The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  ‘It’s thanks to you lot they were able to find me! Can’t you see what you’re doing?’ My voice is high-pitched; adrenaline is pumping through my veins. Flashes blind me, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks fills my ears, and I can’t block out the loud buzzing in my head. I close my eyes, surging on through the crowd. They don’t care. They have zero respect for my privacy and my security. Perhaps they want something bad to happen to me to give them more to report – a breaking story.

  ‘You are animals!’ I stop walking and turn to face the ones behind me. There are some alarmed faces – they weren’t expecting me to react so strongly after my relative silence over the past week. ‘How can you sleep at night knowing you’re ruining our lives?’

  ‘How do you sleep at night knowing your husband murdered an innocent woman and you did nothing about it? Or don’t you care? Is it because you helped him?’ The accusation rides above the heads of every other reporter and journalist, quick and bold. I’m caught out – a rabbit in the headlights. I can only gawp; my lips move wordlessly as I try to formulate a comeback. And now one person has asked, more accusations rain down on me. I grip Poppy more tightly in my arms and march away from them. Their voices follow me.

  A woman shouts, ‘Did she get in your way, Bethany?’

  ‘You helped to dispose of Katie Williams, didn’t you, Beth?’ says another.

  I begin to run, but I’m afraid Poppy will hear the awful things being said, so I lower her down and thrust both hands over her ears. Together, somewhat awkwardly, we carry on walking.

  ‘Why are you protecting a killer?’

  ‘Does your daughter know her daddy is in prison?’

  I’m horrified at this last question. I’m glad I’ve covered Poppy’s ears.

  The awful realisation hits me: this won’t stop by moving to Adam’s. They’ll find me and follow me there, as will whoever it is who’s intent on frightening me. PC Hopkins was right.

  But I don’t have a better option.

  If they see I’m helping the investigating officers, will they stop hounding me?

  Maybe Imogen Cooper will be able to help me. She might be the only one who can.

  Chapter 75

  TOM

  Now

  The TV in my cell is small, but it’s a luxury in here and at first, I was grateful for it. It didn’t take long, though, before a feeling of loathing took over – watching the outside world, knowing I wasn’t going to be a part of it again, irked me. As much as Maxwell tries to be optimistic and spouts ridiculous positive phrases like those ones on mugs that basic bitches have, now I know Beth has supplied some evidence against me, there’s little hope of a not guilty verdict. Despite my hurt and anger, seeing her on the news earlier was frustrating because I still want to help her. But there’s nothing I can do. I caused this.

  But she will be my downfall. She will cause my lifelong imprisonment.

  Maxwell said that a piece of evidence linking me to another historic death has been ‘found’. And I don’t need to guess what the evidence is, or how they came upon it. I know it’s Phoebe’s university sweatshirt. I’m assuming they no longer think it was an accidental death – they’ll be looking at it again in a different light now. Another murder they’ll be hoping to pin on me.

  Beth told me she’d burn it. The traitor.

  My wife, the liar.

  Chapter 76

  BETH

  Now

  ‘I’m so scared, Imogen,’ I say, the second I open the door to DC Cooper. The noise outside confirms that there’s still a crowd of reporters gathered, despite my outburst only an hour ago. Did they shout questions at Imogen when she arrived? Did she answer any of them?

  She’s wearing a dark-grey linen trouser suit today with a white shirt beneath. Its over-sized collar tapers to a sharp point. She gives a fleeting smile and a nod of her head in greeting, then heads straight into the kitchen, where she shrugs off her jacket and hangs it deftly over the chair before she sits down. She’s yet to utter a word.

  ‘Coffee?’ I’m on edge, wondering if she’s about to inform me of something bad. Her serious expression doesn’t waver. But then, it rarely alters, so maybe I shouldn’t read much into that.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  I shift my position so I’m side on to her while I prepare the drinks, rather than having my back to her. It’s not because I think it’s rude to turn my back – I just need to have eyes on her. I realise I’m not as trusting of her as I’d first thought. She is merely the better of two bad options.

