mean, takeaways. He always paid for those with cash when we had them. And he came home with a new cycle helmet he’d bought only last week. He was making withdrawals, paying for things, of course he was. The bank must have made a mistake. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, DS Clarke.’
His dark eyes were still glued to my face, and for a moment we just stared at each other, my brow furrowed with fear and confusion, his expression calm, unreadable. Then he turned to DC Stevens again.
‘Can you show Gemma the app, Frankie?’
He looked back at me.
‘We’ll forget about the bank account for now. I’m not sure what that all means, but we’ll come back to it later. DC Stevens is going to show you something on his tablet, and I want you to tell me if you’re familiar with it.’
The DC, who’d been clutching the tablet under his arm since he’d arrived, was opening it up, tapping the screen. He crossed the room and sat down beside me on the sofa. He smelled faintly of cigarettes, and I began to feel sick again.
‘What is it?’
He angled the screen towards me.
‘It’s a site called EHU. Have you heard of it?’ he asked. He had a soft Scottish accent, and I realized that this was the first time I’d heard him speak more than a couple of words.
‘EHU? That’s that dating app, isn’t it? The one everyone says is going to be as big as Tinder soon?’
I leaned forwards, puzzled. Why was he asking me about a dating app? He tapped the screen and a myriad of smiling faces began to spin around a logo, and then a log-in box appeared.
‘Hold on, I’ll just …’ the DC tapped in a password, ‘and you’re right, yes, it’s a dating app. EHU, acronym for Elite Hook Ups. I want to show you something.’
‘OK.’
I frowned, squinting at the screen. DC Stevens had clearly logged in and was now swiping rapidly up and down a list of what looked like dozens of profiles. Photographs of men, some close-up head shots, others full-length, men in football kit, in tennis whites, in suits. The …
‘Oh my GOD. What … that’s … that’s Danny!’
DC Stevens stopped swiping, and tapped on the photograph, enlarging it, then turned to look at me. I ignored him, my heart beginning to pound, staring at the screen, my whole body suddenly feeling weak. The name next to the photograph said it was somebody called Sean. But … it was Danny. My Danny, smiling at me from the tablet, wearing his favourite red T-shirt. A selfie, by the look of it, the top of his arm visible, outstretched, chin tilted towards the camera. My husband, Danny.
‘I-I-I’m sorry, I just don’t understand. Why is he on there? I mean, we met online, on Tinder, but that was the only site either of us had ever used, and we both came off it as soon as we started dating …’
Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. I swallowed hard. Please, please, let all this be a horrible mistake. A joke. Call it a joke. It’s not funny, but I’ll laugh anyway. Just tell me …
DS Clarke was talking again, quietly, his tone soothing.
‘Gemma, we know all this is a lot to take in. I need to explain something to you, and it’s going to be worrying, OK, but I don’t want you to panic, because we don’t know anything for definite, right? It’s just one avenue we’re going down, just something we’re looking into. So just stay calm, OK? Take a deep breath.’
I tried to do as he’d asked, but my breath caught in my chest, jagged and painful. I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus.
‘I’m OK. Just tell me, please, whatever it is. I’m having a hard time trying to process all this … the job, the bank account stuff, and now this website … it’s just making no sense. None.’
The DS grimaced.
‘Trust me, we’re struggling almost as much as you must be. OK, so this is our concern. Have you heard about the two recent murders in the Clifton area? One about a month ago, one last week? Two young men?’
I frowned, trying to think, my mind blank. I hadn’t watched the television news in weeks, and I rarely checked the online news sites anymore. I shook my head.
‘No, sorry. I don’t keep up with the news as religiously as I used to – I used to be a news reporter,