The Guilty Wife

by Elle Croft

Chapter Twenty-eight

  Fumbling with my key, and cursing myself for drinking Jason’s abandoned wine as well as my own when I needed to be alert, I got inside my front door and closed it, forgetting my recent double-locking ritual. Abandoning it, really. It had proven to be useless.

  Standing at the sink, I chugged a glass of water and poured a second, my head clearing with every sip. My gaze drifted into the living room. Something was out of place. I couldn’t find it at first, but then my eyes locked onto the coffee table by the window. Something that didn’t belong there was glinting at intervals in the passing headlights outside. In the dim light, I couldn’t identify the object, couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I moved closer, dread building with every step. I forced myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  It couldn’t be. It was a dream; the one where I was trying to move, but the air was solid, impenetrable. The last few feet towards the window felt like miles. I knew what it was before I reached it, but I prayed that I was wrong.

  The serrated black blade radiated sinisterness. It was lean and sharp, a knife created for efficiency, for power. Teeth lined the edge of the weapon, like a predator, greedy for flesh. And covering all of it was a film of blood. Dark, dried, and almost black like the blade itself.

  Calum’s blood.

  My stomach lurched, and panic exploded in my brain.

  I had to get rid of it. The coffee table was visible through the living room window, which meant that anyone who was looking could see the knife that had killed Calum. Without thinking, I picked it up, and then froze. I was touching the murder weapon with my bare hands. My fingerprints would be on it. I squeezed my eyes closed. I needed to think, to stop the panic from taking over and work out what to do with the knife in my hand.

  My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket. One buzz, then another.

  I had to get rid of this knife. I reached for my phone, still holding the bloodied weapon in my trembling left hand. I swiped the screen with my thumb and saw two messages from an unknown number. I opened them one after the other.

  Say cheese!

  Good luck talking yourself out of this one.

  My whole body shook as the third message, a picture, loaded on my screen. As the loading wheel spun, my body swayed and I had to hold onto the back of an armchair. The image suddenly appeared, crystal clear, and a strangled cry escaped my lips.

  The photo had been taken just seconds ago.

  It was me. Here. Now.

  Holding Calum’s murder weapon.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘Alex!’ I screamed, slamming my fist against the thin wooden door of her apartment.

  ‘Alex! It’s Bethany! Open up. NOW!’

  My fist pounded faster and harder until it was numb, but I persisted until the door flew open and Alex stood in the doorway, dishevelled and confused, concern written across her face.

  ‘What the hell, Bethany? Do you have any idea what time it is? I have neighbours, you know. God! You look awful. What happened?’

  I shoved past Alex into her apartment and waited for her to close the door. I pulled a twenty-pound note from my pocket and shoved it into her hand.

  ‘I’ve paid you now. So you’re my lawyer, right?’

  Alex stared at the crumpled note in her hand and then back at me.

  ‘Are you drunk, Bethany? This isn’t funny. You can’t come over in the middle of the night and wake my whole building just for some dumb joke.’

  ‘Alex, look at me. This isn’t a joke. I need you to tell me that you’re my lawyer and that what I am about to tell you is confidential. Please.’

  I began to sob.

  ‘Please, Alex. Please.’ My cries caught in my chest and made me hiccup.

  ‘OK,’ she said, putting her arm around me and guiding me to her sofa. ‘All right. I don’t know what this is about, so I don’t know if legal privilege applies, but I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything. Now sit down here while I make some coffee – no, don’t argue – and then you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Once the coffee had brewed and I had calmed down enough to string a sentence together, I sat across from Alex and told her what had been happening.

  Once I started talking, the words just flew out. When I got to the part about that hasty first encounter in Calum’s apartment, Alex’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say a word.

  I carefully detailed how we kept our affair a secret and described our argument, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. Our meeting in Kensington, our last goodbye. I relived the moment when I heard the news about Calum’s death, when I realised that I was the last person, apart from his killer, to see him alive. I confessed to Alex that I’d lied to the police to avoid my affair being headline news, and that I’d broken into Mark’s flat to find evidence.

  When I started talking about the notes, I pulled them from my bag. I showed Alex the photos and, when I thought her eyes couldn’t get any wider, I retrieved the knife, which I’d hastily wiped down and wrapped in a tea towel before leaving my house.

  In any other circumstances I would have revelled in the shock of my unshockable friend, but right now I didn’t care. Alex stared carefully at the photo on my phone and then put it down without saying a word.

  ‘Bethany,’ she said finally, after a pause so long that I was beginning to feel nervous. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you keep this all a secret?’

  I met her gaze for a moment.

  ‘Seriously?’ I asked. ‘Alex, it looks like I murdered Calum Bradley. That’s not the sort of thing you just casually drop into conversation.’

  ‘I don’t care. You should have come to me sooner. God. I mean, you’ve been dealing with all of this on your own for how long? How are you still standing?’

  I shrugged. I didn’t know how, but here I was, still living. Still breathing.

  Alex put on another pot of coffee and sat next to me, holding my hand, asking me questions and making me repeat parts of my story to clarify it.

  ‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘You need to look at your options.’

