The Perfect Couple. Jackie Kabler
This makes no sense,’ I said aloud. I put the phone down on the cushion beside me and sat still, thinking. They must be somewhere, but where? Had they been saved into a different file or something? But didn’t photos automatically get saved into the photos file? Something had clearly gone wrong, and while I wasn’t too bad with technology, I didn’t know enough to know where to look next. And the police had asked for a new photo today, if possible. What was I going to do? Give them one from our London days, I supposed. I had a few of those on my phone, and they’d be recent enough. I took a deep breath, trying to quell the anxiety, then picked up the phone again, checking for emails this time. Maybe, just maybe. But just like the previous twenty or fifty or a hundred times I’d checked, there were no new messages in my inbox. Tears suddenly sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t take this much longer. Four days. FOUR. Where was he? Was he lying injured somewhere, unable to get help? Had he just left, without saying a word? Left me, for somebody else, as people kept suggesting? Or … was he … was he dead? My heart began to pound, my breath suddenly coming in ragged gasps.
Stop it. Stop it, Gemma.
Thinking like that wouldn’t help anyone. My hand shaking slightly, I scrolled down my messages, looking for the last email Danny had sent me, the one from Thursday night, feeling a sudden desperate urge to read his words again, wondering if I’d missed something, some sub-text, some clue as to where he might have gone. Shit, where was his last email? I couldn’t find that now. Surely I hadn’t deleted it by mistake? Pretty sure I hadn’t – soppily, I never deleted messages from my husband – I clicked onto my deleted messages folder, putting Danny’s name into the search box.
No messages found.
I knew I hadn’t deleted it. But where was it then? I returned to my inbox and did the same search. This time, a string of emails from Danny appeared, but the most recent was dated Wednesday, the thirtieth of January, weeks ago. What was going on? We’d exchanged dozens of emails since we’d moved to Bristol, since Danny had been phone-less. Where were they all?
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ I threw the phone hard onto the carpet, and sat back, covering my face with my hands, the tears flowing freely now. I needed to read Danny’s last email, I needed to. What was wrong with my phone? Or was it my email provider? Was it having some sort of problem? I’d have to phone, ask …
I jumped as a sharp ringing sound interrupted my frantic thoughts. The doorbell. Danny? Could it be Danny, back home, keys lost somewhere? From the kitchen, an excited yelp seemed to imply that Albert was hopeful too.
‘Danny!’ I rushed from the room, pounding down the hallway, almost tripping over Albert who was suddenly scampering past me, my fingers fumbling with the keys, my heart thumping painfully against the wall of my chest.
‘Dann— oh!’
‘Mrs O’Connor, we’re sorry to disturb you … are you OK?’
DS Devon Clarke was standing on the doorstep, broad-shouldered in a black coat, his brow creasing as he looked at me quizzically. Beside him, a smaller, younger man with a sharp nose and small rectangular glasses was also staring at me. I took a step backwards, catching a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror, suddenly aware that I was still crying, yesterday’s un-washed-off mascara streaking my cheeks, my hair wild and unbrushed.
‘Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. I thought … I thought you might be Danny. I still haven’t heard anything, and I was getting myself into a state … and oh no, please, please don’t tell me you’re here with bad news, please …’
I suddenly realized that two police officers on my doorstep was probably not a good thing, and the panic began to rise again.
‘Please …’
DS Clarke was shaking his head, stepping into the hall and reaching out a hand towards me, patting me on the shoulder.
‘No, no, nothing like that. Don’t worry, OK? We’ve just been making some enquiries and discovered something a little odd we need to talk to you about, and we thought it would be easier to chat face to face. But it’s nothing to panic about, so calm down, all right? Come on, let’s go and sit down. This is DC Stevens …’ he gestured behind him at the smaller man, who nodded, giving me a hint of a smile, ‘and if you point him in the direction of the kitchen he’ll go and make us a nice cup of tea and then we’ll have a chat, OK? Is your dog all right with strangers, by the way?’
I looked down at Albert, who was standing protectively in front of me, gulped in some air and nodded.
‘Sorry, I’m just … yes, he’s fine. Albert, go to your bed. It’s not Danny. Go, Albert. Kitchen’s down there, just follow the dog. I was just in the sitting room, I’ll show you.’
After a moment’s hesitation Albert obeyed and trotted off down the corridor, his head low, his disappointment clear. DC Stevens followed him as instructed, and I staggered back into the lounge and slumped onto the sofa again, my legs feeling weak and wobbly. DS Clarke perched on the chair opposite, and for a couple of minutes made small talk, asking me if I’d heard anything at all from Danny, then changing the subject entirely, admiring the large bay windows, commenting on the bronze sculpture that sat on a side table and asking me to remind him how long we’d lived in Bristol. But when DC Stevens reappeared, bearing three steaming mugs balanced on the tray we kept on the kitchen counter, the mood suddenly changed.
‘Mrs O’Connor, we’ve been making some enquiries this morning, into your husband’s disappearance, as promised. We started by visiting his workplace, ACR Security?’
His tone was suddenly serious, and a chill ran through me. I nodded.
‘OK? And?’
He paused. ‘Well, this is the weird thing. It’s not his workplace.’
I stared at him, not understanding.
‘What do you mean? Of course it is. I mean, he hasn’t been there long, but certainly a few weeks. He would have started on the …’ I thought for a moment, trying to remember the exact date. ‘Well, I actually moved down to Bristol a week before Danny did, because he had stuff to finish up in London; I can’t remember if I told you that? But he came to join me on the evening of the eighth of February, that was a Friday. He started at ACR on the Monday, so that would have been the eleventh. I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean by it not being his workplace?’
DS Clarke glanced at his colleague for a moment, and then both turned back to look at me.
‘What I mean, Mrs O’Connor, is that ACR say your husband was offered and did accept a job with them, which he was indeed due to start on the eleventh of February. But a couple of weeks before that date, he emailed them to say that he wouldn’t be taking up the position after all, due to a change in circumstances. Needless to say they weren’t very happy about him changing his mind, especially at such short notice, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. Therefore, you see, ACR Security was not your husband’s workplace. So … can you help us out with that, at all?’
‘And she had no explanation for it whatsoever? She really didn’t know?’
Helena, sitting on the edge of Devon’s desk, looked down at him and frowned. He swallowed a mouthful of tea, grimaced, and put his mug down carefully on the coaster next to his computer keyboard.
‘Nope. She looked absolutely gobsmacked, to be honest. She said as far as she knew he was excited about the new job and really enjoying it. Left for work early every morning, came home usually after six, sometimes a lot later. Been doing it every weekday since they moved. Which begs the question, if he wasn’t going to work at ACR Security, what was he doing?’
Helena nodded slowly.
‘Another job somewhere,