  ‘I appreciate you coming here. It must be a drag travelling from London.’

  ‘It’s my job, Beth. I’m working on the murder case and you are involved, so …’

  Shit. Involved. Her wording makes me shudder, as does the realisation she’s not really here for my benefit.

  ‘Has something else happened?’ I venture.

  ‘What, in addition to your midnight caller?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s just you seem …’ I rack my brain for the right word. ‘Preoccupied.’ That is the wrong word – it implies I think her mind is elsewhere, that she’s not up to the job or something. I can’t afford to alienate her. ‘Like there’s something you need to tell me,’ I add.

  ‘I’d like to ask further questions, but no – I don’t have anything further to tell you. You’re clearly concerned there’s more, though. Which means there must be more to know.’

  I fell into that trap.

  ‘There’s always more, isn’t there?’ I say, eyes widening. ‘It’s like being in an ITV crime drama here these days.’

  ‘The bad guys usually get their just deserts in those shows. That’s not always the reality.’ Her cool, grey eyes penetrate mine. I’m the first to look away.

  ‘If this were a show, I’d probably be the next victim.’ I say it half-jokingly, but it’s met with a serious expression.

  ‘Why do you think you weren’t one of Tom’s victims? Why has he spared you?’

  ‘You make it sound like some ritualistic sacrificial killing I managed to escape from!’

  ‘Poor wording. But if you say Phoebe was his first victim, then seven years later, Katie – why did he stop?’

  ‘He said they were accidents – that he didn’t intend to kill them. They both wronged him – belittled him – and he lost his temper. Lost control. I guess I’ve never caused him to behave in that way.’ I shrug and put the drinks down on the table before I sit. ‘Then we had Poppy. She means the world to him. He’s always craved a happy family unit. I don’t think he had that himself when he was growing up – although he’s never told me much about his childhood. He always somehow turned it around and asked me about mine instead. He thought it was better just the two of us. He didn’t invite any of his family to our wedding.’

  ‘That seems strange,’ Imogen says, her eyes narrowing. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t have any and he didn’t want me to feel bad. He kept saying it was our day anyway, that we didn’t need anyone else. He maintained that over the years – the fact we had each other, so outside interference was never welcomed. Tom was all I needed. I was all he needed.’

  But now I know this to be a lie.

  I wasn’t enough. Tom had someone else.

  I battle with my conscience over whether to mention this to Imogen now. For some reason, I want to keep it to myself. It’s not relevant to the investigation.

  Not unless he’s murdered her.

  My heart slams against my ribcage.

  Why hasn’t this crossed my mind before now?

  He was late back on the first Monday, when this all began, then he disappeared for the entire day on Tuesday. He borrowed a car from Oscar’s garage. To remain untraceable on CCTV and avoid his number plate being recognised? If he were merely visiting his lover, why the need to have a different vehicle? As far as I’m aware, he’s never done that before.

  I sense the weight of Imogen’s gaze.

  ‘What are you thinking, Beth?’
/>   ‘I’m thinking there could be another reason I’ve been targeted.’

  ‘Oh? What?’

  ‘When you told me Tom didn’t go to work on the Tuesday, I did a little bit of digging.’

  Imogen’s sculpted eyebrows raise. ‘Go on,’ she says, leaning forwards.

  ‘I spoke with the bank, as you did, and his boss, Alexander, said that if he was going to confide in anyone, it would be Jimmy, his colleague. He was away the day I visited, so I spoke with him on Friday, and he was convinced that Tom was having an affair.’ Telling her feels right.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Imogen says, her sharp elbows resting on the table, her chin on her clenched fists. ‘If that’s true, it might explain the missing day we haven’t been able to account for in the timeline. We know he borrowed a car and we’ve been scouring hours of CCTV footage to figure out where he went after he drove it to London …’

  My heart drops. Imogen has just confirmed Tom did go to London on Tuesday. It seems likely Jimmy was right, then. Suddenly, things begin to make sense.

