The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  ‘No! Oh, Beth – I hope you’re going to report that to the police?’

  ‘I don’t think I can face seeing them,’ I say. ‘Plus, I have a bad feeling there’ll be more where that came from. I’m going to be a target, aren’t I? For people’s hate.’

  Lucy looks away. She doesn’t need to respond.

  After the silence has stretched for too long, she asks me a question. ‘When will this all die down?’

  I desperately want to tell her soon. I want to say ‘it’ll get better’. But I don’t want to lie any more than I have already. All I can do is shrug.

  Back at the table, I dish out the drinks and some banana bread, which the girls immediately begin devouring.

  ‘Wow! Jess – it’s as though I’ve never fed you,’ Adam says. Then he looks me in the eye and my insides shake. ‘So? You want to come clean?’

  I gulp down a mouthful of hot chocolate, then look around me at the customers sitting at three other tables. One is a table of two women; both are engrossed in painting plates. The others are also couples, sitting and chatting over a coffee. They could easily overhear me talking.

  ‘I will. But not here. Somewhere more private,’ I say in hushed tones. Adam looks disappointed. He must think I’m chickening out.

  Maybe I am.

  ‘After we’ve had these, why don’t you come back to mine?’ he says. ‘The girls can play and we can chat.’

  I draw in a long, slow breath, then release it just as slowly. I sound like I’m breathing through labour pains. The comparison comes close in this scenario.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ I say. My initial bravado, and my desire to confess, is diminishing with each passing moment. By the time I get to Adam’s I will probably have bottled it altogether.

  Chapter 63

  BETH

  Now

  Back at Adam’s, the girls rush up to Jess’s bedroom and I hear the thuds, thumps and clatter of toys being strewn all over the floor. Adam follows them up to check on them while I stand and wait, nervously, in the kitchen. It’s neat and minimalist; Camilla’s touches are evident in some of the accessories. I eye the expensive, top-of-the-range food mixer and remember the conversations about baking we’d had, and how Camilla had enjoyed coming up with new nut-free recipes. One of the last times I’d seen her we were talking about cookies. What a shame that’s all we’d ever really spoken about.

  On the upright fridge-freezer, I note the photos of the three of them – happy family snaps. Moments captured for eternity. I hadn’t had the chance to absorb the smaller things last time I was here. Being on my own for a few minutes enables me to really take everything in.

  ‘Right, they’re happy,’ Adam says as he bounds back into the kitchen like an excitable dog. ‘Lounge would be more comfortable to chat in.’ He leads me out of the kitchen and into the room opposite. I sit hesitantly on the beige upholstered three-seater sofa, its large cushions enveloping me. Now I’m here, I’ve lost my gumption. I wish the damn cushions would consume me, so I could disappear and forget everything.

  ‘I know we’ve just had a drink, but can I get you another?’ He tries to catch my eye. ‘Or do you need something stronger for this conversation?’

  I give an awkward laugh. ‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’

  ‘I’m all ears, then,’ he coaxes.

  I wring my hands together; try to swallow. My throat is dry, the texture of sandpaper. ‘Actually, I will have a water, please.’

  Adam smiles sympathetically and leaves the lounge, returning with a tumbler of iced water.

  ‘Thanks. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.’

  ‘Difficult subjects rarely are when it comes down to it, Beth.’

  I sip the water. The only sound is the ice cubes clinking against my teeth as I tilt the glass. The room has a stillness that reminds me of horror films – the creepy atmosphere prior to a shock reveal. Apt.

  I’ve gone over this moment a lot. The pros and cons of what I’m about to disclose, listed and edited, added to or deleted, depending on what I think the effects will be. The desired outcomes. I need to be careful, or the only outcome I’ll get is to be ostracised. By Adam; by the community.

  Think of Poppy’s future.

  She’s what matters.

  Of course, her future is dependent on safeguarding my own, though.

  ‘I haven’t been entirely honest with you – with anyone. Not even Julia. Probably not even myself,’ I say, my words rushing over themselves like water babbling over rocks in a river.

