The Guilty Wife

by Elle Croft

  Everything felt unreal, like a haze that would disappear if I blinked. This was the thing I’d feared for so long, the reality I’d fought so hard and lied so frequently to avoid. I’d heard of people talking about having out-of-body experiences during surreal moments, but what I was feeling was so much worse.

  I was trapped inside my flesh, not out of it. I was watching my life as I knew it crumbling around me, and I wanted to thrash, claw, tear my way out. But all I could do was sit. Follow instructions. And hope.

  As I was being led between rooms, I heard Jason’s raised voice, along with another calmer, more soothing one; someone attempting to pacify him. It was nice to have him fighting in the ring with me, although I knew instinctively that his yelling wasn’t going to achieve much here.

  In the next room I entered, an officer sat me down and introduced himself. The sound of his voice was distant and muffled, like he was watching me drown.

  ‘Mrs Reston? Mrs Reston! Are you even listening to me?’

  The policeman, whose name I hadn’t registered, looked at me with unconcealed contempt.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Is it possible for me to get a cup of coffee, please?’

  He stared at me, incredulous, then got up without a word. He slammed the door and I was left in silence. I doubted a coffee would help, but I was just so exhausted that I wasn’t sure I could make it through whatever was coming next without some kind of help.

  I exhaled slowly and tried to relax my shoulders, which were wound tightly and riddled with knots. I’d asked for Constable Clayton, and I’d been assured that she would be with me shortly. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else before she arrived. It’s not that I trusted her, as such. But she’d been inside my home, had listened to what I had to say from the start. I didn’t want to have to explain myself from scratch to someone new.

  I wished I’d had more time to chat this over with Jason, with Alex. To make sure they really understood the danger they’d be facing once I started talking. But I had to talk, didn’t I? Isn’t that what Jason wanted, why he let me get arrested?

  I wanted to be free of all of this, but not if it meant my husband or my best friend getting hurt. I have a suspect’s name now, I told myself. I just hoped it was the right one. If the police arrested Vincent and he wasn’t the real killer after all, I couldn’t bring myself to imagine the consequences.

  Would Vincent know that I was here? Would he be listening, somehow, to what I said? He seemed to be everywhere, to know everything. It frightened me how quickly I’d gone from doubting Jason’s theory to wholeheartedly believing that Vincent was the killer, but what other choice did I have? I couldn’t be accused of murder without having a compelling suspect to present to the police as an alternative. I wasn’t going to just roll over and accept this.

  I mentally spread out all the pieces of my Calum-shaped puzzle, shifting them so I could present Clayton with a clear account, in an order that showed I couldn’t possibly have killed London’s favourite businessman, and that Vincent needed closer attention.

  Except I couldn’t line them up. I didn’t even have all of the border pieces from which to start assembling the bigger picture. I had no idea how Vincent had managed to stab Calum in the seconds after I left him, without leaving a shred of evidence. He had an alibi, I reminded myself. He’d thought of everything, which meant he was smart. And experienced.

  The detective whose name I couldn’t recall walked back into the room, his frown deeper than when he had left, holding a steaming styrofoam cup and a manila file.

  ‘Mrs Reston,’ he said, placing the cup in front of me.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Calum Bradley.’

  I looked at him, expecting a but: but of course we know you can set things straight for us; but this arrest is just a formality; but there’s no physical evidence so you’ll be on your way just as soon as we have a statement from you.

  But no.

  He stared stoically at me, waiting for a response, but I couldn’t muster one.

  This was all happening too quickly. Jason told me that by turning myself in, I’d be clearing my name. Why was no one giving me the chance to do just that?

  ‘When’s Constable Clayton getting here? And can I speak to my lawyer please?’

  I had no idea what Alex would be able to do, and I knew that technically she wasn’t the right kind of lawyer, but we did have paperwork to prove that she was my divorce attorney. I had no idea if that would count for anything.

  She must have already been at the station, because within minutes she burst into the room I was in, demanded to speak to her client confidentially, and grabbed me in a huge bear hug as soon as the door closed and we were left alone.

  ‘Bethany! What are you going to do?’

  Her voice was shrill. I held her at arm’s length and looked up at her panic-twisted face.

  ‘You’re my lawyer. You tell me.’

  Alex coughed in surprise.

  ‘Bethany, we’ve been through this. I can’t represent you in a criminal case. Besides, I’m way too close to this. Look. I’ll ask around. I have some friends from law school who went on to do criminal law. They might at least know someone who can represent you. But until then, just don’t say a word, OK? I mean it, Bethany. Nothing.’

  ‘But what about Vincent?’ I asked. ‘Did Jason tell you?’

  Alex winced.

  ‘Yeah, he called me. I just caught up with him here at the station. God, I feel awful about pointing the finger at him. Does he know I was the one who suggested that?’

  I stared at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is not about me. I know. Still … I’m sorry, I really, really am. I was so wrong, but I just didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, feeling equally embarrassed. ‘I have a lot of making up to do, too. But I need to get out of here first.’

