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

the two of us. He didn’t invite any of his family to our wedding.’

‘That seems strange,’ Imogen says, her eyes narrowing. ‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t have any and he didn’t want me to feel bad. He kept saying it was our day anyway, that we didn’t need anyone else. He maintained that over the years – the fact we had each other, so outside interference was never welcomed. Tom was all I needed. I was all he needed.’

But now I know this to be a lie.

I wasn’t enough. Tom had someone else.

I battle with my conscience over whether to mention this to Imogen now. For some reason, I want to keep it to myself. It’s not relevant to the investigation.

Not unless he’s murdered her.

My heart slams against my ribcage.

Why hasn’t this crossed my mind before now?

He was late back on the first Monday, when this all began, then he disappeared for the entire day on Tuesday. He borrowed a car from Oscar’s garage. To remain untraceable on CCTV and avoid his number plate being recognised? If he were merely visiting his lover, why the need to have a different vehicle? As far as I’m aware, he’s never done that before.

I sense the weight of Imogen’s gaze.

‘What are you thinking, Beth?’

‘I’m thinking there could be another reason I’ve been targeted.’

‘Oh? What?’

‘When you told me Tom didn’t go to work on the Tuesday, I did a little bit of digging.’

Imogen’s sculpted eyebrows raise. ‘Go on,’ she says, leaning forwards.

‘I spoke with the bank, as you did, and his boss, Alexander, said that if he was going to confide in anyone, it would be Jimmy, his colleague. He was away the day I visited, so I spoke with him on Friday, and he was convinced that Tom was having an affair.’ Telling her feels right.

‘That’s interesting,’ Imogen says, her sharp elbows resting on the table, her chin on her clenched fists. ‘If that’s true, it might explain the missing day we haven’t been able to account for in the timeline. We know he borrowed a car and we’ve been scouring hours of CCTV footage to figure out where he went after he drove it to London …’

My heart drops. Imogen has just confirmed Tom did go to London on Tuesday. It seems likely Jimmy was right, then. Suddenly, things begin to make sense.

‘It might account for why I haven’t been the next victim,’ I say, quietly. I’m almost afraid of what reaction I’ll get.

Imogen slams back in her chair, letting out a long stream of air. She stands abruptly, sending the chair sliding back on the limestone-tiled floor.

‘Did Jimmy give you a name?’ She’s jabbing at the keys on her mobile as she speaks.

‘No, he promised me he didn’t know who she was, only that he reckoned he’d been seeing her for a long time. Years, he said. But I can’t believe that. Tom hated cheaters; he’d never do it to me.’

‘Maybe he didn’t class it as cheating.’

‘Having sex with someone other than his wife? I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.’

‘And I’m pretty sure he might see it differently if he wasn’t actually in a relationship with her.’

‘So, just because it’s only sex, that doesn’t count as infidelity?’

‘It’s what some men, and women, believe, yes. It helps them carry on doing it without feeling guilty. They justify it because they aren’t emotionally involved.’ She’s walking into the hallway now.

‘You’re going? I thought you were meant to be talking to me about the gallows?’ I’m at her heels, dangerously close to physically dragging her back into the kitchen. I don’t feel at all confident anything will be done about the threat to me if she leaves.

‘Sorry, Beth, something important has come up. I’ll catch up with you later.’

As she rushes to the front door, I catch what she says to whoever she’s just dialled.

‘I think we’ve had a breakthrough,’ she says, before opening the door and running up the path towards her car.

What did I say to invoke this reaction from her?

All I can assume is that what I’ve just told her now has enabled her to make a link to another case.

Has there been a third murder?

Chapter 77

BETH

Now

The visit from Imogen Cooper was much quicker than anticipated, which means I’ve enough time to pop into the café. I keep my head down when I leave the house as the reporters shout their questions. Mostly they’re the same questions as earlier. Apart from one.

‘Who do you think has it in for you, Beth?’ a male voice calls.

So they do know about the gallows. I cast my eyes upwards as I pass the neighbouring properties. I can’t imagine any of the occupants have spoken willingly to this mob. And then a thought occurs to me.

What if it was one of them? One of the journalists themselves?

Some of them have practically been camping out – one of them would’ve seen the culprit, surely. Maybe the reason they’re not coming forward is because they’re covering up for one of their own.

‘Didn’t you see who did it?’ I shout. ‘Or was it one of you?’

I’m met with a stony silence, which is a surprise. Maybe my accusation has hit a nerve. None of them offer any information, so I turn on my heel and carry on. They’ve lost interest by the time I dive inside the café.

‘Ah, Beth. How are you doing?’ Shirley Irish asks. ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’ She’s got a bulging paper bag in her hands, which will be filled with her usual order of cookies.

‘I’ve been better,’ I say. No point trying to pretend otherwise at this point.

‘I don’t like to poke my nose in, but I was thinking,’ she says. I hold my breath for what’s to come. ‘I don’t think, given the circumstances, that it would be wise to run your book club, do you?’

This isn’t what I was expecting her to say, and I’m relieved to the point I almost laugh. ‘Er … no. You’re quite right, it wouldn’t. If