The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  ‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the day after he’s questioned about the disappearance of an ex-girlfriend, he goes AWOL. Do you?’

  ‘It happened – what – eight years ago?’ He leans back in his chair, fingers drumming on the armrests. ‘I don’t see how the two things can be linked. Other than maybe he was upset and wanted time out on his own. To process it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I say.

  But I know that’s not it. I know there’s another reason he lied to me. And I won’t rest until I find out what it is.

  Chapter 51

  BETH

  Now

  I wander aimlessly for about half an hour after leaving Alexander, my hopes of finding some nugget of information dashed. Without knowing how, I find myself outside our old flat. I stand on the pavement, head tilted, looking up at the third-floor balcony. It looks just the same from the exterior. Moving in with Tom had been the obvious choice back then because the rent on my flat was extortionate given its size. ‘Dingy’, Tom had said. I guess he was right, although I loved my little flat. Probably because it was the first place I could afford to live in alone, without uni housemates or a flatmate. Full independence. It was brilliant. It took a while to adjust to living with someone again.

  We had happy times here, though. My memories are good ones, on the whole. I was thrilled about being able to upsize when we moved to the Cotswolds, but it didn’t stop me feeling apprehensive about packing up and leaving here. I remember that Tom was stressed in the weeks prior to us moving out, so I suppose he also felt some reluctance to make the huge move. We had Poppy, though, and we knew we were doing the right thing for her future. I do question now, as I stand here, whether there was more to Tom’s stress than I thought. This was the flat he and Katie had also spent a lot of time in. She practically lived here, from what he told me when we first met. It wasn’t just his memories of us he was leaving – it was his memories of her, too. We even found a few things of hers when we were packing.

  I shiver.

  Don’t think about it.

  I pull my thoughts away from the past and cross the road. I should think about making my way back to the station so I’m not too late picking up Poppy from Julia’s. I’m frustrated that I’ll be going home without any new inkling as to what Tom was doing and why he felt the need to lie. I should’ve thought this trip through and made a plan. Maybe I’ll visit again. If I leave it until next week, Jimmy will be back from his holiday. Perhaps he’ll be more helpful than Alexander.

  As I weave through people on the walk back to the station, I feel my mobile vibrating in my pocket.

  ‘Hey, Lucy. Everything okay?’ I duck down a quieter road, leaning against the wall to take her call. ‘Sorry, I’m in London – just …’ Just what? What should I tell her?

  Her voice cuts in anyway, so I don’t need to think up a reason.

  ‘Beth. The police have been asking questions.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘At the café?’ My mind goes blank for a moment, unable to imagine a reason why they’d be there.

  ‘No, not here. Not me.’

  I pull at the neckline of my blouse, suddenly feeling hot. ‘Who, then?’

  ‘They were wanting information from Oscar.’

  ‘What?’ A flurry of anxiety sweeps through me. ‘What’s Oscar got to do with all of this?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Beth. But they were particularly keen to hear about the borrowed car.’

  My mind is a whirl of confusion as it attempts to make sense of this statement. ‘We haven’t borrowed any car from Oscar.’

  ‘It appears Tom did.’ Lucy pauses. I hear her draw breath. ‘On Tuesday morning.’

  Chapter 52

  BETH

  Now

  Julia’s expression is both tense and relieved when I get there to pick up Poppy.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ she says as she flings the door open. ‘Who knew one extra child would make such a difference? People assume because I “cope” with triplets that I’ll find another a breeze.’ She turns and heads to a room off the hallway. I follow, feeling terrible. I’ve clearly caused her harried state by asking her to have Poppy.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Julia. I’ve over-stepped the mark—’

  ‘No no, sweetie, not at all. I really was – am – happy to help any way I can. I just need a stiff drink and a lie down after it, that’s all. Four little ones running riot isn’t exactly calming.’

  I laugh. ‘I’ll be sure to drop around a few bottles of fizz as a thank you.’

