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
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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 …’
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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 the 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?’
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‘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?’
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‘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 mo
ment,’ 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.’
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***
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.
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‘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.
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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.
Tel them what you did. If you don’t, you’l 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 …’
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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.
As if in a trance, I let Eva slip my robe around my shoulders and lead me to the kitchen.
But as my body slowly warmed up, and I watched my friend as she bustled around, spooning
chocolate into mugs and heating milk, I felt a tiny ping somewhere deep inside my brain, and
one word began to run through my head over and over again. Quinn. Quinn.
Eva and I had talked for hours when we’d got back from the police station, trying to make
sense of it all, and we’d both come to the same conclusion. If it was Quinn who had given the
police those photos of Danny – and it must have been, who else? – and if it was Quinn who’d
told them I’d been physically abusing my husband, then he was doing it for one reason only.
Quinn was trying to frame me. He wanted to make it look as if I was the one who had hurt
Danny. To lay a false trail, because in reality it was he who was responsible.
I’d batter him for that …
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The more I thought about it, the more I thought it had to have been Quinn who attacked
Danny in our Chiswick bedroom. I still didn’t really understand the reason behind it – him
finding out that Danny was cheating on me just didn’t seem cause enough for such extreme
violence. But the fact that he didn’t react in any way when I mentioned the blood, as if that
wasn’t news to him, as if he already knew all about it … could Quinn and Danny have fallen
out over something else, something much bigger? Danny had, apparently, saved Quinn’s life
many years ago, and maybe that explained why he had always seemed so devoted to my
husband. But maybe something had happened that made even that pale into insignificance.
Maybe Danny had got himself into trouble, and somehow dragged Quinn into it too, and Quinn
; had attacked him out of revenge. Maybe – and we thought long and hard about this, until we
convinced ourselves that it was a real possibility too – maybe it was Quinn Danny was hiding
from in Bristol. Maybe it was Quinn who had driven him away. Maybe he’d even caught up
with Danny, and Danny was now dead at the hands of his own cousin. The dating app, the other
murders, they were all a big coincidence, nothing to do with Danny’s disappearance at all. And
now, after I’d gone to see Quinn, he’d suddenly decided to reinforce the police’s suspicion that
I’d hurt Danny. He wanted them to think it was me.
‘He knew, Eva, about that bike accident. He knew all about it. I remember us meeting up
with him not long afterwards, and Danny pulling up his shirt to show him the bruises. I have
no idea why they took pictures, but Quinn knew what had really happened. So why tell such a
different story, unless he’s trying to make the police think I killed Danny?’
She’d nodded slowly, picking a piece of jalapeno off the slice of pizza on her plate and
rolling it between her fingers. And then she’d said what I’d already started to think but hadn’t
yet dared to voice.
‘And if he’s done that … I think it might have been him who sent that text message too,
Gem. He wanted you to show it to the police. It reinforces their theory that you killed Danny.
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It implies that you did it, and that somebody knows you did it, and they’re trying to make you
confess.’
I swallowed hard.
‘I was just thinking the same thing. But it’s just … it’s just so horrible, Eva. I mean, if
Quinn really has hurt – or even killed – Danny? They were like brothers … so why turn on him
like that?’
We both sat there for a moment, looking at each other, my despair reflected in her eyes.
Then Eva said:
‘You should have told the police, you know. This theory about Quinn being the one who
attacked Danny. Even if they didn’t believe you, you should have told them. Got it on record.’
‘I know. I know. It just suddenly seemed so pointless, all of it. They can’t prove anything,
and neither can I. It’s all just theories.’
We both sat in silence then, the pizza growing cold and greasy on our plates. Finally, Eva
spoke.
‘Gem. Look, I don’t want you to freak out or anything, but you said just now that the
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