The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  ‘Really? Like what? I don’t get this, Maxwell. If he’s innocent, nothing I say will land him in it.’

  ‘That’s not necessarily true. They believe Tom is involved in Katie’s disappearance – and suspected murder – so the things you thought were inconsequential will suddenly be looked at under a microscope. In retrospect, something unimportant can look like the most significant fact. It all depends on the angle the investigating team want to put on it. Do you understand?’

  ‘I suppose,’ I say, not really understanding at all.

  ‘Think of this. In a recent criminal case a couple were suspected of killing their baby, which they both strenuously denied. They said they’d found him in his cot in the morning and were unable to rouse him. During the police interview, the mother talked and talked, and in trying to give a full account, she said too much. Things she thought were usual actions, like the fact she regularly gave the baby Calpol for teething pain. The detectives – and later the newspapers and social media – started to suspect she’d overdosed him. She was accused of accidentally killing her baby and trying to cover it up.’ He pauses for breath. ‘You see? She gave a long-winded story, believing she was being helpful, and that’s what happened. Something entirely innocent on its own was taken apart by police. They made her statement fit the angle they wanted to take – that she was guilty of manslaughter. In your case, it could mean Tom being charged with murder. Don’t elaborate, Beth. Answer with brevity and clarity. It’s easier to remember what you’ve said, too.’

  I shoot him a confused look. ‘You’re making it sound like I’d be lying.’

  ‘I’m not implying that,’ he shakes his head. ‘But you have to be careful. If you want Tom out and back at home with you and Poppy after their time is up, you need to think about what you’re telling the police.’

  ‘Do you believe Tom had something to do with it, Maxwell? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’

  ‘Of course not. Although it’s not my job to believe or disbelieve. Tom has instructed my firm to act on his behalf. If this gets to court—’

  My heart pumps furiously. ‘You said they didn’t have enough evidence to even charge him, and now you’re talking about court,’ I say, pushing myself up from the chair, my hands flat on the table as I lean across it towards Maxwell. ‘And how can we be sure that Katie is dead? Aren’t they still looking for her?’

  ‘All the evidence, or lack of, points to Katie no longer being alive, Beth. She’s just completely disappeared. At first her friends accepted she had just gone travelling, but it seems her only communication with them was via email, and they began to suspect they weren’t even from her. She never used a credit card to buy anything abroad. There’s no trace. So, with no proof of life, I’m afraid they’re searching for a body.’

  ‘Tom had nothing to do with her disappearance, or her supposed death, Maxwell,’ I say. ‘You said you’d get him released.’

  ‘I know what I said, Beth,’ he sighs. ‘Surprisingly, given that DI Manning is such an experienced officer, he’s playing silly buggers, not disclosing all the evidence to me. I’m afraid to say I think the investigating officers are looking pretty smug with themselves. I’ve a bad feeling they might have enough for the CPS to allow them to bring charges: they’re holding something back and at first I thought it was because what they had was weak, but now I’m not so certain.’

  It takes several seconds for this information to sink in, and when it does, I feel my legs give. I sit back down heavily, shaking my head vehemently. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth. It’s just a might, but I wanted to prepare you for it. We’ll do everything we can to ensure we get him back home to you and Poppy.’

  I’m worried about Tom, but I can’t stop thinking about what this means for me. It dawns on me that if Tom is charged, I’m going to be the most looked-at person in Lower Tew.

  The wife of a suspected murderer.

  Chapter 19

  BETH

  Now

  Maxwell was right. After he left, the police were on the phone within the hour, asking when a convenient time to chat would be. I’ve managed to put them off and said tomorrow after lunch would suit me. They asked me to go to the station, but after I explained I didn’t have anyone to pick Poppy up from nursery, they agreed to come to the cottage. Leaving it until tomorrow gives me time to think about everything Maxwell talked about and consider how to frame my answers, too. Clearly I’m going to need it.

  Earlier, Maxwell rattled off the types of questions he thought would come up and, despite everything he kept telling me, I said too much every time I tried to answer one. ‘Too much waffle,’ he said. Waffle which, if he is to be believed, could make things worse for Tom.

