‘I have a problem,’ I said cautiously.
‘Really?’
There was no harm in asking her for help, if I felt my way carefully in case the police had been able to trace her. I reasoned that if they had warned her they suspected I was capable of murder, telling me where she lived was the last thing she would do.
‘I just wondered if it’s possible for you to put me up for tonight? If you feel you can?’
Her silence was almost audible.
‘I know it’s a bit late, but I’ve been let down…’
‘Are you serious? You want to come and stay at my house?’
Her surprise was predictable. She was the last person on earth I ought to be asking for help. But that meant her home was the last place the police would expect to find me.
‘There’s no one else I can turn to right now. I’ll explain when I see you. It’s complicated.’ She didn’t answer. ‘Please. I wouldn’t ask you if I had anywhere else to go.’
‘Don’t you have friends who can help you?’
‘No. That is, yes, I do have friends who’d be happy to help, but I can’t go to anyone I have a known connection with.’
It seemed I had exhausted her patience because she snapped at me. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you phone again, unless it’s to tell me about Paul, I’ll report you to the police.’
‘Please, don’t hang up. Wait, I’ll explain.’
It wasn’t easy describing my situation to her over the phone. When I finally admitted the police were looking for me, she interrupted.
‘Has this got anything to do with Paul’s death?’
‘Yes. The thing is, they seem to think I was in some way responsible for what happened-’
‘They think you killed him?’
‘Yes, and-’
‘Did you?’
‘No!’
‘Then why don’t you tell them that. Why tell me? There's nothing I can do about it. They’re not going to accuse you of something like that without good reason, and if you didn’t do anything you haven't got anything to worry about.’
It was my turn to butt in. ‘I know. You’re right. The trouble is, I’m not sure I can trust the police. You see,’ I paused, wondering how to word what I had to say. ‘There’s circumstantial evidence that points to my having killed Paul. I didn’t,’ I added quickly, ‘only it might look as though I did. And of course, as his wife I inherit everything he owned, so the police are saying I had a motive, and that's why they think I did it.’
‘So, did you?’
‘No, I just told you, I didn’t,’ I insisted. ‘You must know our marriage wasn’t exactly happy. It was over in all but name a long time ago. So, once I found out about your affair, I decided to leave him, and yes, I was going to take him for every penny I could. But I never wanted to kill him. Do you really think I would want my son to lose his father, and risk him seeing his mother go to prison for it?’
I was close to tears, aware that my protestations sounded lame, so I was surprised when she told me I could stay with her. ‘But just for tonight.’
I could have cried with relief. Quickly I made a note of her address and she told me her nearest station. I didn’t let on that it would be too risky for me to use public transport.
‘I’ll be there in about half an hour,’ I told her.
Bella lived on the third floor of a converted Victorian property in Hampstead, about three miles away. It was easy to pick up a taxi at King’s Cross, and within twenty minutes I was ringing the bell for her to buzz me in.
She sounded surprised to hear my voice. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.’
That was fair enough, as it would have taken longer by train.
‘Well, I’m here now. Can I come in?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Just a minute and I’ll get the door.’
I waited and at last the buzzer sounded to let me in. There was no lift. I climbed the stairs and rapped at the door to her flat. She took so long to open it that I was already wondering if I would have to go down and sleep in her hall until the morning. At least I would be safe there. The problem with that was that I urgently needed the loo. I knocked again, more loudly this time, and finally the door opened. Bella looked paler than I remembered her, possibly because she was wearing a dark pink sweatshirt over black jeans and no make up, which made her look very young. Perhaps she was.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘It’s late. I probably shouldn't have come here at all.’
She appeared to be shaking as she led me inside but it was difficult to be sure because her hall was poorly lit.
After I used her bathroom, she showed me into her living room which was brighter, with white walls and beige furniture, and a few watercolour prints on the walls. Although the room was stylishly furnished, the atmosphere felt bland and impersonal, like a reception room in a hotel. There were no photographs on the shelves, just a few books and ornaments tastefully arranged. A large rug on the floor was no substitute for a functional coffee table, and the whole room seemed designed for effect rather than for convenience or comfort.
Perched on a chair, I wondered how often Paul had lounged beside Bella on the sofa. The thought of seeing the bed he must have shared with her was disturbing yet compelling, and I struggled to resist asking to be shown around the flat.
‘This is very nice,’ I said.
Bella’s eyes flicked to the door, as though she was unconsciously willing me to leave.
‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked, glancing at the door again.
‘Thank you.’
She scurried out to her kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room. I heard her clattering around with the kettle and cups, and then she was quiet. I felt trapped, up on the third floor. It had been a mistake to suppose I might feel at ease there.
Bella seemed to be gone for hours, although it could only have been a few minutes. All at once, I felt a pressing need to leave but it seemed churlish to follow my instincts which were screaming at me to walk out of there. A wave of tiredness washed over me. Lying back on the comfortable chair I closed my eyes, allowing myself to relax for the first time in days. Uppermost in my mind was the need to see my son, but I would leave off worrying about that until the morning. After all my rushing around I was safe, at least for one night.