  Slow down.

  Adam doesn’t say anything, so I carry on. ‘About Tom.’ I leave a gap here. I’m still not convinced I should be doing this. I need to tell someone. I can’t keep this inside any longer.

  ‘It’s fine, Beth. This is obviously a big deal, and you telling me means a lot.’ He slides off the chair opposite and kneels in front of me, taking my clenched hands in his. I relax them, comforted by Adam’s expression of support.

  ‘Please, don’t think badly of me. It’s not straightforward.’

  ‘I understand. Go on,’ he says.

  ‘I know more than I’ve let on to the police.’ The words hang between us for a moment before I add the bombshell. ‘About Tom. About Katie. About her death.’

  I can tell he wants to retreat. Withdraw his hands from mine. I feel a slight tug, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he releases a long shaky breath.

  ‘Okay. That’s a big shock, I give you that.’ He presses his lips together into a tight line, and I’m biting my own – hoping, praying he doesn’t throw me and Poppy out. ‘When you say you know more … I mean … like, as in you know now, because of something the police have said … or you’ve always known?’

  Here it is. The make or break. I could say I’ve only just found out, and maybe I’ll salvage our friendship, and my reputation. But it matters to me what he thinks. I need him on my side – so I should be truthful. Do my best to explain.

  ‘I found out last year,’ I say. Tears have begun dripping down my face and now land on the front of my top. Tiny, dark circles appear in the pale blue material. I watch as they blot, grow larger. ‘I didn’t believe it at first; then shock gave way to devastation. It felt like our life was one big lie. He’d literally lied to me from day one.’

  ‘Have you told the police now?’

  I look up sharply. ‘No! How can I? I’m the only one who knows, so he’ll immediately realise it’s his own wife who’s gone against him. And if I tell them everything, Tom will definitely spend his life in prison. It’ll ruin Poppy’s life. And I’m scared if I tell them, I’ll go to prison too!’

  ‘What did he expect you to do?’

  ‘It was a terrible accident, Adam. He was broken. And if I didn’t go along with keeping it quiet, there’s no telling what he’d have done.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’d have been so angry, taken it out on me …’

  ‘As in … hurt you?’ His eyes are wide, his expression filled with shock.

  ‘Yes, and I couldn’t take that chance. The thought of what he might be capable of terrified me.’

  ‘Beth, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

  ‘No one did,’ I say, my eyes lowered. ‘It’s surprising what you can hide behind the image of a perfect life. I guess I learned how to be happy despite his behaviour. Tom has always been pretty controlling, but at the beginning it was more subtle.’

  ‘It sounds as though you’ve been manipulated by Tom for your entire marriage then. You’re the innocent party in all of this. The police will understand why you didn’t come forward sooner.’

  I let my emotions flow; I’m sobbing now. It’s the first real release I’ve experienced for the past year. Holding onto secrets, whatever your intentions, is damaging – slowly but surely they flow through the blood in your veins, spreading their poison until they take over. If I don’t let this out, I’ll be consumed by guilt forever.

  Adam stands, leans forward and pulls me to
my feet, his arms wrapping around me in a tight, comforting embrace – the heat from his body radiating through mine. My body sinks into his. This feels the most natural thing in the world, but I know it’s not right. I should pull away. Adam is being friendly and supportive – that’s all.

  Without speaking, he places his fingertips under my chin and gently lifts it so my face is upturned towards his. He wipes the tears from my cheeks. It is such an intimate gesture, my heart’s in my throat; for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. I search his eyes, looking for a clue as to what he’s thinking. Then, just as his lips lower, the spell we’re under breaks. He hastily backs away, leaving me breathless. Breathless and, if I’m being honest, disappointed.

  Chapter 64

  BETH

  Now

  When I got home from Adam’s yesterday, I realised I’d had a voicemail from Maxwell saying he needed to speak with me. By the time I’d got Poppy some tea and settled her in bed, it was too late to call back. This morning, I know I can’t put it off.