  Pushing them to wait also allows the hours to tick away. The less time they have to gather evidence, the more likely the ninety-six hours Maxwell said they’d push for will elapse and they’ll have to release him.

  I’ve tidied the kitchen, put Poppy’s toys away and now, as I’m about to crash on the sofa and put my feet up, there’s another knock on the door. I attempt to quiet the panicked voice inside my head telling me it’s the police trying to catch me out by turning up early.

  But it could be.

  Shit.

  I take a deep, juddering breath in and open the door, leaving the chain across. I expect to see two stern-faced detectives as I had on Monday night, but it’s just one person standing there. I’m relieved it’s not police, but somewhat shocked to see Adam instead.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. ‘I realise this is an uninvited intrusion, but I … well, I heard about Tom’s arrest.’ He squints, as though he’s afraid he’ll get shouted at. ‘If you want me to mind my own bloody business, then please, just tell me to do one. But, in case no one has asked you how you are, or whether you need any support, I thought I’d be that person. I know what it’s like to be avoided, remember?’ His smile now is wide, reaching his eyes. His kind eyes. He radiates warmth. So much so, I burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry.’ He raises both hands in front of him, palms up, and takes a step back as though he’s physically caused me harm. ‘I really didn’t mean to upset you, Beth …’ He looks mortified.

  ‘No. No. It’s fine – it’s just been a very long day. You’ve not upset me.’ I close the door a bit so I can unlatch the chain, then open it wide and step aside to let him in. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry for crying.’

  ‘Don’t be. I cry all the time,’ he says. I laugh through my tears. Then I fret as I realise he’s not joking.

  ‘Oh, you’re serious. I – I didn’t mean to laugh. You’ve every right to cry.’

  Now Adam laughs.

  ‘Let’s start again,’ he says. ‘I’m popping over to offer my shoulder to cry on, if you so wish. Or to chat, share a moan, listen while you freak out – or whatever might be helpful to you at this point.’

  ‘All of the above, I think.’

  He nods. ‘Good. Then I’m glad I didn’t bottle it at the top of your path.’

  ‘You were thinking about it?’

  ‘Oh, God, yes! I don’t know you very well. I mean, you seem lovely. You were amazing with Jess yesterday and you offered to have her over here, which was so kind of you. But still, you could’ve bitten my head off for all I know.’

  ‘Yes, that was a distinct possibility, I guess. Now, can I offer you a drink? Where is Jess?’

  ‘I have a wonderful neighbour called Constance, who likes to help me out sometimes. She’s at mine looking after her. I very rarely call upon her of an evening, but thought this was an occasion when I should. And yes – I’d love a drink. Do you have hot chocolate?’

  ‘I was personally going for something with high-volume alcohol content, but if you’d like an “Options” drinking choc … that’s all I’ve got?’ I put my head on one side.

  ‘God.’ He shakes his head. ‘You must think me a real bore for even suggesting hot chocolate. But it�
�s Jess’s favourite and I’ve taken to drinking it with her now. Better than opening a bottle of whiskey, which is a slippery slope when you’re on your own and responsible for a three-year-old.’

  ‘Of course. I feel like a terrible parent now! Hot chocolate it is,’ I say. I don’t think he’s a bore at all. I think it’s commendable he refrains from drinking and puts Jess first all the time. He’s clearly a thoughtful and responsible dad.

  ‘I wasn’t implying you were a bad parent because you wanted a drink,’ he says, his eyes wide. ‘Oh, dear. I’ve certainly got off on the wrong foot.’ He’s flustered; flashes of red track up his throat. He rubs his face.

  ‘Hey, Adam. Stop,’ I say, walking into the kitchen. Adam follows. ‘You’re here. Do you see anyone else?’ I wave my hand around. ‘The police have invaded my home today, searching for evidence to condemn my husband.’ I hear the catch in my voice and cough to cover it up. Adam’s eyes widen but I carry on speaking so he doesn’t ask about it. I don’t want to cry again. ‘Having company right now is probably the best thing for me and I don’t have anyone else to lean on. Don’t worry about what you say – I’m no better than you at this stuff, trust me. Remember at the café when I said things I immediately regretted? You said you didn’t mind.’

