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

eat breakfast, which isn’t helping. My stomach groans and lurches as I grip the steering wheel, taking deep breaths in through my nose and out of my mouth to overcome the sickness. I hadn’t anticipated the fallout; hadn’t allowed my mind to really go there. But now, I must begin to prepare for the strong possibility that Tom isn’t coming home.

Chapter 24

TOM

Now

How many more hours left? It feels an eternity. I focus to work it out – they only have thirty-four hours left to hold me without charge. They’ve brought me to their unit in order to up the ante; to increase the pressure on me so I give something away and incriminate myself. I’ve never been great at being in enclosed spaces and this new eight-by-eight holding cell, despite its starkness, is closing in on me; the space is shrinking minute by minute. Soon, it’ll be like being in a coffin. I wish there was fresh air instead of this recirculated, stale atmosphere containing the desperate breath of those in custody.

And if I think this is bad, I hate to imagine a prison cell.

I certainly don’t want to have to know what it’s like.

‘Please, Maxwell – do a good job. Get me out of here,’ I mutter as I pace. I can literally take three strides before I have to turn and go back. After a few goes at this, I am dizzy, so plonk myself down on the hard camp-like bed. What will Beth have told my work? They’ll be wondering why I’ve not been in contact by now – especially Celia. Christ, I hope the police haven’t spoken to my colleagues; that would be awkward. A lump forms in my throat. No, no – it’ll be fine, don’t panic. I won’t be here for much longer: I must sit this out, stay calm. It’ll be over soon. I’ll be back at home with Beth and Poppy and this will become a distant memory. A bad one. A near miss. But one we can overcome. Beth loves me. This won’t alter that.

Although, I do have some explaining to do. And I’ll have to be economical with the truth – or, come up with an entirely different version. One which doesn’t involve me telling her I’ve been lying for months. Everything had been going well: not even a minor bump in the road all this time. We both got what we wanted. Needed.

And now, from beyond the grave, Katie might ruin it all.

Chapter 25

BETH

Now

Poppy’s Place is relatively quiet when I finally walk through the door. I took the drive back slowly in case my light-headedness impeded my judgement.

‘Oh, blimey, Beth,’ Lucy says, looking up from the far table as I enter. She stops what she’s doing and rushes to me, putting her arm around mine. ‘Sit down quickly – you look terrible.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ I say, attempting to sound jokey. I let her pull me towards the nearest table and I thud down on the wooden chair. ‘I didn’t have breakfast.’ I inhale deeply, prop my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. Lucy disappears from my side and returns with a large brownie and a hot chocolate.

‘Here, this should help raise your blood sugar,’ she says, her expression set. ‘Apparently these delicious, gooey chocolate brownies are a speciality of the rather talented owner.’ She smiles and watches as I take a bite.

‘Yeah, I heard she was a pretty good baker,’ I say, the chunk of brownie slowly and uncomfortably travelling down my throat. I help it down with a gulp of hot chocolate, ignoring the burning sensation. ‘Thank you. What would I do without you?’

Lucy shrugs, the skin around her neck flushing pink. ‘You’d manage, Beth – you’re one of the most driven women I’ve met. You’d do this single-handedly if you had to.’

‘Well, thank you for the vote of confidence, Lucy – but really, I need you. Now more than ever before, actually.’

‘Oh, God,’ she lowers her voice to a whisper. Her eyes widen and she clasps a hand to her chest. ‘Has he been charged?’

‘No, not yet. But I have such a dreadful feeling, Lucy. The Major Investigation Team have moved him to London now – they’ve still got until Saturday evening to question him. To gather evidence.’ I swallow hard, take another sip of my drink, and look around me at the few remaining customers. Thankfully, they don’t seem to be watching me or listening in to our conversation. I recognise all the faces today, which is reassuring. For now, anyway. If Tom is charged, all hell will likely break loose.

‘Do you think there’s any evidence to gather that will allow them to charge him?’ Lucy asks. I hesitate. How should I answer? By defiantly stating there’s nothing to find because Tom is one hundred per cent innocent? Or should I admit out loud that Tom has lied to me – that they must’ve found something during the house search otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to extend the custody time? My thoughts are a mess.

‘I honestly don’t know, Lucy,’ I say, deciding to be straight with her. I need to be upfront with someone, and I don’t have many options.

She’s silent for a while, staring straight ahead, out the front window and beyond. I wonder what she’s thinking. Probably how on earth I can sit here and say I’m not certain whether I think my own husband is guilty or not. It’s not exactly what I’m saying, but it is what I’m implying.

‘What can I do to help, Beth?’ she says, focusing back on me.

‘There isn’t anything you can do,’ I shrug, tears making their way down my cheeks, tiny drops splashing on the table. I wipe them away. ‘Unless you can tell me where Tom went on Tuesday because he didn’t go to work like he told me!’ A bitter laugh escapes my lips.

‘Oh, erm …’ Lucy’s face slackens, her surprise clear to see. She