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

actually speak with me at all. It was Celia who took his call and passed the message on to the team.’

‘Is she here today?’ I turn in my seat, craning my head to see through the glass partitions of his office to the wider floor.

‘Hang on, I’ll grab her.’ Alexander gets up and beckons to a smartly dressed woman in her forties standing on the far side. She immediately stops her conversation and heads over.

‘Yes, Alex?’ she says, popping her head and shoulders around the doorway. Her eyes narrow when she sees me.

‘Come in, Celia; close the door,’ Alexander says. ‘Beth is Tom’s wife. She’s wondering what Tom said to you, exactly, when he called in sick last Tuesday.’

‘Oh. Well, not a lot really. He was very abrupt. I had to tell that to the police, too, I’m afraid.’

‘Why are you afraid?’ I ask, unable to stop myself.

She blushes. ‘Well, I mean, I had to say how he came across. Like there was something bothering him. And I realise it might’ve added to their … concern, I suppose.’

‘Why did you think he sounded as though something was bothering him? If he told you he’d come over ill, didn’t you think it was just that?’

‘I’ve worked with Tom for a number of years now, and I picked up that something was a little off in his tone. It didn’t seem like it was because he felt unwell. He sounded panicked.’

‘Did you happen to pick up anything useful? Like where the hell he was?’ I squeeze my hands together, focus on gripping them to try and distract myself from my rising frustration. Celia looks taken aback at my abruptness. She licks her lips and swallows. Pushes her shoulders back.

‘I could only hear what sounded like a radio in the background. So nothing helpful. He could’ve been anywhere.’

‘A car radio?’

‘Well I assumed at the time he was driving back home, so yeah. Must’ve been.’

Celia shrugs then ducks back out again, and I watch her through the glass as she returns to her desk.

I know Tom didn’t return home – the police seemed certain of that. Was he driving somewhere else?

Was my husband having an affair? The thought makes me sick. No. He wouldn’t do that.

‘How has he seemed to you, lately?’ I turn back to Alexander who I catch in a yawn. ‘Sorry, am I keeping you up?’ I smile.

‘Had a long, sleepless night.’ He sips from his cardboard cup. ‘He’s always kept pretty much to himself, Beth. You know how he is. Rarely shares anything too personal with us lot – he tends to just talk about you and Poppy. Jimmy might know more; he chats with Tom more than anyone else.’

I recall Tom talking about Jimmy on several occasions, sharing funny anecdotes and office banter. It would be fair to assume that if Tom confided in anyone here, it would be him. ‘Great, can I have a quick word with him?’

‘Not in. He’s on annual leave until Friday – in Cornwall with his wife and kids. Sorry.’

‘No worries.’ I sigh. I can’t say I was expecting much really, but I’m disappointed I will leave here without a single lead as to what Tom was up to on Tuesday.

‘Maybe you’re looking for something that’s not there, Beth.’

‘Maybe,’ I agree. ‘But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the day after he’s questioned about the disappearance of an ex-girlfriend, he goes AWOL. Do you?’

‘It happened – what – eight years ago?’ He leans back in his chair, fingers drumming on the armrests. ‘I don’t see how the two things can be linked. Other than maybe he was upset and wanted time out on his own. To process it.’

‘Perhaps,’ I say.

But I know that’s not it. I know there’s another reason he lied to me. And I won’t rest until I find out what it is.

Chapter 51

BETH

Now

I wander aimlessly for about half an hour after leaving Alexander, my hopes of finding some nugget of information dashed. Without knowing how, I find myself outside our old flat. I stand on the pavement, head tilted, looking up at the third-floor balcony. It looks just the same from the exterior. Moving in with Tom had been the obvious choice back then because the rent on my flat was extortionate given its size. ‘Dingy’, Tom had said. I guess he was right, although I loved my little flat. Probably because it was the first place I could afford to live in alone, without uni housemates or a flatmate. Full independence. It was brilliant. It took a while to adjust to living with someone again.

We had happy times here, though. My memories are good ones, on the whole. I was thrilled about being able to upsize when we moved to the Cotswolds, but it didn’t stop me feeling apprehensive about packing up and leaving here. I remember that Tom was stressed in the weeks prior to us moving out, so I suppose he also felt some reluctance to make the huge move. We had Poppy, though, and we knew we were doing the right thing for her future. I do question now, as I stand here, whether there was more to Tom’s stress than I thought. This was the flat he and Katie had also spent a lot of time in. She practically lived here, from what he told me when we first met. It wasn’t just his memories of us he was leaving – it was his memories of her, too. We even found a few things of hers when we were packing.

I shiver.

Don’t think about it.

I pull my thoughts away from the past and cross the road. I should think about making my way back to the station so I’m not too late picking up Poppy from Julia’s. I’m frustrated that I’ll be going home without any new inkling as to what Tom was doing and why he felt the need to lie. I should’ve thought this trip through and made a plan. Maybe I’ll