  Adam nods and takes a deep breath, appearing to compose himself following my shock revelation. ‘No, I didn’t mind, you’re right. It’s not about what people say is it? It’s their actions. It’s someone taking time to talk, offer their ear. That’s what matters.’

  ‘Exactly. And I feel the same. I’m grateful you made the decision to pop over.’ I find the sachets of hot chocolate and grab two mugs. It’s good that Adam’s here – I’d have hit the bottle and had at least two glasses by now if I’d been left to my own devices.

  ‘Good – then I’m glad I made it to the door.’

  ‘Me too. You being here will help take my mind off the fact the detectives want to speak with me tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, wow.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Heavy. You must be so anxious, especially after today’s search. Look, I’m not here after the inside scoop – you don’t have to tell me anything.’

  ‘I know. Thank you, Adam. I trust you.’

  Probably more than I trust my husband right now.

  Chapter 20

  BETH

  Now

  Last night helped. Adam was every bit the good listener he promised, and although I didn’t divulge all my current feelings – or the horror I felt at having my home ransacked by so many people – it felt good to share some of my fears; vocalise them to someone other than a solicitor. We ended up talking more about Camilla than Tom. He’s clearly been devastated by losing her, especially the way it happened – a severe anaphylaxis reaction. He said she’d become complacent about her nut allergy, having not had any issues for years, and she didn’t religiously check labelling. She carried an EpiPen, so there’d never been any real worry about something so tragic happening.

  He said he talks about her all the time with Jess, but he can’t open up to anyone about how he feels deep down; how it’s impacted his life; how lonely he is. He told me how he misses adult company and conversation, but he doesn’t want to put his needs ahead of Jess’s. Poor Adam. As it turned out I think he needed me more than I needed him. Although at least he took my mind off my own situation. He’s going to bring Jess into the café again, make it more of a regular thing so she can have fun, but also so he can interact with adults. I think it’s the perfect solution for him.

  I wonder what my perfect solution is.

  Poppy was reluctant for me to leave her at nursery this morning. Maybe she can sense my growing anxiety. I saw the group of mums from yesterday and had a quick chat, careful to avoid any mention of the police search or Tom’s arrest. They didn’t speak about it either even though I bet they know about both events and are dying to find out more. After my chat with DS Manning and DC Cooper in a few hours, I should have a clearer picture of where all this is heading. Then I’ll prepare for the next stage.

  If it all goes well, perhaps Tom will be home later. We’ll go back to our regular lives. It’s so weird to think that a few days ago everything seemed happy, easy and carefree. How quickly things can change. In an instant, your path can take a sharp turn and lead you somewhere you never anticipated.

  I’ll be glad once this police chat is over. At least they’ve agreed to carry it out at home, rather than the station. I couldn’t face the added humiliation of that – although it does mean the neighbours might spot them coming to the cottage. Again.

  ‘Morning,’ I say as I step inside the café. Two tables are taken: people enjoying drinks and cakes. No one is doing any pottery painting. The customers, none of whom I immediately recognise as locals, return polite greetings and watch me as I walk through. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  ‘Hey, Lucy. Everything all right here this morning?’ I ask as I pop on an apron. Lucy stands behind the counter, refreshing the plates with new pastries and baked goodies.

  ‘Yeah. Although, it’s a bit odd.’

  ‘Oh? Odd how?’ I have a feeling I know where this is going.

  ‘The customers were queuing! Waiting for me to open. Just seemed a bit eager to me. And they aren’t from Lower Tew.’ Lucy narrows her eyes.

  As I thought. Already news is travelling; curiosity is building. Sightseers. And I don’t think they’re here for the views or the pottery. Nausea catches me off-guard and I hold my stomach. ‘Well, any custom is money in my pocket,’ I say, giving a forced laugh.

  ‘Yes, well. Let’s hope it doesn’t become a circus around here. This is a lovely, small community – the locals wouldn’t want it becoming known for anything other than its picturesque cottages and fabulous pub,’ she says, before adding with a strained smile, ‘And pottery café, of course.’

