The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

her? The strangulation part was always a sexual thing for him. Why not now? Maybe the killing doesn’t do the same thing for him. Maybe he’ll have sex with her lifeless body.

‘They’ll never know,’ he says, bending over her, smiling.

She laughs – it comes out as a constricted gurgle. ‘That’s what you think,’ she manages to say, before swiping her hand up, digging her nails into his neck. He whacks it away, cursing, then pulls the rope again. Harder still. Her eyes bulge; they feel as though they’re about to burst out of her skull. Her vision blurs and her head feels light. Perhaps in her next life she’ll make something of herself. And avoid men like Tom.

She tries to gasp for breath but nothing comes: her airway is totally blocked. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic; struggle; thrash – but she can’t resist the compulsion. That survival instinct you hear about – how even when death is inevitable, you fight it to the last.

She hopes he doesn’t get away with this.

Chapter 72

BETH

Now

Was the scream mine? Or Poppy’s? I leap from the bed and run across the landing to Poppy’s room.

Her bed is empty.

‘Poppy!’ I fall to my hands and knees to check under it. It’s not deep enough below her princess bed for her to be hiding there, but for some reason I check anyway. I call her name again, my blood whooshing in my ears so loudly I probably wouldn’t hear her answer me. My feet sound like rumbling thunder on the stairs as I descend.

‘Poppy, what’s the matter?’ I launch towards her, taking her in my arms. ‘Why are you downstairs, sweetheart?’ Her little body is rigid as she stares at the front door. I glance to where her eyes are focused. ‘Are you having a bad dream, Poppy?’ My hands are on her upper arms; I shake her gently to tear her from the trance. She’s never had night terrors, but I had them as a child, so I wonder if this might be the start. It wouldn’t surprise me, given the last few weeks. As much as I’ve tried to shield her from what’s been happening, she’s still witnessed the journalists; the spitting incident – she’s likely internalised it. And this is how her little brain is coping.

‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’ she says, finally turning her head up to mine. I give her a tight hug.

‘I’m not, my little Poppy poppet. My eyes are just tired.’

Another lie. I seem to be telling so many that they come easily now.

‘Mine too,’ she says, rubbing them. ‘The bang woke me.’

‘Oh, I see. Was the bang down here?’

‘Think so.’

‘You should’ve come and got me first, Poppy. Always come to Mummy first, okay?’

‘Oookay!’ She buries her head in my chest and I lift her up and take her back upstairs. After tucking her in and waiting with her, stroking her temple until she falls back to sleep, I go downstairs. I whack on every light and do a thorough check of each room, wondering what the noise she heard could’ve been. I can’t see anything that may have fallen – there are no items out of place. She must have heard it in her dream.

Before heading back up the stairs I peer out of the lounge window, which overlooks the garden. The sky is inky black, the moon full. Its glittery illumination casts enough light for me to see what caused the bang. My body freezes and goose bumps spring up on my arms. An icy-cold fear clamps down on my heart.

Why the hell would someone do that?

I can’t leave this until morning – this can’t be ignored, or flippantly cast aside like the spitting man. I run back upstairs, taking two steps at a time, grabbing my mobile from the bedside table.

She picks up her phone on the second ring. ‘DC Cooper? It’s Beth Hardcastle. I need you to come to the cottage. Now.’

‘Beth, what’s happened?’ Cooper’s voice is groggy. I’ve obviously woken her.

‘Some creep has been in my garden,’ I say. Before I can explain further, Cooper says she’ll get the local police to send a car over to me.

‘Thanks. The cowards will already be long gone. But I need the police to do something – it’s getting out of hand. I don’t feel safe here.’

‘Okay, Beth. Try and keep calm. Obviously I won’t be able to get to Lower Tew very quickly, but let me call them now and then I’ll call you right back.’

It’s only a few minutes before my phone rings.

‘Two PCs – one male, one female – are heading over to you now, Beth. They’re called Hopkins and Mumford. Only answer the door to them – no one else.’

‘Okay, thanks DC Cooper.’

‘It’s fine to call me Imogen, by the way. Makes a change from Cooper. Or Coops.’

She’s trying to keep me chatting, to keep me calm. But nausea is squirming away in my stomach. ‘Sure. How long will they be?’

‘I’m guessing about twenty minutes.’

‘Twenty! Perhaps I should’ve called 999.’ It’s a long time to wait for a response. What if an intruder had got into the cottage? So much could happen in twenty minutes.

‘Sorry. It wouldn’t be any quicker, though – not to get to your location. The joys of living in the sticks.’

‘There’s no joy at all lately.’

‘I know you’ve been having a tough time. And this will be some idiots trying to scare you—’

‘They’ve succeeded, DC … Imogen. You need to see what they’ve left for me.’

‘You haven’t been outside, though, have you? Stay indoors, Beth. Just to be on the safe side.’

‘Nope. I can see it plainly enough from my window thanks. I just want it gone before Poppy gets up again. She heard it, you know. She was screaming because the noise frightened her. She was right by the front door when I found her!’ My voice is clipped, and my words speed up as I feel hysteria