The silence was disturbed by voices that reached me from the hall before the door to the living room was flung open and I heard a familiar voice.
‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you, Julie. It seems you forgot to tell us where you were going.’
With a sigh, I opened my eyes and looked up at Detective Inspector James Morgan. I had been a fool to trust my husband’s mistress.
14
The inspector didn't waste any time in arresting me on suspicion of murdering my husband. His expression was cold, but I thought I saw a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
After the shock and humiliation of my arrest, the next few days passed in a blur. I did my best to block what was happening from my thoughts. Lying on a hard bunk in a police cell, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling with its painted compass, I pretended the last few weeks were just a bad dream, and I would wake up in the morning with Paul in bed beside me and Dan nearly late for school, as had happened so many times in the past.
The following morning, I was introduced to a lawyer, Andrew Parkinson, who had the job of representing me. A fast-talking young man, he licked his lips a lot while his black eyes darted restlessly back and forth. His dark hair lay sleekly on his scalp and I couldn’t tell if it was plastered in hair gel or just naturally greasy. Either way, it was unattractive. At our initial meeting he stared intently at my eyes as though trying to read my mind, as he jumped straight in with his questions.
‘Let’s not waste any time,’ he said. ‘Did you kill your husband?’
‘No, I did not.’
His eyebrows rose ever so slightly. ‘Let’s do that again. Did you kill your husband?’
‘I just told you I didn’t.’
He looked sceptical. ‘Give me one reason why I should believe you.’
‘Oh please, aren’t you supposed to be defending me?’
‘I’m trying to, but it’s not a question of whether or not I believe you, the point is you need to be convincing in court. You’re going to be quizzed by a prosecuting barrister who’ll pick up on every minuscule slip you make, and at the same time as you're dealing with all that pressure, you’ll need to persuade a jury of your innocence. Alternatively, you can confess to the murder, claiming loss of control.’
‘But I didn’t do it! That’s an outrageous suggestion!’
‘Such a defence challenges the mens rea by establishing there was no premeditation,’ he continued, ignoring my outburst. ‘The defence is that the crime was committed while you were temporarily out of control due to your emotional distress. It’s what’s sometimes referred to as a crime of passion. Pleading loss of control could reduce your sentence to a conviction for manslaughter and that's an option we ought to consider.’
‘But I didn’t do it,’ I insisted. ‘Why would I confess to a crime I didn't commit?’
‘That’s what you say, but why should a jury take your word for it?’
I shrugged. ‘They can’t ask Paul, can they?’
Andrew shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That sort of flippant comment isn't going to help you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise to me. I’m on your side, remember. It doesn’t matter what you say to me, but you have to strike the right note in court. You were a devoted wife for nearly twenty years, dedicated to raising a son who has cerebral palsy. A jury is bound to take that into account. All things considered, confessing to a crime of passion and expressing heartfelt regret for what you did, might be the best defence we can offer.’
‘You're not listening to me. Why would I confess to a murder I didn’t commit? I told you I’m innocent.’
‘And so are many people who are convicted of crimes they didn’t commit. How exactly are you intending to persuade the jury you’re innocent when all the evidence points to you being guilty?’
I hesitated. ‘I can tell them I loved my husband-’
‘So, you want to plead temporary loss of control when you discovered he was having an affair?’
‘What? No, I want to say I couldn’t have killed him because I loved him. I’m not saying I necessarily did love him, not anymore, but that would be a reason for being unable to kill him, wouldn’t it? If I loved him?’
My lawyer made it clear he wasn’t interested in my actual feelings, only in what might stand up in court. According to him, it was fine to fabricate our own truth if the jury believed it. And who can say what the truth is, where our emotions are concerned? Perhaps I really had loved Paul right to the end, despite his betrayal. It seemed that no one cared whether the truth was told in court, but how could I be sure I hadn’t been lying to myself all along?
Andrew shook his head, and his black hair glistened under the harsh lighting. ‘The police know that you discovered your husband was having an affair. It would be understandable for a woman in love to have an extreme reaction to such news.’
‘By killing her husband?’
‘It wouldn't be the first time.’
I gazed at him for a moment, stumped. ‘What do you suggest then?’ I asked him. ‘Granted, the police arrested me at Bella’s flat, but they can’t be sure that I knew she was sleeping with Paul. She could have been a friend of mine. In fact,’ I went on, warming to my idea, ‘why would I have gone to see her if I had known about her and Paul?’
He nodded. ‘Why indeed? And yet you did. The police seem convinced you had discovered the affair. Had you told anyone about it?’
I remembered Katie asking me how I could have killed him. I hadn’t seen her since then. She could have told the police that I had discovered Paul's adultery. I had nothing to lose, so I told Andrew about it.