  ‘Do I have any?’

  ‘Of course you do. Have you thought about going to the police?’

  I laughed.

  ‘Alex,’ I said, my tone patronising, ‘whoever this is has been watching me in my sleep. He can get into my home without leaving a trace. He’s listening to my conversations. And he killed someone. I’m not going to do the one thing he specifically told me not to.’

  She didn’t respond so I continued. ‘It’s not just that I look a bit suspicious. Pictures of me holding the murder weapon? And my prints on the knife? That’s not suspicious. It screams guilty.’

  I waited for my friend to tell me I was being irrational. She closed her eyes, concentrating.

  ‘As a professional,’ she began, ‘my advice is to take everything to the police and trust them with it.’

  ‘And as my friend?’

  ‘Well …’ She paused. ‘I can completely understand your hesitation. It’s a pretty terrifying situation you’ve been put in. There’s a lot of evidence that points to you, and nothing that actually points anywhere else. The letters are a good start, but unfortunately they don’t really prove anything. With what he has on you now, he could prove you had the means, which is the knife, the motive, which is your relationship, and the opportunity, which is that you were with Calum that night. So as much as I hate to say it, as your friend, I wouldn’t recommend going to the police now. Which means we need to work out who this bastard is, and how to make him stop.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Trust me, I’ve tried. I keep racking my brain, hoping to come up with some idea of who it is, but I just don’t know. At first I thought it could be Claire. I don’t know why – maybe she was jealous or something. And she’s the spouse, so of course she had to be a suspect.’

  ‘I thought you said she has an alibi, though,’ Alex argued. ‘And the motive doesn’t ma
ke sense. She didn’t need his money. I suppose it could’ve been some sort of jealous revenge carried out by someone she paid to do it, but didn’t you say that she had been having affairs of her own? And I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but everyone knows Calum’s cheated before, too.’

  I winced, but I didn’t protest.

  ‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘I ruled her out anyway. I also thought it could be Kitty, but apparently she also has an alibi, so that really just leaves Mark.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Calum’s assistant. He has no alibi for the night, and apparently he wasn’t a huge fan of his boss, after all.’

  ‘Motive?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t think of one, other than hating Calum, maybe. Although it does seem like a stretch. And I couldn’t find anything in his flat that pointed to him.’

  ‘Still. People have murdered for less than taking a dislike to their boss. But what about the notes, and the stalking? How would he get into your place, and more importantly … why?’

  I had no answer. I’d asked myself the same thing over and over, but came up blank every time.

  ‘Well,’ Alex said. ‘It’s not a lot to go on, but he’s a possible suspect, I suppose. We’ll keep him in mind. Anyone else?’

  I shook my head, and we both stared at the floor, as if willing the answer to appear.

  ‘All right,’ Alex said after a while. ‘Let’s think about what we’ve got. This person obviously knows you. I mean, they were stalking you for weeks.’

  ‘They might have just been stalking Calum,’ I countered. ‘I was there with him at his apartment, but I wasn’t necessarily the target of his stalking. At first, anyway.’

  ‘True. So what else? He knows where you live. He knows how to get in and out of your house without a key, or he’s managed to make copies without you knowing. He seems to know whenever you’ve spoken to the police, which means … Ohmygod. Strip, Bethany. Go get clothes from my room, put your stuff in there and shut the door. What if you’ve been bugged?’

  My skin crawled. I’d figured my phone was tapped, but I hadn’t considered the possibility that all of my conversations might have been recorded. I jumped up and undressed in Alex’s room, wanting to burn my belongings. I bundled my clothes and handbag in a pile along with my phone and threw blankets over the top to muffle any noise. Dressed in a set of flannel pyjamas, I walked back into the lounge to see Alex bolting her door.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alex,’ I said, knowing the danger I’d put my friend in. ‘I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in all of this, I just didn’t know where else to go.’

  ‘Listen,’ she said, her tone urgent as she pulled me onto the sofa with her. ‘Just hear me out on this one and don’t hate me for suggesting it. I know you won’t want to believe it, but I’ve thought of someone who has motive, who has access, and who knows you. He could have got in your house without an issue, and you said he’s been acting strangely. Is it possible …’ She paused, and I felt a sense of dread rising as I realised what she was about to say. ‘Could it be Jason?’

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I stared at Alex, not willing to acknowledge what she was saying.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said, too loudly.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, but just think about it for a second. If he had found out—’

  ‘If he’d found out about Calum and me,’ I interrupted, ‘he would have come to me about it, not murdered the guy I was sleeping with. We would have argued, he would have shouted, end of story. He’s not violent, and he’s certainly not a psychopath.’

  ‘I’m not saying he is.’

  ‘Well, that’s what it bloody well sounds like,’ I said defensively. ‘Not only are you suggesting that he’d resort to murder for being cheated on – which by the way is ludicrous because if you knew Jason at all you’d know he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body – but on top of that you’re saying that he’s so goddamn good at it that he committed the crime right under my nose and I had no idea I was sleeping next to a murderer. Does that about sum it up? Or am I missing something?’

