front of him. He braked but the bike slid on the ice and he went over the handlebars, straight onto the bonnet of the car. He cracked a rib and got that awful bruising all down his right side. It lasted for weeks. Who on earth said this was domestic violence?’
She sounded calmer now, the flush in her cheeks lessening.
Helena reached across and picked up the photographs, then said: ‘And this accident was reported to the police?’
‘Well …’ Gemma hesitated. ‘No, it wasn’t actually. By the time Danny had managed to get himself up the car had driven off, and it was all so quick he didn’t get the number plate or even the make or model. And it was dark and quite late – he’d been doing a late shift at work. There was nobody else around, no witnesses. He thought about reporting it anyway, but in the end he didn’t bother. He said he didn’t see the point.’
‘I see.’ Helena raised an eyebrow.
‘Look, what’s going on here? Who told you … oh, hang on. Hang on.’
Gemma shook her head slowly, a look of incredulity on her face. She turned to Devon.
‘When I mentioned going to see Quinn in London, you said you already knew about it. And you said you didn’t have me followed, which means the only way you could know about my meeting with Quinn is if he told you about it. Shit, it was him, wasn’t it? He told you I’d been abusing Danny! Why on earth would he?’
Suddenly, she was on her feet, her face bright red again. Devon made a move to stand up too, but Helena put a restraining hand on his arm.
‘Just a moment,’ she whispered.
Gemma had begun pacing up and down the small room, muttering under her breath.
‘What is it, Gemma? Is there something you want to share with us?’ Helena asked. Her tone was low and steady, but Devon could tell exactly what she was thinking.
Come on, Gemma. Now’s the time. Tell us. The truth, this time.
Gemma stopped her pacing. She looked at Helena for a long moment, then at Devon. And then she laughed.
‘I give up,’ she said simply. ‘No, I have nothing to share with you. You don’t believe a word I say anyway. What’s the point, in any of this? Is there anything else? Anything else I can do for you? Any more ridiculous accusations you want to throw at me, without a shred of evidence? Because if not, and if I’m not under arrest, I’d like to go home now please.’
***
When she was gone, to his chagrin her friend Eva glaring at Devon as he showed a clearly very upset Gemma back out into the reception area where she’d been waiting, he and Helena retired to the canteen for a tea and a regroup. When he filled her in about the threatening text message Gemma had received, Helena pursed her lips.
‘Somebody else thinks like I do then. That she did it, and it’s time she confessed. Either that, or she sent it to herself. She’d do anything to draw our attention elsewhere, that one. That random guy on the CCTV footage at the gym that she tried to convince Frankie was her husband? And now that hasn’t worked she’s trying to make herself into a victim, trying to make out someone’s out to get her. She was right when she said we don’t believe a word she says – I certainly don’t believe that flimflam about Danny having a bike accident. Very convenient that it was never reported, wasn’t it?’
Devon swallowed the piece of chocolate brownie he’d just put in his mouth.
‘The alleged domestic abuse was never reported either though. So yet again, we can’t prove it. We can’t prove any of it, boss.’
Helena stretched her arms above her head, arching her back, and groaned.
‘Bloody back’s killing me again. Still haven’t managed to find the time to make an appointment with anyone to sort it out,’ she said.
Then she reached out and broke a large chunk off Devon’s brownie.
‘Oi!’ he said, with mock outrage. ‘You said you didn’t want anything to eat! And you don’t even eat chocolate. Get your own, Muriel!’
She scowled.
‘I hoped you’d forgotten about my delightful middle name.’
He stuck his tongue out at her, and she grinned.
‘As for not eating chocolate, I do today. Share and share alike, boy. And as for not being able to prove any of it …’