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

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