ll never be able to tell you

  how sorry I am. But I thought it was the only way, you know? To properly disappear. You’ll

  understand, when I tell you. Just give me a minute, please. This isn’t easy for me.’

  I shook my head slowly, my anger and misery dissipating for a moment as sheer disbelief