by Alice Hunter
‘I won’t. I promise. Please, Jimmy, I need to know.’
‘He wasn’t at work, because he was visiting someone.’
‘Who?’ My pulse bangs in my throat.
‘He’s been … seeing someone. He made me swear to keep it to myself.’
‘A fucking affair?’ I momentarily lose all grip on my emotions. That can’t be right. ‘He wouldn’t …’
‘Beth, it’s been going on for a while. Like, years, I reckon.’ Jimmy’s tone has altered dramatically, going from defensive to sympathetic. I don’t want his sympathy. The room spins; my head is getting lighter and lighter. Jimmy must be lying. Tom loves me; only me. He’s always been faithful. He’s the jealous type – he wouldn’t cheat, because he loathes people who do.
Like Katie Williams.
‘Do you know who with? Where?’
‘Only that he’d sneak off at lunchtimes to see her, so it had to be close. And occasionally he’d leave work early and I know he didn’t head home to you.’
The words sting. An affair was the last thing I’d been expecting to find out.
Do I know my husband at all?
* * *
I sit in the darkened room in silence, absolutely still. Only my mind is active. It’s working overtime as I consider how, why, Tom cheated on me.
I wish he were here now so I could yell at him; tell him what a bastard he is. A lying, cheating, murdering bastard of a husband. He doesn’t deserve a loving wife and daughter. Why would he ever put the life he supposedly loves in jeopardy by having an affair? It doesn’t make sense.
Jimmy must be wrong. He didn’t say Tom had categorically disclosed this affair to him. In fact, Jimmy seemed to be guessing based merely on Tom disappearing at lunchtimes. Although he did say that he’d promised Tom he wouldn’t say anything. No. It’s more likely that Tom didn’t want to socialise with his work colleagues and made an excuse, so he didn’t have to suffer them for the entire day. I know he often ordered gifts from the London Zoo click and collect service and then walked across to pick them up to bring back for Poppy.
That was his cover. His alibi.
I can’t prevent the thought, and now I’ve had it, it grows. It casts a different light on everything. Have I been made a fool of?
Shaking myself from my trance, I make another call.
It goes to voicemail.
‘Hi, DC Cooper, it’s Beth Hardcastle. I need to see you.’ Rage gives my voice an edge. I pause, knowing that once I say this, there’s no return. Anger, hurt and humiliation all take over and I carry on. ‘I need to tell you something,’ I say. ‘It’s urgent.’ I don’t embellish; I hang up.
Now I wait.
Chapter 65
He cried for twenty minutes; she didn’t think he’d ever stop. It was as if a plug had been pulled on all of his pent-up emotions, all of his long-held pain, and now he was releasing them. She wonders: why now? What made this moment any different from the others? It can’t have been anything she said or did. Something has happened. She wants to ask him about his wife, but she daren’t – she doesn’t want to anger him, or upset him any more than he is already. So she silently strokes his hair as he recovers from his outburst. He’s like a child, she thinks, being comforted by his mother. She gets the feeling his relationship with her wasn’t a good one either; nor with his father. In her experience, damaged people like him tend to be born from broken families.
‘Sorry,’ he says, finally moving away from her. He leaves a damp patch on her belly which she wipes with the corner of the duvet. ‘Thanks for listening.’
‘You didn’t really say anything.’
‘I don’t have to with you,’ he says. He begins pulling his trousers back on, then tugs his shirt from beneath her clothes on the chair in front of the bedroom window. She watches him intently as he dresses, wondering if he’ll come back. A strange feeling in her gut makes her doubt it. She thinks perhaps they’ve run their course; her usefulness has come to an end today.
‘That’s why you keep coming back for more?’ she asks, softly.
He turns to her, his face solemn. ‘It helps,’ he says. ‘But mostly I keep coming back because you let me do what I want.’
His bluntness – his honesty – hurts her a bit. And he’s wrong, she thinks, because she doesn’t let him do all that he wants, sexually. But she nods, guessing he gets more from her than his wife, at any rate. She can’t blame her – it’s not everyone’s cup of tea to be strangled during sex.