  ‘Come on, Bethany,’ Alex said, her arms stretched out imploringly. ‘Just listen to me. Please?’

  I didn’t reply, but I folded my arms across my chest, waiting.

  ‘I know you think he isn’t capable of it,’ she said, and I raised an eyebrow. ‘But it’s not like nice guys have never killed before. The jealous husband, it’s kind of a cliché, if I’m honest. And I’m not trying to say you’re stupid or anything, but you have been pretty distracted since Calum’s death. It’s not like you’ve been paying attention to much that’s happened around you, especially not to Jason.’

  ‘Well I haven’t been that distracted.’

  I wouldn’t admit it, but she was right. Just a few hours ago I’d realised how little I’d even noticed Jason since I’d found out about Calum’s death. Had he been acting strangely all along?

  ‘Maybe not,’ Alex said. ‘But the reason I think it could be him is because who else would have access to your home the way this mysterious note-sender has? They’ve been inside your flat undetected, multiple times, even after you changed the locks, and they know things about you that no one else knows. That’s not something your garden variety crazy person could do. They must know you … like, really know you. Who else is there that has motive – and yes, I know you think it’s implausible, but it’s a motive nonetheless – and the opportunity like Jason did?’

  I kept staring ahead, not wanting to absorb what Alex had said. If I conceded that there was any truth in it, then I had to process the facts, filter through them and decide at the end whether I was left with a murderer for a husband.

  ‘Just because Jason can get into our house,’ I said, ‘doesn’t mean he did it. You need to give me more than that before I can consider my own husband as a suspect.’

  ‘It’s not just that,’ Alex said. ‘You know it’s not just that. What about him acting all weird at dinner and running off like that? He would have had time to get home, plant the knife and get out by the time you got back. Didn’t you say he was out until really late the night Calum was killed? And wanting to get out of London right after the news of Calum’s death broke … you’ve got to admit it adds up.’

  I wanted to ignore what she was saying. Block it out, go back to half an hour ago. But it was too late for ignorance. I let the idea implant in my mind to see if it germinated.

  I had been so impressed by how well I’d been keeping secrets from my husband that perhaps I’d missed what was right under my nose. Maybe I was a terrible liar and Jason had known about my affair all along. If that was true, he was the one who deserved accolades for deceit.

  But I knew Jason. And I knew he wasn’t capable of killing, no matter the circumstances. He was the kindest, most gentle person I’d ever met – it was part of the reason I’d fallen in love with him all those years ago. He was always the first to say sorry in an argument, the quickest to forgive any slight, the only one to laugh off a bad call from a referee at football instead of shouting and railing. He was, in the truest sense, a good person. I couldn’t align the Jason I knew and loved with a version that was capable of killing Calum.

  But for argument’s sake, if he did know, and even if – and it was an enormous if – he was struck with such a jealous rage that he brutally murdered Calum, would he really try to frame me for it? Aside from whether he had the inclination, I didn’t think he had the skills it took to punish and taunt me like that. Although if he really was capable of murder, it followed naturally that I didn’t actually know what Jason was, or was not, likely to do afterwards.

  I tried to replay every detail from the past few weeks through the filter of Alex’s theory. I hated to admit it, but hers was more convincing than any I’d come up with for my own list of suspects. I was almost surprised that I hadn’t at least considered it myself.

  I thought back to the day when I’d learned of Calum’s death. Jason hadn’t be
en at all surprised by my grief, despite the fact that I was feeling it rather more keenly than anyone would rightly expect. He’d also just happened to be out of the house when each of the letters had arrived. He obviously had access to the house to get in and out undetected. And, of course, he could easily have taken the knife from my bedside table that night. The whole operation would barely have been a challenge.

  Jason, like everyone else in the country, had seen the CCTV footage of the supposed killer, of me. That hat was a gift from him, and not just any gift, either. He’d gone to great lengths to buy it for me, to make sure the item I’d been admiring ended up in my wardrobe. He had to have recognised me in that video. I shook my head, scolding myself for so blindly assuming that he was a complete moron, incapable of recognising his own spouse. No wonder he wanted to punish me.

  ‘I mean …’ I ventured tentatively. Could it be true? If I entertained this idea, there was no going back to believing the best in my husband. Either he was capable of murder, or he wasn’t. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t deny that what Alex said actually had some merit.

  ‘He could barely look at me at dinner,’ I said, not committing to agreeing. ‘And he never has to run off for work emergencies like he did tonight. I thought that was weird.’

  ‘Yeah, that is odd,’ she said, letting the silence close in on us until I had to say something.

  ‘It can’t be Jason,’ I realised as relief flooded over me. ‘The notes. I got the first one while we were away for the weekend, so it can’t have been him.’

  Alex paused.

  ‘Were you the last one out of your house the day you left?’

  I thought back to the morning of my husband’s impromptu getaway plan.

  ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Jason went to get the rental car while I packed. Then he grabbed the bags from the hallway and put them in the car while I locked up.’

  ‘And he couldn’t have dropped it on his way into the house when you got back?’

  ‘No, he was carrying the bags. And I was right behind him. The note was already there.’