  ‘Don’t worry. And don’t stress about Vincent,’ Alex said. ‘Just leave it with us. Jason and I will try to find some more information on him. And evidence, if we can. We have something to go on now at least, so you just need to worry about keeping your mouth shut until you have a real lawyer.’

  I gritted my teeth.

  ‘Fine. But can you please make it quick? I just want to go home.’

  Alex pulled me into another hug and gripped me so tightly that I began to laugh.

  ‘Stop it,’ I said, peeling her arms from my shoulders. ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’

  She let go, and her hands went straight to her face. I saw her shoulders moving, but it took a few seconds for me to realise why.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Alex,’ I said, suddenly angry. ‘I’m the one who was arrested for murder and you’re the one who’s crying. Are you kidding me?’

  She nodded, wiping her vein-laced eyes, and sniffed deeply.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re right. I just, I feel so helpless, and I hate that this is happening to you.’

  ‘Well, I’m not thrilled about it, either,’ I said. ‘But feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to change anything. I just need to get this mess straightened out. How’s Jason?’

  She raised an eyebrow and I managed to smile. Everything felt so normal now that Alex was in the room. I felt hopeful again, like maybe this would be OK after all.

  ‘He’s freaking out a little,’ she said.

  ‘He’ll be fine – just take care of him for a few hours until I’m out.’

  This time, both of Alex’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot upwards.

  ‘Bethany, you’re not getting out of here tonight. You know that, right?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ I said. ‘I. Didn’t. Murder. Calum.’

  I enunciated every word as though she was incapable of understanding this simple truth. It wasn’t like I was going to profess my innocence without giving the police anything else to go on.

  They’d have Vincent soon.

  And then everything was going to be fine.


  Chapter Forty-seven

  A few hours after Alex had left, Constable Clayton entered the room and all warmth raced out of the door to make space for her icy demeanour.

  She was followed by a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was short, with a dark bob, wearing an immaculately tailored skirt and jacket. She didn’t look like a cop.

  Leaning over Constable Clayton, she reached out a hand towards me.

  ‘Shannon Adler. Your lawyer.’

  I looked at her blankly.

  ‘Your husband called me. I was recommended to him by Alex Taylor – I knew her at law school.’

  I shook her outstretched hand and she sat down, smoothing her skirt and looking at the detective coldly.

  ‘I’d like a moment alone with my client, please.’

  The tension in the air was a physical presence. I felt like I could reach out and snap it. Clayton nodded and left the two of us alone.

  ‘Tell me everything,’ Adler said. ‘But quickly, if you can. They want to charge you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Charge me?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘How can they charge me when I didn’t do it?’

  ‘Well, they believe that their evidence tells another story, I’m afraid. Just tell me what you know.’

  My mind went blank. They wanted to charge me without hearing my side of the story. How was that possible? I tried to speak, but I couldn’t piece my thoughts together.

  ‘I’m here to make sure you don’t get convicted for murder,’ said my lawyer, her tone gentler now. ‘But I need to know your version of things. Why don’t you start with the night of Mr Bradley’s death. What were you doing?’

  Once I began, the words tumbled over each other in their hurry to escape. I told her where I’d been, and why I couldn’t admit to being the woman in the video. I explained Calum’s system of complete secrecy, how I started getting the notes, the knife – everything.

  When I was done, Shannon let out a whistle.

  ‘Well, that’s one hell of a mess. I just wish you’d got in touch with me sooner.’

  ‘Honestly,’ I said, feeling more drained than I thought possible, ‘I was too scared to talk to anyone. About any of this.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ she said. ‘But you’re here now, and they’re probably going to charge you, so we have to offer enough information to make them start looking in the right direction. But not enough to give them a solid case against you, do you understand?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The police don’t have a motive for you,’ she said. ‘And we need to keep it that way. At a trial, the jury wants to hear why someone would do what they’re being accused of. Without one, and with nothing but circumstantial evidence – which is all they have on you so far – there will be reasonable doubt. My job – and yours – isn’t to lie. It’s to make sure we prove the truth: that you didn’t do it. There are already rumours circulating about you and Mr Bradley, probably just because he’s had affairs before, and it makes good news, but so far there’s no evidence. I need you to tell me right now, though, if there is anything or anyone who could expose your relationship.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Well, Jason and Alex know. But they won’t say anything. And there’s nothing else to prove that we were having an affair.’

  I’d made sure of that. The only piece of indisputable evidence had just been destroyed.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘So what can I say to the police?’ I asked. ‘They’re going to ask about my alibi.’

  ‘Don’t comment on that. There’s no need to lie, but if they ask you where you were, just say “no comment”. It might feel strange, but I’ll be right here. It’s your right not to say anything that you don’t want to.’

  ‘And the picture of me with the knife?’

  ‘Again, no comment,’ she said. ‘It’s not proof of anything, just more circumstantial evidence.’