  ‘Tom mentioned you’d visited,’ he opens. From his tone, I infer I’m being told off.

  ‘Yes, it wasn’t easy, but I went. For his sake.’

  ‘I thought that would’ve given him a boost, but it appears to have had the opposite effect. He was very quiet when I spoke to him. Dejected. Didn’t it go well?’

  ‘It went okay, considering,’ I say. ‘But I’m at a loss as to what he expected if I’m honest. Hard to be cheerful and chatty as usual when your husband is facing a life sentence, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Of course, of course. Challenging times for sure. But please try and be positive around Tom. It isn’t good for him to go back to his cell from a visit – especially as you’ve been his only visitor bar me – in such a negative place. Mentally, I mean.’

  ‘Funnily enough it’s not great for me, either, Maxwell.’ My heart rate increases and blood rushes to my face. I shouldn’t lose my temper – not now – it would look very selfish. But in reality, I’m pissed off that I’ve been put in this situation by something Tom has done, and with all the sympathy going to him, it’s becoming increasingly hard to hold it in. It’s enough to make anyone angry. ‘I know Tom is suffering at the moment,’ I say, as calmly as I can, ‘but he must accept I am too. What am I going to tell Poppy when her daddy doesn’t come home?’

  ‘I’m still banking on the evidence for conviction being too weak. Although we can’t be certain how the jury will go, of course, if they’re swayed by the prosecution. They have numerous pieces of circumstantial evidence, including incriminating emails from Tom’s iPad. Though that in itself doesn’t prove murder outright, it doesn’t look great either. With a good solid account from you, Beth, and no criminal record, there’s a strong possibility it could swing his way. That’s the positive spin.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, my mind drifting.

  ‘Have DI Manning and DC Cooper spoken to you again yet?’

  ‘No, why? Will they? I gave them a statement already.’ Even though I’d wondered about it early on, I’d not given it further thought. The suggestion now that this might happen makes my throat constrict, and I can’t quell the rising panic. I’ve said all I want to say to them.

  You haven’t, though, a nagging voice in my head reminds me.

  Adam was determined I should go to the police and be honest about what I know. I left him just before five yesterday with a promise I’d contact DC Cooper – I thought she’d be the most sympathetic, despite her icy exterior. Not because she’s a woman – although I suppose I’m hoping that’ll make her more likely to relate to what I say – but because the way she’s questioned me so far has instilled a certain amount of trust. I have more faith in her than I have in Manning, at any rate. There’s something behind his eyes that unnerves me; like he can see right through me. Imogen Cooper would be the one I’d confess to if I had to. And as far as Adam is concerned, I have to.

  I feel despondent this morning. The spitting incident was probably a drop in the ocean compared to what I can expect from here on in. It’ll be worse once the trial starts. Will I have any friends left by then? Will Adam still be supportive? Deep down I know he’s right about going to the police – it’s just scary. They’ll be suspicious about why I didn’t relay this information to them sooner. From what I’ve told them so far, my marriage with Tom is a good one, and he is the model husband and father.

  Will they believe my reasons for telling them a different story now?

  Journalists are outside again when I step through the front door with Poppy. There are several yelling for my attention and others that get in my face, bombarding me with questions. I grip Poppy’s hand and drag her through them, saying nothing. I’ve given Poppy the best explanation I could think of about why these people are camping outside our house, asking us lots of questions and following us, taking photos. I told her it’s about her daddy, that something has happened in his job in London and people are very interested about it. She asked if it was a good thing he’d done, and I came very close to breaking down there and then.

  I pulled myself together and I lied to her. I said he’d done something very important. It’s not such a big lie really – I suppose murdering someone is an important thing, in a way.

  We don’t get followed to nursery – that boundary appears to have been upheld, thanks to Adam’s intervention yesterday.