He looked solemn. ‘The police may have questioned your friend- your former friend- and found out that you made the discovery your husband was having an affair one week before he was murdered. So, I’m going to ask you again: how are you going to convince a jury that you didn’t kill your husband?’
‘By finding out who did kill him,’ I replied. ‘There’s no other way out of this mess, as far as I can see. But I can’t do anything while I’m stuck in here. Can you get me out on bail?’
‘That’s not going to be easy if you’re up on a murder charge, but if we can get that reduced to manslaughter due to loss of control.’
‘I’m not going to confess to something I didn’t do. Once I admit I killed him- which I didn't- there’ll be no going back, will there? There must be another way. There just must be. I can’t have my son believing I killed his father. It would destroy him. I need to get out of here to find out what really happened to Paul. And I want to see my son.’
I could hear my voice rising in agitation and forced myself to calm down, breathing deeply. We faced one another in silence for a moment. Then Andrew gave a curt nod and walked over to the door.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked, with a sudden rush of fear that he had decided to abandon me as a hopeless cause.
‘I’m going to see what I can do to get you out of here. Those were your instructions, weren’t they?’
After he had gone, I struggled against a growing sense of despair. My friends didn't believe my protestations of innocence, and my own lawyer was trying to persuade me to plead guilty. It was almost impossible to cling to the hope that I would ever walk away from a prison sentence. More than ever, I felt a burning hatred for Paul who had brought all this trouble crashing down on me.
15
I barely had the energy to protest at being moved from the police cells to a remand prison to await trial. On hearing that I had a visitor, I expected to see my lawyer back again. Hoping it was a good sign that he had returned so soon, I was disappointed to discover who had come to see me.
‘Nina! What are you doing here?’
While I did my best to conceal my dismay, she made no attempt to hide hers. I was shocked at the change in her. It was only two weeks since I had last seen her, but she looked gaunt and wan, and twitchier then ever.
‘You look terrible, Nina. Are you ill?’
‘No.’ She sat down.
‘Is something wrong? You would tell me, wouldn't you?’
‘There's nothing wrong. But why are we talking about me? You’re the one who’s here. How are you? How are they treating you? What the hell, Julie? Is there anything I can do?’
‘Get me out of here?’ I replied with a twisted smile.
The next day I was informed that I had another visitor. When I asked who it was, the sergeant told me my brother wanted to see me. On the point of telling him that I don't have a brother, I stopped. It was obviously a mistake but seeing anyone would alleviate the tedium of my day and get me out of my cell for a short time at least. Having assumed that I had seen the last of my jewellery, I was surprised to see Ackerman seated at the table waiting for me. He looked up with a smile as I approached.
‘Hi,’ he called out, as though we had known one another all our lives, ‘are they treating you, all right?’
‘What made you say you're my brother?’ I hissed as I sat down opposite him.
‘It makes it easier for me to gain access to you. Like this, no one asks any questions.’
‘Why couldn't you just say you're my friend?’
He shrugged. ‘We’re no more friends than we’re brother and sister, so what difference does it make which lie I choose to tell? I’m here, aren't I? Now, shall we crack on?’
I was pleased he hadn't abandoned me, but amazed. For his part, he seemed equally taken aback when I told him I hadn’t expected to see him again.
‘You’ve hardly had your money’s worth out of me yet,’ he replied. ‘There is such a thing as professional integrity. Now, we don't have very l
ong,’ he went on, suddenly businesslike. ‘The police know you were in contact with your husband's mistress. You made several phone calls to her from two different mobile phones, which makes it look as though you might have been concerned to hide your approaches to her, and they have CCTV film of the two of you having coffee together at King’s Cross station. And then of course they apprehended you at her flat after she tipped them off that you had arranged to go there.’
‘She must have called them as soon as we hung up. I remember she seemed shocked that I got there so quickly. She must have expected the police to be there by the time I arrived.’
‘If she believed you killed Paul, she might well have been frightened to be alone in her flat with you.’
‘Do you think that means she knows I didn’t kill him? If that’s the case, then she must have killed him herself.’
He shook his head. ‘It means she thought the police would be waiting at her flat to arrest you when you arrived. In any case, if she had killed him, the police would have found traces of her DNA in your house. Now let’s focus on your movements. Added to your crude attempts to hide your phone calls to your husband’s mistress, the police have found nothing to indicate you ever contacted her before you discovered she was having an affair with your husband. All of which serves to substantiate what your friend- your former friend- Katie told them about how you discovered your husband's adultery shortly before he was murdered.’ Ackerman shook his head again. ‘It's not looking good. You found out your husband was having an affair and a week later he’s killed in bed with you. But don’t look so downhearted. If you discovered the affair, someone else could have discovered it too. I’ve not been idle since our last meeting. I’ve been looking into Bella’s circumstances and found there was an ex. He’s proving difficult to track down, but I’ll find him.’
The Adulterer's Wife: a breathtaking psychological thriller Page 8