  ‘A secret getaway, alone, to a spa would be better.’ Julia sweeps her hair up and secures it with a scrunchie into a ponytail. Even stressed out she looks as though she belongs in a beauty advert or something. She shouts for Poppy, then brings her attention fully back to me. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ She smiles sympathetically.

  ‘Er … no. Not really.’ I sigh. I don’t tell her about Lucy’s call. I’m still too wound up and I haven’t been able to get it straight in my head despite my long journey home. I need to digest it; try and figure out its relevance. Why would Tom borrow a car when he had one in perfect working order?

  The reason can only possibly be a bad one.

  ‘That’s a shame. Maybe it’s a good thing, Beth,’ she says, her face serious. ‘No telling what you might unearth. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.’

  A cold sensation claws up my spine. ‘So, you think he did do the terrible thing he’s accused of,’ I say. I don’t pose it as a question, as it’s clear she thinks Tom’s guilty. She wouldn’t have said that otherwise. Her face pales.

  ‘I’m sorry. Look, I have no idea if he is or isn’t capable of … hurting someone. All I’m saying is, do we ever really know a person? I mean, everything about them? What goes on in the darkest recess of their minds? There has to be a question in your head that it’s a possibility, or I assume you wouldn’t have jetted off to London today. I’m not judging, Beth. I’m in no position to do that. All I’m saying is, leave it to the police. Let them do their job. The villagers of Lower Tew have got your back regardless.’

  Tears prick my eyes. I’m grateful for the support Julia is giving me – and it’s reassuring to hear her say she’ll be on my side whatever the outcome. But it does worry me that she thinks Tom is guilty. And it worries me that although she is saying the right things to me – to my face – she could very well be saying entirely different things to people behind my back. The fact the nursery mums were saying I must know, that I must be aware of what Tom’s done, sits heavily within me, like a malevolent spirit crouching, waiting.

  ‘Thanks, Julia. I really can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done today.’ I decide not to embellish further.

  ‘What are friends for?’

  Poppy rushes up to me and flings her arms around my legs. ‘I thought you were gone,’ she says, burying her face in my jeans.

  ‘Of course not, Poppy. I had to work longer today, that’s all. I’m sorry.’ I lift her up, squeezing her tightly and nuzzling my nose into her neck.

  ‘Are we climbing the wall again?’ Her face lights up. I’m glad she saw that as a bit of an adventure earlier, but I’m hoping it’s not something we’ll have to repeat daily.

  ‘I’m a little tired for climbing. Maybe we can just go in the front door now,’ I say, looking to Julia with my eyebrows raised, mouthing ‘Can we?’ She nods. Thank goodness. I assume the journalists will be back, though. I’m certain they won’t give up that easily.

  Reaching the road to home, we walk slowly towards our cottage. Cautiously, in my case. I relax when I note there are no extra cars parked, or people outside. The place is in darkness. I immediately take Poppy upstairs to bed. It’s been a long day for her. It’s been long for me, too.

  I think about my next move while listening to the gentle hum of the microwave – yet another meal for one.

  Tom borrowed a car from Oscar’s garage. Why? As much as I’m loath to admit it, I think Julia is ri
ght. Do we ever really know everything about a person? I know the answer: of course we don’t. I know a lot about Tom; he knows a lot about me. But he certainly doesn’t know every little thing about me, so therefore it’s safe to assume I don’t know every little thing about him.

  I’ll call Maxwell after I’ve eaten.

  Tomorrow I want to go and visit Tom.

  Chapter 53

  BETH

  Now

  The hall somehow manages to smell clean and dirty at the same time. I’ve got here as quickly as I could – I set off as soon as I’d dropped Poppy at nursery. But apparently, I was lucky to be given admittance seeing as I was late and in future I have to ensure I’m here to check in between 8.30 and 9.15 a.m.

  I sit gingerly on the bolted-down chair I’ve been directed to, to await Tom. I give a furtive glance around the visiting hall, filled with convicted criminals and those, like Tom, who are awaiting their fate. I can’t even do this for the next few weeks, let alone years. There are children here, but I won’t be dragging Poppy along. She’s not mingling in that play area with kids of killers and the like.

