Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

come home from work at five.” Her breathing was unsteady. “And it wasn’t because I thought something had happened to him.”

“What was it then?” Burgess nudged.

She coughed. “It was… I was desperate. A silly young woman. I wanted to show him that I knew what he was up to. I thought…thought he was seeing someone again and I wanted him to know that I wasn’t going to put up with it a second time. Calling the police had been my way of saying that. A drastic way. Serious. Do you understand? I know now how ridiculous it was, what a waste of police time, and that still troubles me even to this day—now that you’re a policeman and you’ve said before how much time it wastes when people do those types of things. I’m ashamed of myself for that.”

“These things happen,” Burgess said. “Carry on.”

“So when they did come and they told me he’d been found, I felt justified in contacting them. He’d been in an accident, that’s what I told myself, and they were coming to tell me he was in hospital.”

Burgess had expected denial or tears, a telling of the tale that would be pitted with sobs and wails, another fabrication of what she wanted to believe had happened. But her calm, truthful explanation—no, he hadn’t expected that. It could be a worrying sign, how she was so serene, but perhaps she’d had many years of thinking about it, reliving it, that now she had to get it off her mind it was more a relief than anything else.

“But as you know, they didn’t tell me that.” She let go of her locket and circled her finger around the lip of her cup, over and over. “And as you know, he was bludgeoned to death. And they said it was possible a woman had done it. Something about the strength with which he’d been hit. Was it me? That’s what they insinuated.”

Yes, that was in the file. The assailant had been estimated at a foot shorter than his father, so a slight male or a female had killed him. Burgess had always allowed himself to believe a man had done it—what type of woman would his father have known who would do that to him?

Now he knew.

“Do you remember going to your nan’s for the night? That night?” his mother asked. “They’d questioned me for hours at the station, but thank goodness I had you as my alibi for the whole day. And we’d been out to the kids’ club—do you remember that place? Lots of fun to be had there.” She smiled wistfully. “We’d been seen by so many mothers and children around the time he’d been killed. Lunchtime. Perhaps he’d met with her on his break. And all the while I hadn’t known a thing. While I’d done a jigsaw with you or drawn a picture, he was being murdered.”

“I remember going to Nan’s that night now. The club.” I wish I didn’t.

“And I knew it was her who’d done it. That woman. Yet they hadn’t been able to find out who she was. I invented scenarios for years afterwards, you know. That she’d got hold of him to tell him he had another son and they’d argued. And the type of woman she was… Dear Lord, what had he been thinking? She was filthy. The sort who was loose, if you get my drift.”

Burgess did get her drift. “Sorry to be blunt, Mum, but sometimes a bit of rough is what a person needs. Nothing to do with what he has at home. It’s just something that happens. Not your fault, okay?”

“Oh, the things you come out with, Burgess… A bit of rough! I’ve been through all that, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so house-proud. Maybe I shouldn’t have made sure I always looked nice. But that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? I was taught that to keep your husband, you had to be everything he wanted and needed. I did my best at it all and still it wasn’t good enough.”

“But you—”

“No, Burgess.” She tightened her hold on his hand. “I’m old enough and wise enough now to realise that the fantasies I spun were just that. Fantasies. If I’d been more of a realist, I would have moved on afterwards instead of pretending he was as perfect as I tried to be. I’m glad we’re talking this way. I could have gone to my grave never voicing what I’ve always known. He was a good man but he was also human. Imperfect. And his other son, who is perhaps your killer… Will this ruin your career?”

“It doesn’t matter if it does.” Burgess shrugged. “If it turns out it is Dad’s son, better that we catch him than leave him to kill again. I can either find other work in this field if the press make a mockery of it all, or I can ride it out.”

“What kind of life must the poor child have had if he’s turned into this?” she asked.

“Not your problem.” Burgess looked at her then. “Absolutely no guilt about this, do you hear me? The boy wasn’t your responsibility, he was his.” He cursed himself for letting animosity slip into his tone. For showing her how he was feeling about his father and what he’d done. “How the child was brought up is no concern of yours.”

“But I’ll think about him now, the boy. Whether, if I hadn’t slapped her face and sent her on her way, we could have welcomed him into our home. My selfishness in not wanting to accept the product of your dad’s affair has meant…” Her eyes finally filled.

“No. Stop that. Now.” He glared at her, knowing she’d take heed at his sternness. “I’m not looking at him as my brother or some messed-up man who needs empathy, I’m looking at