‘When will you be back?’ she calls as he heads towards the door.
‘Very soon,’ he says, without looking back.
Maybe her gut was wrong then; although that’s seldom the case. He does still want to see her. She knows she shouldn’t let this happen any more. Each time, she swears it’s the last. But she can’t help but find him intriguing. It’s like being addicted to drugs – one high needs to be followed up with another – and despite the downsides; the fear he can provoke; she needs him as much as he needs her.
Chapter 66
BETH
Now
‘Adam, could you possibly pick Poppy up from nursery today?’
‘Yeah, sure – I offered to anyway, remember? Are you okay?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I’ve agreed to meet Imogen Cooper in London. I’m going to tell her.’
‘The detective? Oh, good. I’m glad. You’re doing the right thing, Beth. Really. You have to think of yourself and Poppy.’
That’s what I have been doing. All I’ve been doing since the day Tom told me.
‘Thanks for the push. I wouldn’t be able to do this if it weren’t for your support, Adam. I mean that. You’ve been amazing.’
‘Ah, it’s nothing,’ he says. I can imagine his face flushing red. ‘I’ve enjoyed spending time with you and Poppy – it’s been good for me and Jess. So, thank you!’
‘Strange how it’s two awful events that have brought us together.’ I immediately regret my wording, and stutter and stumble over my attempts at rephrasing. I didn’t mean to imply we were in any way ‘together’.
‘No, you’re right,’ he says, interrupting my rambling, saving me from further embarrassment. ‘It feels wrong that it’s other people’s misfortune now that’s finally enabled me to open up to someone again, though.’
‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, thank you again. I’ll pick her up from yours when I’m done.’
As soon as the call ends, I grab my bag and jacket, and with my head down to avoid catching the eye of any of the press hanging around outside, make my way to the car. I release my breath when I’m safely locked inside, then drive at a snail’s pace through them all to get out of Lower Tew. This trip to London means I’ve now officially been to the city more this past week than in the previous two years.
I park outside the city centre and get the tube in, reaching the coffee shop we’d agreed on a few minutes early. After a sweeping glance around to check if Imogen Cooper is already here, I find a table near the back, away from the attention of passers-by and seemingly quieter than the front. For now, anyway. We should be able to talk here with relative confidence of not being overheard.
I spot a head of strawberry-blonde hair bobbing through the customers to get to me. My stomach drops. How stupid to have this reaction when I know she’s coming to meet me. Maybe a part of me had hoped she wouldn’t show up.
‘Beth,’ she says, giving a curt nod and sitting down opposite me. She looks around, then lifts her hand to gain the attention of a waitress. She orders an espresso, I ask for a latte. Cooper asks if I want anything to eat, and I decline – I feel sick enough without adding solids into the mix. ‘Right. Let’s get down to business, shall we?’
‘Sure,’ I say, trying to force my lips into a smile. My palms are sweating, and my t-shirt clings uncomfortably to my back. The leather seat is increasing the temperature, and a layer of heat has trapped itself between it and me. I shift position.
‘No need to be nervous, Beth. You’re not in any
trouble, you know.’
Not yet, I think.
An awkward silence settles. It’s Cooper who starts the ball rolling by asking me what I wanted to talk about.
‘I …’ I can’t do this. ‘It’s difficult.’ I place my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands, fingers splaying across my forehead. I study the grain of the wooden table, debating how I should phrase what I want – need – to say.
‘I understand, Beth. It’s been a hell of a few weeks for you, I’m sure. But you obviously have something on your mind you’d rather be rid of. I can help with that. A problem shared, and all that.’
‘It’s really not like that, though, is it. You’re the police – you’ve got a job to do. You want to secure a conviction for my husband. Anything I share with you is not a problem halved – it’s another nail in his coffin.’