  The pulses in my wrists bang against the tabletop as I lean on it to try to regulate my breathing. I’ve never been so nervous to see my own husband. How will he look? Maxwell told me he’s not sleeping and he’s unable to eat – worry must be gnawing away at his stomach. It’s been nine days since I last set eyes on him or spoke to him. What must he think of me that I’ve been unable to even accept a call from him? I wring my hands together, keep my eyes forward: I don’t want to make accidental eye contact with anyone. I could buy a drink from the tea bar, so I at least have something to keep my hands busy, but anxiety prevents me leaving this seat.

  Movement at the far side catches my attention. I swallow hard. I almost don’t recognise him as he walks towards the table with slow, hunched movements. When he sits opposite me, I see his complexion is grey and his face is drawn. His eyes appear hollow. Ghostly. I look away.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. Even his voice seems strange; alien to me. ‘God, Beth, you’ve no idea how desperate I’ve been to see you.’

  The words I want to say – should say – are frozen inside my voice box. I force myself to look up and focus on his face, but my lips remain stubbornly tight. He frowns and I see tears gather at the corner of his eyes. Rather than their usual clear, beautiful peacock-blue, they now seem hazy and dull; staring and soulless.

  Tom is allowed three visits a week and I’m here on his first day in Belmarsh. Although that makes me seem like I’m the dutiful wife – loyal and supportive – I can’t even speak. I don’t tell him I love him, or offer words of encouragement, and I know this will upset him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Beth. This is the worst situation – I can’t imagine what you and Poppy are going through.’ His hands edge closer to mine, his fingertips brushing against my skin; it sends tiny electric shocks up my arms. I withdraw quickly, positioning my hands on my lap beneath the table. I was told you could have minimal contact at the beginning and end of the visit – not during. But I know that’s not the real reason I’m pulling away.

  My stomach ties in knots as I see the hurt on his face.

  Speak. Say something.

  Tom shifts awkwardly in the chair, his eyes darting around him. Then he hunkers down, leans forward a bit more and, with his voice lowered to almost a whisper, says, ‘I should’ve spoken to you about all of this on Tuesday morning. Like you wanted. I really regret not listening to you.’ He pauses, takes a breath. ‘You’ve always known best,’ he says with a small laugh.

  ‘Why did you lie to me?’ I say, my eyes narrowed, the words coming out in a hiss. That flippant comment of his has sparked my anger and caused me to finally find my voice.

  Confusion spreads across his face. ‘I haven’t lied.’ His cheeks flush red: he knows I’m not stupid.

  ‘Where did you go on Tuesday? Why did you let me think you’d gone to work?’

  ‘Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about? Why are you getting hung up on that? It’s not important, Beth.’

  ‘It’s important to me!’ I sense curious stares turning towards my raised voice, but the diversion is fleeting; heads quickly turn back as their focus returns to their own tables.

  ‘What have you told the detectives?’ Tom’s being defensive now; he’s scared about what I’ve let slip, no doubt. I shake my head.

  ‘Nothing, Tom. Because I can’t tell them what I don’t know, can I?’

  Silence stretches between us, the chatter from other prisoners and visitors filling the void.

  ‘There’s more pressing things to be concerned with,’ Tom says eventually. He indicates around the visiting room. ‘Look where I am, Beth. I can’t be here.’

  His vulnerability in this moment tugs at my heart. If the detectives hadn’t shown up on Monday evening, we wouldn’t be in this situation now. We’d be carrying on our lives as normal: a happily married couple with a daughter. Wouldn’t we?

  ‘Maxwell is doing everything he can,’ I say, softly. I move my hands towards his now, guilt replacing my anger, but I stop myself before they make contact. I don’t want to inadvertently break any rules and draw the attention of the prison officers. ‘He doesn’t think the prosecution will have enough evidence for a jury to convict you. He reckons he can at least show there’s reasonable doubt. You could be home within months.’

  ‘It feels like everything is down to chance. I don’t like that. I’ve no control over anything.’

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to do.’