  ‘It might account for why I haven’t been the next victim,’ I say, quietly. I’m almost afraid of what reaction I’ll get.

  Imogen slams back in her chair, letting out a long stream of air. She stands abruptly, sending the chair sliding back on the limestone-tiled floor.

  ‘Did Jimmy give you a name?’ She’s jabbing at the keys on her mobile as she speaks.

  ‘No, he promised me he didn’t know who she was, only that he reckoned he’d been seeing her for a long time. Years, he said. But I can’t believe that. Tom hated cheaters; he’d never do it to me.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t class it as cheating.’

  ‘Having sex with someone other than his wife? I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.’

  ‘And I’m pretty sure he might see it differently if he wasn’t actually in a relationship with her.’

  ‘So, just because it’s only sex, that doesn’t count as infidelity?’

  ‘It’s what some men, and women, believe, yes. It helps them carry on doing it without feeling guilty. They justify it because they aren’t emotionally involved.’ She’s walking into the hallway now.

  ‘You’re going? I thought you were meant to be talking to me about the gallows?’ I’m at her heels, dangerously close to physically dragging her back into the kitchen. I don’t feel at all confident anything will be done about the threat to me if she leaves.

  ‘Sorry, Beth, something important has come up. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  As she rushes to the front door, I catch what she says to whoever she’s just dialled.

  ‘I think we’ve had a breakthrough,’ she says, before opening the door and running up the path towards her car.

  What did I say to invoke this reaction from her?

  All I can assume is that what I’ve just told her now has enabled her to make a link to another case.

  Has there been a third murder?

  Chapter 77

  BETH

  Now

  The visit from Imogen Cooper was much quicker than anticipated, which means I’ve enough time to pop into the café. I keep my head down when I leave the house as the reporters shout their questions. Mostly they’re the same questions as earlier. Apart from one.

  ‘Who do you think has it in for you, Beth?’ a male voice calls.

  So they do know about the gallows. I cast my eyes upwards as I pass the neighbouring properties. I can’t imagine any of the occupants have spoken willingly to this mob. And then a thought occurs to me.

  What if it was one of them? One of the journalists themselves?

  Some of them have practically been camping out – one of them would’ve seen the culprit, surely. Maybe the reason they’re not coming forward is because they’re covering up for one of their own.

  ‘Didn’t you see who did it?’ I shout. ‘Or was it one of you?’

  I’m met with a stony silence, which is a surprise. Maybe my accusation has hit a nerve. None of them offer any information, so I turn on my heel and carry on. They’ve lost interest by the time I dive inside the café.

  ‘Ah, Beth. How are you doing?’ Shirley Irish asks. ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ She’s got a bulging paper bag in her hands, which will be filled with her usual order of cookies.

  ‘I’ve been better,’ I say. No point trying to pretend otherwise at this point.

  ‘I don’t like to poke my nose in, but I was thinking,’ she says. I hold my breath for what’s to come. ‘I don’t think, given the circumstances, that it would be wise to run your book club, do you?’

  This isn’t what I was expecting her to say, and I’m relieved to the point I almost laugh. ‘Er … no. You’re quite right, it wouldn’t. If I’m honest, I’d forgotten about it! You know, I’ve had such a lot on my mind. But rest assured, it’s cancelled,’ I say with feeling.

  ‘Good, good,’ she says. I assume she’s finished now she’s got this off her chest, but her face becomes even more serious. ‘I keep hearing terrible updates,’ she says, her eyes widening. ‘Awful business with Tom …’ She trails off, but I get the impression she wants to add, ‘How could you not have known?’ I’m scared, now that I’ve told Adam and given a fuller account to the detectives, that my knowledge of Tom’s actions will become public. And what will everyone think of me then?

  I may have to rethink my strategy.

  ‘It’s devastating, Shirley. I’m trying to do all I can to help the police,’ I say. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I blink them away, but Shirley notices them.