Cooper raises her eyebrows sharply and leans forward. ‘A nail in his coffin?’ Her interest is piqued; her pupils have dilated to twice their size. ‘How do you mean?’
I exhale loudly. ‘Hypothetically, if I were to tell you something that I already knew but didn’t feel able to tell you when first questioned – something I failed to say in my statement – would that make me some kind of accessory? Or mean I was guilty of withholding evidence and obstructing justice? Would I be charged too?’ I’ve clasped my hands together now and interlaced my fingers. I’m squeezing them so hard they’re turning a deep red.
‘Hypothetically, yes,’ Cooper says. ‘But if there were mitigating factors, of course they would be taken into consideration.’
It’s not enough. There’s no security in having ‘mitigating factors’ taken into account. I need something solid before I spill. I’ve made a mistake asking to meet.
‘How about we talk unofficially,’ Cooper says, eyeing me cautiously.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Off the record.’
‘I thought that only happened in journalism. Or in dodgy crime dramas.’
This makes Cooper smile. ‘You’d be surprised. And anyway, I think what you have to say is important. Pertinent to the case. So obviously I’m interested. Having something more concrete to work with would be helpful.’
‘You’re making it sound as though I’m going to go against Tom; help you convict him.’
‘Well, aren’t you?’
I’m stumped for a moment. Is that what I’m doing here? Is it what I want?
‘I’m trying to tell you the truth about what I know. I was afraid before, but I know if anything ever happened to Poppy …’ The waitress comes over with a tray and puts our drinks down. I wait for her to leave again. ‘If someone hurt her, I’d want to know everything. And I’d want justice to be handed out to the monster who did it. I was torn between protecting her, protecting me, and helping you get justice for Katie.’
‘You were scared of Tom?’ Cooper asks. ‘As in, if you had said anything, he’d have hurt you?’
‘Yes, that’s what I was afraid of. I’d have been risking a lot if I’d opened up straight away. I had to play it cautiously. I’m sorry.’
‘Okay. Well I understand your reluctance to come forward. Now is better than never, so …’
We both take sips of our drinks, but our eyes don’t leave each other’s.
‘Where do you want to start?’ Cooper asks, after a minute or so passes.
‘I think I have some evidence that might help. Evidence you can use against Tom.’ My mouth is dry; my heart is hammering. I’ve gone too far to turn back now. Cooper’s eyes are wide.
‘You know we already have the emails, right? And we suspected you knew about those, given you admitted using Tom’s iPad and you had his passwords.’
So I am under suspicion. I’m the wife – I guess it was inevitable. Now seems like the perfect time to come clean.
‘Yes, I know that. I mean other stuff.’
‘What type of evidence do you think you have, Beth?’
‘A sweatshirt,’ I say. ‘Maxwell said all you have, or all you’re letting on to him that you have, are the emails sent from Katie’s account on Tom’s iPad. Nothing physical. Nothing conclusive that links him to a murder.’
Cooper doesn’t respond to that, so that makes me think they do have other evidence. But I’m guessing it’s not substantial enough. She does now ask the obvious question, though.
‘Why would Katie’s sweatshirt be relevant, unless it has blood on it?’
‘No. No blood.’
‘Then I don’t think—’
‘It’s not Katie’s sweatshirt.’
Cooper’s brow creases and she sits back in the seat. ‘So, why are you telling me this?’
‘It’s not Katie’s. It’s Phoebe Drake’s – her university sweatshirt.’
Cooper’s upper body lurches forwards. I have her full attention now. ‘Who is Phoebe Drake?’
‘She was a victim of a drowning incident fifteen years ago. Only it wasn’t an accidental drowning. Phoebe was Tom’s first victim.’
Chapter 67
BETH
Now
Cooper sighs, drains her espresso and leans on the table, staring straight into my eyes. She’s silent. I know what she’s thinking – how does a sweatshirt help with anything and how do I know any of this. I fill her in on what Tom told me – or most of it. I hold back certain information – I’m too afraid of the repercussions. I have to make sure I’m not going to receive any backlash for having withheld this information first.
