The Perfect Couple - Jackie Kabler Page 0,87

half-drunk coffee and untouched bowl of porridge, I listened to the latest batch of voice messages I’d been ignoring. The police, it seemed, had held a televised press conference on Monday, and my name had come up numerous times, the assembled journalists grilling the panel of officers about whether I had been questioned about the London murders as well as the Bristol ones and Danny’s disappearance. I’d missed that completely; I hadn’t been online or watched or listened to any news bulletins for days. Eva hadn’t mentioned it when I’d spoken to her either – obviously trying to spare me the grief, bless her, I thought, as I played voicemail after voicemail. Some of the messages were kind, as usual; this time even a couple from friends of Danny’s, hoping that I was OK, telling me that it would all sort itself out, and not to worry because nobody who knew me could possibly think I was guilty of anything like the press were suggesting. Tears sprang to my eyes as I listened – I seemed to be making a habit of bursting into tears pretty much on an hourly basis in recent days – but this time they were tears of gratitude. Not everybody was against me then. The messages from family were different though; my father again, still distraught, but with more than a hint of anger in his voice this time.

‘You have no idea what this is doing to me and your mother, Gemma. It’s a disgrace, what’s going on there. We know you haven’t done anything wrong, but there must be something you can do to stop your name … our name … being dragged through the mud like this. I mean, to be linked with murder … multiple murder … have you got a solicitor yet? Get one, please. Get him to sort this out. We can’t take it much longer, your mother doesn’t even want to go out now, she even missed bridge last night, everyone’s staring … look, I’ve got to go. Bye.’

He’s embarrassed, I thought. Embarrassed. My life’s falling apart and my parents are worried about what their friends at the bridge club think. Thanks, Dad. Thanks so bloody much.

The next and final message was from Bridget. She sounded bored, as if she was just calling me for something to do.

‘Don’t suppose there’s any update on the police investigation,’ she said. ‘I assume you’ll let me know if there is.’

Her tone was calm, disinterested, and it struck me again how strange her reaction to all this had been. She didn’t seem concerned about Danny at all, no hint of emotion in her voice. Fleetingly, I resurrected the possibility I’d briefly considered that Bridget knew where Danny was, that somehow he’d made his way to Ireland and that she was helping him to stay hidden, calling me to see if the police might somehow be on his tail. Then I put the theory out of my mind again. I couldn’t for a second imagine Danny turning to Bridget, or indeed her agreeing to help him if he did. Still, her reaction to his disappearance was weird. Weird, weird, weird. I put the phone down, picked up my cold coffee mug and slowly made myself a fresh drink. I felt lethargic, unmotivated, exhausted, but I knew I had to somehow snap myself out of this, keep going, find some other way of proving that I had nothing to do with whatever the hell had happened to my husband. The street outside had again been empty of press when I’d looked earlier, a fact which, combined with the apparent complete lack of interest from the police in the footage from the gym, was starting to concern me a little. Had something else happened, something I didn’t know about? Was their attention – press and police – currently being directed elsewhere, I wondered? I was pretty sure that if it was to do with my case, with Danny, that somebody would have told me, but I’d have a quick look at the news websites later, I thought, as I poured boiling water into my mug and stirred. But first, there was something I needed to do.

I sat down again, picked up my phone and started scrolling through the address book. I’d had a sudden thought earlier – Quinn, Danny’s cousin. Having now accepted that I hadn’t really known my husband at all, I’d lain in bed that morning wondering if there was anyone out there who

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