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

hadn’t rocked the boat. If I hadn’t confronted him with what I’d found and pushed him into a corner.

To have killed people and – up until now – got away with it, shows he’s good at lying. Good at covering his tracks and getting on with a normal family life. He manipulated me. Everyone. If it hadn’t come to light now, when would it have done? Next year? Five years? When it was too late to start my life over? When it completely ruined Poppy’s too?

I was stupid to have kept my suspicions about Katie’s body from the detectives. It’s a move that could cost me a lot. But I hope Imogen will keep her original promise; that the mitigating factors still stand. She strongly hinted that they’d protect me and Poppy, as long as I gave them everything to make sure Tom could be put away for life.

So, if she gets what she’s looking for, then I imagine it’ll go in my favour.

I am praying she does. Until I get confirmation, I won’t be able to settle. If I’m wrong about where Tom took Katie’s body, and if the other circumstantial evidence isn’t enough to convict him for life, then all this will have been for nothing.

Adam’s hand is on my thigh. Its heat is penetrating to my skin. I turn my head to look into his eyes. ‘Are you sure about us staying for—’

‘I’m completely sure,’ he cuts in. ‘I’m sorry. This is all a lot to take in, that’s all. I’ll be fine once we’re inside.’ He turns his attention to his house, and I see him look up and down the road. He’s checking who’s around – checking who might see me and Poppy go inside with bags.

‘If you’re this worried about what people will say, Adam …’

‘I’m not. Not really. Old habits, I guess.’ His face relaxes into a wide grin. ‘Come on then – let’s get film night on the go. I do hope you’ve remembered those snacks, Beth!’

It’s nine thirty when I get the call.

‘They’ve found her.’

My world tilts on its axis. I don’t have the words to respond.

Will this body be the evidence that finally reveals the truth about my husband and ensures he spends the rest of his life in prison?

Chapter 82

TOM

Eight years ago

The wind cuts across the garden, biting at my face. But I don’t feel the cold. Each one of my four million sweat glands is working in overdrive – every inch of my skin is slick with salty liquid. I can taste it as it drips onto my lips, and I unconsciously lick it away as I bump the suitcase over the uneven ground.

Before reaching this final destination – the location that is to become Katie’s burial ground – I’d already dragged the fucking suitcase for almost a mile to get to my flat. Had I been able to go the direct route, I’d have shaved half a mile off. But I couldn’t risk the busier parts of town – or any CCTV cameras. I had my backstory ready if required – I was simply transporting Katie’s suitcase to mine, where she was staying the night prior to her flight to India – but I didn’t want to be observed during this critical moment. I couldn’t have people recalling seeing some sweaty bloke wheeling a heavy suitcase behind him. Too much chance of a link being made.

I’d gone to my place because I needed to be in my own surroundings to figure out the next part of the plan. I went in the back entrance and took the lift; there was no way I’d have managed to get her up the stairs without someone coming to see what the noise was. As it happened, my luck was in – no sign of Paul from the ground floor or Maxine and Joy from the second.

I’d been able to recover for an hour, and in that time I’d arranged a hire car. While that wasn’t without further risk of leaving a trail, the hope was no one would ever find her, so my actions wouldn’t come under scrutiny. If it came to it, I could say I’d hired it to take Katie to the airport anyway. In fact, I’ll probably drive it to City Airport afterwards to maintain my story. I figure the car will be professionally valeted on its return, so any evidence of the suitcase will be wiped clean.

As I finally reach the little patch of woodland accessed from the back of my mother’s place, I stop to take a breather. The house is deserted; Mother has been in a home for the past two years. Not from old age – she’s only fifty – but because of dementia. Early onset, they’d said. I’m more inclined to think it’s from the stress of all the lies she held inside. Maybe, after all this, I’ll share the same fate.

Perhaps it’s best. For her at least.

I haven’t the strength to lift the suitcase over the fence, so I pull some of the wooden panels away instead. I go first, then I turn around to drag the suitcase through. I’ll replace the panelling when I’m done so it doesn’t draw attention to the location. With my energy at its lowest now, I don’t go far into the woods. Just far enough that none of the neighbours will see me, or any suspicious mound of earth. As far as I’m aware, this land isn’t used by the public. It’s not an area where walkers frequent, so I think it’s a relatively safe place to bury her.

Getting her inside the suitcase was problematic – it’s as well she’s petite, or I may have had to dismember her. That would’ve been a messy process and one I wouldn’t have relished. I prefer to think of her as whole – her beauty intact. It was like packing away a large marionette. I’d considered having sex with her one last time before her body