  ‘Come now, love.’ She puts her free hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. ‘I’m sure everyone in Lower Tew knows it’s nothing to do with you. None of this is your fault. We don’t always know everything about a person, do we? It’s shocking what some people hide.’

  I can’t look her in the eye.

  ‘Thank you – I appreciate that. Right, best get on,’ I say as I move away. I don’t turn back until I hear the door close. An icy-cold sensation shoots up my spine. Why did it feel as though she’d been looking right into my soul?

  ‘Ah, Beth – it’s you!’ Lucy’s sing-song voice brings a smile to my face.

  ‘Hi, Lucy. I’m like one of the lost sheep, aren’t I?’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I drafted in some free help.’ Lucy puts her arm out towards a teenage girl with a punk hairstyle and a dozen or so face piercings. ‘This is Emmy. She’s doing some work experience and we thought this was the perfect opportunity. She’s my cousin,’ she adds, by way of explanation. I’m pleased Lucy has some help – I’ve neglected her and Poppy’s Place badly.

  ‘Brilliant!’ I reach forwards to shake Emmy’s hand. ‘Glad to meet you, Emmy. How are you finding it so far?’

  ‘S’good.’ She gives what I think is a smile, but it’s difficult to tell due to the line of small silver balls surrounding her lips. Lucy instructs her to clear a table, and once she’s ambled off, explains to me how having her to tidy up is helpful, despite her not being the most enthusiastic worker.

  ‘Honestly, whatever makes your life easier is fine by me,’ I say.

  ‘Any updates?’

  ‘Apart from a threatening “gift” left in my front garden last night, no.’

  ‘Christ, Beth. What was it?’

  ‘Oh, you know – just a gallows with a fake body hanging from it.’

  Lucy’s face pales. ‘You’re joking! That’s so scary.’

  ‘Unfortunately, my sense of humour is in dramatic decline. So … no – I’m not joking. We’re going to stay at a friend’s for a few nights – or maybe a bit longer – until this blows over.’ I don’t feel it’s wise to mention that Adam is that friend for now.

  ‘And you think it will?’

  Lucy’s negativity crushes me. It’s what I’ve already been thinking – that there’s no end in sight for this – but hearing her question it feels like a stab to the heart.

  ‘God, I hope so. We can’t go on like this, ca
n we? I’d have to move away.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Beth. I love this job.’ She eyes me cautiously, probably wondering if she should start looking for another position, but then she adds, ‘Oh, God that sounds so selfish of me. I’m sorry. Thinking about myself again.’ She lowers her eyes.

  ‘You’ve every right to think of yourself, Lucy. But don’t worry, your job here is safe. Even if we were to leave, I’d keep Poppy’s Place going. You’re practically running the whole show anyway – I’m sure you could manage it for me.’

  ‘Thanks. But don’t go. Don’t be run out of this place by a few haters.’

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t want me gone – especially given that Tom dragged Oscar into his … mess. And maybe you wouldn’t feel as compassionate if he’d been accused of murdering one of your family members, would you?’

  Lucy doesn’t answer.

  I don’t blame her.

  To lighten the mood, I ask if I can do anything while I’m there. Lucy suggests I check the kiln and make sure the trays are clean. It feels a bit weird to take instruction from her, but she really has been the boss lately. I’m glad to be of some assistance, and even more glad to be out at the back, away from the public glare of accusation.

  I potter about, my mind wandering from one thing to another: why Imogen ran off so quickly after I mentioned Tom’s affair; who the third victim, if there is one, is; how to manage the developing situation with Adam; how to keep up the façade, or whether I should come clean right away. It’s been relatively easy up until now to keep the truth from spilling out. But it won’t last. I can’t stay quiet indefinitely.

  Chapter 78

  BETH

  Now

  Imogen Cooper’s phone went straight to voicemail several times during the day, so I’m surprised to see her name pop up on my mobile now – it gives my heart a jolt. It’s probably about the third victim. Am I ready to hear what she has to say? Will she be ready to hear what I have been reluctant to share?

  ‘Hi Imogen,’ I say. ‘I’ve been trying to contact you.’