‘He’s not …’ I said, but Eva was pushing me forwards towards the front door, grabbing the keys from my clenched fingers. Moments later we were inside, the door slamming behind us.
‘SHIT,’ Eva said. ‘Not nice being on this side of it, is it? I might be nicer in future, when I’m doorstepping people.’
I nodded, breathing heavily. We’d both spent many hours in press packs like that one, outside so many homes, over the years. It was horrible, horrible, to be on the receiving end. Was this a punishment for my days as a tabloid hack? Some sort of divine retribution? Was it …?
‘Mrs O’Connor.’
DC Stevens was walking down the hall towards us.
‘We’re just about finished here. Sorry about that outside. We think one of your husband’s friends must have talked to the press about him being missing, because it certainly didn’t come from us.’
I took a breath, then another, trying to calm myself.
‘It’s OK. They’re only doing their jobs. Not a pleasant experience though.’
‘I can imagine. And I’m afraid …’ he paused, looking from me to Eva, then back again, ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to brave it again in a minute. DS Clarke wants you back at the station. He has a few more questions for you.’
Chapter 16
‘Bugger.’
DCI Helena Dickens picked up the Saturday edition of the Bristol Post, scowled at it and dropped it into the wastepaper bin beside her desk.
WIFE QUESTIONED IN BRISTOL SERIAL KILLER MYSTERY
The headline was accompanied by a photograph of a distressed-looking Gemma O’Connor being led through a crowd of reporters by DC Frankie Stevens. It had been taken outside her home the previous afternoon when they’d brought her in for further questioning, and while Helena knew there’d been nothing Frankie could have done to stop the press taking pictures, the paper’s front page had instantly put her in a bad mood.
‘This damn “serial killer” thing is really starting to piss me right off. And the nationals have got in on the act now too. Have you seen the front of the Mail?’ she said, turning to Devon, who’d just got in and was perching on the edge of a neighbouring desk, stuffing the last of what looked like a sausage bap into his mouth.
He nodded and swallowed.
‘Yeah, and it’s bloody annoying,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem to matter how many times we tell them there’s no evidence the same person’s responsible for both of our murders. They don’t listen. Serial killer sells papers, I suppose.’
He’d been rolling the brown paper bag that had held his breakfast into a small ball as he spoke, and he raised his hand, aimed at the bin and threw. The paper ball landed on top of the newspaper with a small thud.
‘Yes!’ he said, sounding victorious, then looked back at Helena.
‘And now they seem determined that Danny O’Connor is victim number three, even though the press office has been very clear that there’s no body yet. We’ve managed to keep the bloody scene in Chiswick out of the public domain for now, thank the Lord. And all the stuff about his weird behaviour in the run-up to his disappearance.’
‘Well, that’s something I suppose,’ Helena said morosely. She sighed heavily. She had slept badly, waking in the early hours and worrying about Charlotte and parenthood and what to do about it all. At five, she’d once again given up on sleep and gone out for a run, but even that hadn’t helped to clear her head, and it had made her sodding backache worse again. Once this case was over, she could think about babies and the future properly, but for now … she dragged her focus back to Devon.
‘Any news from the lab yet on the O’Connor house?’
He shook his head.
‘They promised by ten. It’s a bit early yet. How are you feeling about Gemma now, after seeing her again yesterday?’
Helena thought for a few moments, swinging her chair slowly from side to side.
‘I’m not sure. I know we have nothing concrete on her, not yet. It’s all circumstantial, and not everything makes sense. But I absolutely think she’s lying to us. She knows way more than she says she does. And all this rubbish about him living with her here in Bristol for the past few weeks? I reckon if we keep the pressure up, she’ll cave.’
They’d questioned her together again after Frankie had brought her in, and Helena had noted with interest the deterioration in the woman’s appearance.