  I think about the almost-kiss and my heart flutters wildly. Afterwards, there’d been several minutes of awkwardness; neither of us had known what to do or say. We had both probably realised how close we’d been to taking a huge step into the unknown; crossing the boundary of friendship. Adam had reacted by muttering an apology; saying he felt bad, that he was taking advantage of my vulnerability. Of course, I firmly denied he’d done that, and explained how mine and Tom’s relationship had been crumbling long before the current events had come to light. He seemed to relax a little once I told him I’d been waiting a long time for the truth to come out – for Tom to be arrested. I wanted Adam to know he was in no way taking advantage.

  I wonder how we’ll interact from now on. Will something happen between us? Where it goes from here is anyone’s guess, but Adam is free to do what he pleases, and I am not.

  I’m married. I might need to do something about that.

  I sneak back to the cottage via the back lane, climbing over the wall to avoid detection. Safely inside, I make a call to Moore & Wells and ask to speak with Jimmy. I know he’s not likely to be there as Alexander said he was on leave until today, so he probably won’t be at work until Monday. But I’m hoping I can wangle his mobile number from one of his colleagues.

  It takes all my powers of persuasion, but finally I’m given his number and I’m speaking with him.

  ‘Jimmy – sorry to bother you. I know you’ve only just come back from holiday. It’s Beth Hardcastle, Tom’s wife—’

  ‘I’m not back, actually. I’ve still got the weekend.’

  ‘Oh, er … I’m sorry. I can call another time?’ I hesitate – I don’t want to wait any longer really, but I don’t want to annoy the man.

  ‘Alex said you’d been into the office asking questions.’ His attitude is off; he’s immediately on the defensive. I wonder why Alexander told him. But anyway, he hasn’t ended the call yet, so that’s a good sign. I need to ease into this conversation if I want to gain anything from him.

  ‘Yes, I did pop by on the off chance I’d catch one of Tom’s mates. It’s been such a traumatic couple of weeks I couldn’t think where else to turn.’ I lay it on thick, ensuring my voice sounds weak and teary. ‘Tom only ever really talked about you, Jimmy. I guess you were the only friend he’d made a connection with at the bank.’ I know this isn’t quite true, but maybe if I massage this bloke’s ego, he might be happier about opening up to me.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry about what’s happened. I can’t believe they’ve dragged Tom in about this missing woman. How can they even be certain she was murdered? It’s ma
dness. But I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help his case, Beth. I’m sorry.’

  He sounds as though he’s wrapping up the conversation. I have to keep him chatting. ‘I understand, Jimmy. I think I was just hoping to fill in the gaps and find out what was troubling him before this all kicked off. He hasn’t been himself for a while and I’m worried something happened …’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what if they’re right, Jimmy? What if he murdered her? You never really know a person, do you? I have to accept there’s a possibility the police are right. As far as I knew, he went to work on the Tuesday – but he never showed. Apparently he phoned Celia to say he had been ill on the commute and he was on his way home. But he didn’t come home as far as I know – not until later. He could’ve been trying to cover something up in that time. Maybe he was concealing evidence of him murdering Katie before the police came down hard on him. It’s the only thing that makes sense, isn’t it?’

  ‘God, Beth,’ Jimmy lets out a long sigh. He stays silent for a while.

  I prompt him. ‘What’s wrong? Did you know he was trying to get rid of evidence?’

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. None of this is what you think, Beth. Tom’s a good man.’ He pauses. ‘Or, he’s not a killer, anyway.’

  He clearly doesn’t know Tom well, then. ‘Then what?’ I say.

  ‘He wasn’t destroying evidence that day. Or concealing it, or whatever. He was …’

  I hear Jimmy scratching his beard. He’s clearly torn between his loyalty to Tom and telling me what he knows.

  ‘He was what?’ I ask, impatiently.

  ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but it’s the lesser of two evils …’ He lets out a puff of air. ‘I can’t have you thinking he’s a murderer. Please don’t shoot the messenger.’

  I’m suddenly worried. What could be worse than destroying evidence of a murder?