more solid. And what possible motive would she have for killing our two local victims?’
She paused, and blew out some air, staring at the photograph of Gemma O’Connor, and thinking. Then she turned back to Devon.
‘Ridiculous, eh? I know. Far too many ifs and buts. But just do me one favour, Devon? Talk to her again and see where she was on the nights Mervin and Ryan were killed. And while you’re at it, check and see if there’ve been any similar, unsolved murders in London in the past year or so. Humour me, OK?’
Devon nodded slowly.
‘Sure. You’re the boss.’
Chapter 15
Friday dawned bright and mild, the birds singing joyously outside my bedroom window, the clouds little white powder puffs in a baby blue sky. It was as if spring had suddenly decided to arrive in all its glory overnight, something which would normally fill me with delight after a long cold winter. Instead, I felt numb, low, my head and limbs aching. Albert, who usually slept downstairs, had somehow crept onto my bed during the night, his warm body stretched across my feet, tiny snores emanating from his glossy black nose. I’d stayed still for as long as I could, not wanting to wake him, trying to organize my thoughts, grateful that at least I’d somehow managed to sleep for a few hours, undisturbed by any more nightmares. Finally, my right foot beginning to cramp, I’d gently shaken my dog off it, and he’d yawned and stretched and licked my face, then suddenly leapt from the bed, running through the half-open door and back downstairs as if remembering he shouldn’t have been up there in the first place.
When I’d finally arrived home from the police station late the previous night Eva had been anxiously waiting in the living room, but I’d brushed her questions aside, telling her I was too tired to speak, and that I’d fill her in on everything in the morning. When I finally crawled out of bed and made it, still in my pyjamas, hair a tousled mess, to the kitchen, she simply handed me a mug of tea and a newspaper.
‘Popped out while you were sleeping. He’s on the front page, Gem. Someone’s obviously been talking. There’s not much detail, nothing about all the weird stuff about his job or his bank account or anything like that, it just says he’s missing and remarks on his resemblance to the two murder victims. But still, it’s out there now. I’m so sorry.’
FEAR IN BRISTOL AS A THIRD MAN VANISHES
I read the headline, the knot which had begun to form in my stomach again the moment I’d woken up tightening painfully. Then I looked at the big photo of Danny, instantly recognizable as one taken at a friend’s wedding about eight months ago. Where had they got that one from? And ‘Fear in Bristol’? Fear? Terror was closer to what I was starting to feel now. Fear wasn’t a big enough word for this, not big enough for this all-consuming anguish, this confusion, the growing sense that everything around me was spinning faster and faster, completely out of control. Knowing I couldn’t hide what was happening for much longer, and that the press were bound to get hold of it, I’d finally called my parents on the way home last night, trying to play things down, telling them only that Danny had gone missing, trying to reassure them that I was certain he would be home soon and not to believe anything they might hear or read in the papers. They were distraught, of course, my dad offering to get on a train first thing in the morning, but I eventually persuaded him to stay put.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘My friend Eva’s here, and it’ll all blow over in a few days, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up. I’ll keep you posted, OK? I love you both. It’ll all be all right.’
My parents lived in Cornwall, where I’d been born, neither of them in the best of health. My dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer a year earlier, and although his treatment had gone well and was keeping the disease at bay, he had aged noticeably in recent months, his frail appearance a shock when I had last visited just before Christmas. My mother had always been a delicate woman (‘I suffer terribly with my nerves’ was her constant refrain), and not for the first time in my life I wished I had a sibling,