me that they thought something now, something they hadn’t thought before. DS Clarke was looking at me with a new interest, the gentleness I’d seen in his eyes previously replaced with something more piercing, as if I was a fascinating exhibit in a museum. DCI Dickens wasn’t looking at me at all, instead staring intently at a page of notes in front of her. Suddenly, she cleared her throat, the rasping sound in the silent room making me jump. She raised her dark blue eyes to mine.
‘Gemma, as you know, yesterday morning DS Clarke here, and another colleague, DC Stevens, who I know you’ve also met, visited your previous address, at number 10 Homefield Avenue, Chiswick.’
She paused, looking at me, and I nodded.
‘Yes, I know. I haven’t heard anything though, so I assume … well, was it any help?’
DCI Dickens glanced down at her notes again, then returned her cool gaze to my face.
‘It was certainly interesting, Gemma. I’m now going to show you some photographs, OK?’
‘Errr … yes, fine.’
The DCI reached for a large envelope which had been lying on the table to the left of her notebook and slid two prints out of it. Slowly, she pushed first one and then the other across the smooth wood.
‘These were taken in the master bedroom of the apartment yesterday. Can you take a look please, and tell me about what you see?’
I glanced down at the two photographs, confused, for a moment not sure what I was supposed to be looking at. Then my stomach lurched.
What the …?
Yes, this looked like our old bedroom, the one we’d spent those heady, early days of our relationship in, wrapped around each other, planning our lives together. But at the same time, it wasn’t the same room at all. The pictures showed some twisted, nightmarish version of our cheerful bedroom, the walls, carpets, even the bed streaked and stained and polluted with something dark and sinister, something that looked viscous and evil. My vision blurred, and I gripped the edge of the table for support, my stomach contracting violently. I was going to be sick, I was sure I was, but first I had to ask, had to know …
‘Is that … is that blood?’
My voice was a strangled whisper. There was a brief silence, then the cup of tepid water was pushed towards me.
‘Have a drink, Gemma.’ DS Clarke’s voice.
Slowly, eyes still glued to the horrific images in front of me, I let go of the table edge with my right hand, reaching for the cup, trying to steady it as I moved it to my lips, swallowing a little water, the liquid spilling over the sides as I shakily put it down again.
‘Are you all right to continue?’ DS Clarke again.
I nodded, the nausea subsiding a little as the water slid down my dry throat.
‘I’m OK, but … these pictures. What … please, what happened there? Has something happened to Danny?’
There were a few moments of silence. Then DCI Dickens spoke, her voice low and calm.
‘That’s what we’d like to know, Gemma. Because, yes, that is blood. A lot of blood. And we know now that it’s Danny’s blood. So, the question is, do you know what happened in that room?’
Danny’s blood? I dragged my gaze away from the photographs. What does she mean, Danny’s blood?
‘What? How would I know? I moved out weeks ago, I haven’t been back … oh God, what’s happened? Please …’
My chest was tightening, a trickle of sweat running down my back, my stomach rolling again. What were they trying to tell me? My brain felt fuzzy. Danny’s blood? Did that mean …?
The DCI was speaking again.
‘Yes, we know you moved out weeks ago, Gemma. On Friday the first of February, you said? And you also told us that your husband stayed on in London and moved here to join you a week later. The thing is, we have a very, very good forensics laboratory here, Gemma. And they’ve told us that that blood, Danny’s blood, was most likely splattered all over your former bedroom approximately five weeks ago.’
She paused, as I stared at her. Five … what?
‘Five weeks ago, Gemma. Which, by my calculations, would mean that Danny did a hell of a lot of bleeding in that room on or around the first of February. Around the time you packed up and moved to Bristol, in fact.’
I shook my head, aware that a low hum had now started up inside my skull. Was I