  ‘You have to help me.’ His eyes plead with mine. And then he whispers: ‘We’ve been through this. You’re the only one who understands.’

  I clench my hands together, preparing for what’s coming. The truth I’ve been trying so hard to hide, even from myself.

  ‘You know I didn’t mean for her to die, Beth.’

  Chapter 54

  TOM

  Now

  Nine days desperately needing to see my wife and that’s all I get.

  The door clanks shut behind me, keys rattle as it locks, and I’m left in my cell. Alone again. It was good to have a change of scenery; the visiting hall is the least prison-like area here, if you don’t look too closely.

  Once I spotted Beth, though, she was all I could see. The urge to pull her to me, smell her, feel her warm body against mine, was incredible. Overwhelming. So much so, it took me a while to settle, to stop the images penetrating my mind. I wasn’t expecting her to be ecstatic to see me, but I admit, I thought she’d be a little pleased. Not a single thing about her body language – the way she looked at me, spoke to me – showed any hint of that, though.

  Why is she withdrawing from me? I don’t understand – it’s like she doesn’t want to help me. I know I let her down – God knows, I should’ve talked to her after the police interview – and I’ve been sweating buckets since my arrest wondering if she’ll accidentally say something to incriminate me. Had I spoken to her when she asked, we could’ve worked out a story between us to tell the detectives. I fucked up, big time.

  Of course, some would say that it wasn’t my first fuckup. That killing Katie Williams was.

  But those people would be wrong.

  Chapter 55

  BETH

  Now

  I’ve come away no closer to knowing why Tom lied to me. He was far more intent on making sure I wouldn’t divulge what I knew to the police than on telling me what he’d been doing on that Tuesday instead of working. Funny how he considered it important I should know about an event that occurred eight years ago, but not what happened just over a week ago.

  What is he hiding from me?

  I wrap my arms around myself, gently rocking in the driver’s seat, radio on, waiting to feel calm enough to drive home. I wish I hadn’t gone to see him now. It’s strange, but I’d convinced myself I was as shocked as anyone else when he was arrested – and without seeing him, I was able to keep up the illusion, to o
thers and myself. Apart from a few times when the whispers from the nursery mums got to me, I’d mostly been able to hide my knowledge away in the depths of my mind. Self-preservation.

  Julia, of course, came worryingly close last night.

  I must keep up the charade now, though. I can’t afford to let it slip. Because in everyone else’s eyes, that’ll make me as much of a monster as Tom. I felt awful saying I can’t help him. How can I, if it means telling the police I knew? I can’t risk being implicated in this in any way; I have Poppy to think about. I tried to explain that it doesn’t help his case in the slightest. I think he is hoping, if it comes to it, that me telling the jury how it was all an accident will in some way clear his name; stop him being convicted. He’s not thinking straight. All that will do is categorically confirm that he did kill Katie, accident or not, and that he kept it hidden all these years. Kept her hidden. Never allowed her family and friends to mourn her or bury her. There’s no closure for them. No body to lay to rest.

  Tom’s only hope of coming home is to continue to proclaim his innocence and pray for lack of evidence.

  And I can’t help with that, either.

  My mind drifts back to the day last year. The day that changed everything.

  It’d been breakfast time and I’d let Poppy use Tom’s iPad to watch an episode of Moon and Me while I tidied away the dishes. I’d promised him I wouldn’t use it after he caught me the last time but I really needed the extra help today. ‘Come on my little Poppy poppet,’ I’d said, sliding the iPad out of reach of her sticky little fingers. Her face had screwed up in an angry pout and she’d stamped her feet. Terrible twos are real, I remember thinking. It was six thirty and Tom had left only moments before. I’d needed to get a move on as I was laying on a special coffee morning at the pottery café that day to help entice new customers.

  I’d been about to close down the iPad, but I’d realised Poppy had managed to access Tom’s emails. I’d hoped she hadn’t accidentally sent some random letters to one of his clients or anything. I scrolled down his inbox, squinting, hoping nothing had been altered, or worse, deleted – cursing under my breath for causing myself undue stress. But it had got worse.