  ‘What about the notes?’

  She paused.

  ‘I think it would help for them to have proof that you were being threatened, and that there is someone else they should be looking for. But I wouldn’t recommend mentioning all of them. You said that one of the notes suggested you have a motive?’

  ‘Yes, the photo of us arguing.’

  ‘Let’s keep that one to ourselves. Do the others incriminate you?’

  I shook my head, and then realised where the notes were.

  ‘Jason has them,’ I gasped. ‘What if he’s already handed them over? They’re all together.’

  ‘I’ll go and check,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he hasn’t submitted any evidence yet. I’ll get the notes from him now and take a look. And then the detectives are going to want to interview you. Are you ready for this?’

  I wanted to shake my head, to beg her to do it for me. But instead I nodded, and watched her get up and leave.

  When she returned, two detectives were with her: Clayton, and a man I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Just remember,’ Shannon murmured as she sat down, ‘I’m right here. Pause before every question if you’re unsure and I’ll indicate whether you can answer or not. And if you need a break or you have questions about anything, just say.’

  There was a shuffling of papers, of chairs. My pulse was thunderous.

  ‘Bethany Reston, I must start by informing you that this interview is being recorded by these cameras here.’ Clayton pointed to two opposite corners of the room. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  My eyes flicked towards Ms Adler. She nodded at me. I didn’t feel reassured.

  ‘I’d like to begin with the question of what you were doing on the night that Mr Bradley was murdered.’

  I could barely squeeze the words past the lump that had formed in my throat.

  ‘No comment,’ I whispered. I saw another nod from Adler in my peripheral vision.

  ‘Very well. Could you please tell me what’s happening in this picture?’

  She slid a printed and enlarged photograph across the table towards me. I didn’t need to look at it to know that it was the image the killer had sent to the media, the photo of me holding the knife. I turned my face away. Seeing it meant remembering that night, when a fear like I’d never known had clenched me more tightly than I’d gripped the knife.

  ‘No comment.’

  A sigh.

  Of course she’d chosen topics I couldn’t comment on to begin with. I knew how uncooperative that would make me look. I fought the urge to scream in frustration, and instead stared stoically ahead, willing her to ask the right questions.

  Clayton flicked her long ponytail over one shoulder and shifted in her seat.

  ‘How about telling me who took this picture, then. Can you comment on that?’

  I glanced at my lawyer, who nodded her head ever-so-slightly.

  ‘Well, I can’t say for certain, but someone has been stalking me, and I have a feeling it’s Vincent.’

  ‘Vincent?’

  ‘Morris. One of Calum’s security guys.’

  The room was silent, apart from the scratching of the detective’s pen as she scribbled in her notepad.

  ‘Why do you think Mr Morris is stalking you, Mrs Reston?’

  ‘I didn’t know who it was until Jason mentioned him – I mean, I still don’t know if it’s definitely him, but Calum’s killer has been stalking and intimidating me. It’s the same person who hacked into my Facebook account. He got into my home, into my bedroom while I slept, he recorded my phone calls.’

  ‘Slow down a second. First of all, if you were a victim of stalking, why didn’t you report it to us? We take stalking very seriously.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He said he’d kill me if I spoke to you. He was listening. That’s why I couldn’t come in when you asked me to.’

  ‘Did you actually speak to this
person? Can you positively identify Mr Morris?’

  ‘No. I mean, he spoke to me once on the phone, but his voice was distorted. Other than that, it was just notes. And texts.’

  ‘Do you have these notes for us to examine?’

  I looked at Adler.

  ‘I’ll send them over in the morning,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you. Mrs Reston, why do you think this person wanted you not to talk to us?’

  ‘He must have thought that I knew what he’d done. Which I didn’t. But if you want to know the truth, why don’t you ask Vincent?’

  ‘We’ll be sure to look into him, but in the meantime I have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘But Vin—’

  ‘We will investigate your allegations. But for now, could you please tell me if this is you?’

  She slid another photo across the table, and once again I didn’t need to look further than an initial glance. It was the image of me from the CCTV camera, the one that had been used as my Facebook profile picture.

  ‘No comment.’

  I knew exactly what no comment meant, and so did she. It meant that I was the woman in the CCTV footage.

  ‘I thought as much, Mrs Reston. But we have a warrant to search your home, which we have officers doing as we speak, and I have a suspicion that soon we’ll know for sure who the owner of this very unusual hat is.’

  I felt a muscle twitching in my cheek. They’d find that hat. It wasn’t exactly well concealed.

  Ms Adler leaned in to whisper in my ear.

  ‘Do you need a break, Mrs Reston?’

  I craved a moment of peace, but I shook my head. A break would mean that my interview would have to continue later, and as much as it felt unbearable now, I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to start the process again later. I had momentum, and I needed to keep going, to do whatever it took for this ordeal to be over.

  ‘What were you doing in Calum Bradley’s apartment this evening, Mrs Reston?’

  ‘No comment.’