  ‘Look, Lucy – it’s the last thing I want too, you know.’ I can’t keep the hurt from my tone. Lucy has worked for me for over a year and we’ve always got on well. I’d hate for this to affect our working relationship; I need her. ‘I’m certain it’ll all blow over. I’m talking to the police later, I’m hoping that will help clear some things up. Tom is a good man,’ I say, quickly wiping a rogue tear with my sleeve.

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, especially after you’ve had such bad news.’

  ‘So, you’ve heard the latest then?’

  Lucy puts her arm around me and lays her head on my shoulder. ‘It’s a village, Beth,’ she says as way of explanation. I sigh, and she continues. ‘I love working here, and I love living in Lower Tew. I get a little over-protective of the place sometimes.’

  ‘I know, hun. And it’s lovely that you care about your community so much; I love your passion. It’s why I hired you, after all. It’ll all be okay, I promise.’

  It’s a promise I instantly regret making. How do I know it’ll all turn out okay? There’s no guarantee Tom will be released at the end of the detention period. Nothing is certain.

  I give myself a shake and a good talking to.

  It is certain. Of course everything will be fine.

  The police can’t have enough evidence to charge him – they just can’t. Be positive. Unless something to contradict it comes up, I have to show the world that everything will be all right. For now, for my own sake and Poppy’s, I am working on the assumption Tom is completely innocent, and there’s no chance he could possibly be charged with such a terrible crime.

  The truth will prevail.

  Chapter 21

  BETH

  Now

  I’ve been sitting twiddling my thumbs, literally, for the past half an hour. Clock-watching. Waiting. Why are they so late? Is it because they’ve been tied up with getting permission from a magistrate to extend Tom’s custody time? He’s not home and their thirty-six hours was up earlier, so I’m guessing they’ve succeeded. Maybe they’re just late on purpose to put me on the back foot.

  Breathe.
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  This morning’s breakfast is still churning in my stomach; my digestion has gone all to pot. If they don’t hurry, I’ll be late picking Poppy up from nursery, too. I already feel guilty enough leaving Lucy on her own for longer than usual; I don’t need the extra stress of worrying about letting Poppy down on top.

  Christ’s sake – hurry up.

  The heavy knock makes me freeze. This is it.

  Come on, Beth. You’ve got this.

  I clench and unclench my fists a few times, jiggle my shoulders to loosen them, take some deep breaths, then calmly walk to the door.

  ‘Mrs Hardcastle,’ DC Cooper says, tilting her chin up. I swallow hard, then invite her in. Just as I think I’m getting away with it being just one detective, the large figure of DI Manning sweeps around the corner and strides up my path. He gives a curt hello and follows Cooper inside.

  ‘We met briefly yesterday, as you might recall,’ she says. As if I’m likely to have forgotten that experience. ‘I’m Detective Constable Imogen Cooper, working with DI Manning. Thank you for seeing us today.’

  I note Cooper’s eyes darting all over the room, taking in every minute detail. Didn’t she already do that yesterday? Is this for show now? Her demeanour is doing nothing for my nerves.

  ‘If you’d like to come into the kitchen, I’ve got fresh coffee brewing and I’ve baked cookies.’ The smell of my lemon, ginger and white chocolate chip cookies is wafting through the cottage. They usually go down a storm with the customers so I’m hoping it’ll soften the detectives up a bit.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says. I think I catch a hint of a smile, but I could be wrong. It’s hard to tell – her expression hasn’t really altered since she walked in the door. I have the feeling I’m in for a rough ride. I look to DI Manning and smile. Thankfully, he reciprocates, and I allow my racing mind to slow a little.

  They take a seat side by side at the farmhouse table and get notebooks and pens out. I try to focus on pouring the coffee. My hands are trembling but there’s nothing I can do about that. Surely nerves are common – and expected – in a situation such as this? They won’t think it’s unusual, or a sign that I’m worried, will they? As much as I would like to stretch this moment out, put off the inevitable questions, I know I can’t afford to play for time.