‘Shit,’ Cooper says. ‘So, at the time, no one even suspected foul play, because she’d sustained a broken ankle and had alcohol in her system?’
‘That’s what I’ve gathered. Tom said it was an accident, though. He hadn’t meant to kill her.’
‘And you believe that?’
I purse my lips. I wanted to believe it when he told me. When I found out about the emails he’d been sending pretending to be Katie, it hadn’t taken long for the rest to come out too. Had Tom’s confession about Phoebe come first, believing her death was accidental would’ve been easier. After all, Tom gave a feasible account of the incident. But it was how he’d kept it from me, lying for so long, that had tipped the balance. If I hadn’t come across those emails, would he ever have told me? It made me reassess and dissect everything. How could I believe he’d accidentally killed two women?
Seeing him in the prison yesterday had unlocked something – the memories I’d buried and the realisation that I was married to a killer. Of course I’d known. But I’d loved him. He was my Tom.
I didn’t want him to leave me and Poppy.
But I also know I have to secure a future free from fear. Free from being let down.
If what he did ever came out, I knew we would be destroyed; our family unit would be broken. Things always come out in the end and I’d rather it be now, while Poppy is too young to understand – while I’m young enough to build another, brighter life for us – than to live a life worrying about the truth surfacing. It has to be done.
I must make sure they have enough evidence to send Tom down.
‘I want to believe him, DC Cooper. But I know even if they were accidents, the end product is the same. Two dead women; two families unaware of the truth. I should’ve reported what I’d found out immediately, but Tom is so good at twisting things, manipulating me, making me feel it would be my fault if our lives fell apart. My fault if Poppy ended up being without a father. And … well, he can be … aggressive sometimes. I was too afraid I’d become his third victim. I couldn’t risk it for Poppy’s sake.’
Imogen frowns and I wonder if she’s trying to reconcile this information with the picture I previously painted of my perfect marriage. I’d worried this might be the case. But then her face softens. I think she accepts that this happens with people in abusive relationships; she’s bound to have seen it many times before.
‘Where is this sweatshirt? We didn’t find anything like that in the search of your property.’
‘I told T
om I was taking it to burn. I have it in the storage space in the loft of Poppy’s Place. I can get it for you.’
‘Good, yes. And with this new information and evidence linking Tom to Phoebe, we’ll reopen the case and charge him with her murder too. It’ll definitely help when it comes to the trial.’ Cooper’s cheeks fill with air and she blows it out in a slow hiss. And, almost under her breath she says, ‘Of course, Katie’s body would be even better.’
Chapter 68
TOM
Now
Maxwell tells me new evidence has come to light.
He says it’s come from Beth.
I shake my head violently from side to side – my brain feels as though it’s crashing against my skull. If I do this for long enough, maybe I’ll faint, or give myself a brain haemorrhage. It’s the only way I’ll get out of here now.
‘Tom, no! Stop!’ Maxwell’s words sound strangely distorted in my head.
Hands are on my shoulders. ‘Come on, fella – relax.’ The prison officer’s voice is calm. I recognise it; he’s from my wing. Another officer strides across from the hall – backup in case I get out of hand. I haven’t the energy to put up any kind of fight.
‘Maybe this legal visit should continue another day?’ the second officer says. I’m vaguely aware of Maxwell rising from his seat and speaking in a low voice. He’s likely telling them I’ve had bad news, to keep an eye on me.
Put me on suicide watch.
Yes, I want to shout – put me on suicide watch because my fucking wife has just betrayed me. Has she found out? Is that why she’s decided to go against me now? I trusted her. She said she’d stand by me; she knew it was only an accident. Knew I hadn’t meant to harm them.
But I did. I did mean to hurt them. And although Beth believed me when I said otherwise, there’s a possibility that something she’s found out has changed her mind. About the supposed accidents. About me.
I slam my fists against my temples. Again and again.