The Serial Killer's Wife

by Alice Hunter

  I don’t want anything to get in the way now.

  Once I’m through the processing stage along with the other visitors, I’m patted down and checked for drugs and other contraband. The female officer makes no effort to converse with me, which suits me fine. She sighs a lot, and even huffs loudly. She doesn’t appear to want to be here any more than I do.

  This isn’t something I want to do. I need to. It’s about closing the book on my previous life before I can begin another.

  The door is unlocked by an officer and I walk forward into the visiting hall, my heart thumping hard.

  I’m about to visit a convicted murderer.

  My husband, the serial killer.

  ‘I wasn’t going to leave my cell,’ he says as he sits in front of me.

  ‘So, why did you?’

  ‘I wanted to see you one last time. Assuming that’s the reason for your visit. To say goodbye.’

  My eyes narrow in confusion. I wasn’t expecting him to realise that was my intention, but maybe it was obvious, given I have only come here once before.

  ‘We’ve been married for seven years, Beth. I do know you.’ He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. For now, I refrain from telling him I’ve already seen a solicitor to begin divorce proceedings.

  With my head bowed, I fiddle with the edge of my t-shirt, rolling it up and letting it unravel, then rolling it again.

  ‘Now you’re here, aren’t you going to speak?’ Tom asks, his head lowering to catch my eye. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me how sorry you are for fucking me over?’ His voice is a harsh whisper. I imagine his eyes are filled with hatred, but I can’t meet his gaze. I feel like a scolded child. In some ways I do want to apologise, but I bite the inside of my cheek to stop me saying it. He’s here because of his actions, not mine.

  ‘You didn’t really give me a choice, Tom,’ I finally say.

  ‘Oh? Really? I rather think I did. I told you about Phoebe and Katie. You knew, and you promised to stand by me. You could’ve left then. Gone to the police, anything. But you stayed. And we carried on as normal. For a whole year, Beth. You were the perfect wife and mother for that entire time. Why suddenly change your mind?’

  ‘I didn’t want that life. I was afraid of what might come next. We had no security – it might have all blown up in our faces at any time. I was continually looking over my shoulder, wondering when it’d all come out. Because I knew it would. It had to. Nothing stays buried forever.’

  ‘Especially if you give them the fucking location.’ Hurt and anger combine in his tone and his facial expression contorts as his words are propelled through his clenched teeth.

  ‘I was right, though, wasn’t I? You and that … whore! You killed again, Tom. And no doubt you’d have continued to act out your … your awful, twisted urges, until you murdered another innocent woman. Maybe even me!’

  ‘I did that for you, Beth. To keep you safe.’

  ‘No. Don’t you dare,’ I say. Spittle lands on the table between us. ‘You can’t blame me for what you did.’

  ‘You said you loved me. You took an oath: for better, for worse. I trusted you.’

  ‘And I trusted you, too. Once. But not any longer. How can I?’

  ‘I would never have hurt you. But you’ve really hurt me.’

  There’s nothing I can say to make my betrayal easier on him, I realise. ‘What’s done is done,’ I say instead. Silence falls as we both cast our eyes around the room rather than focus on each other. I want to leave now. I swivel in my chair, about to get up, but his words cause me to freeze.

  ‘Nice and cosy with the widower, I see.’ He gives a false, mocking laugh. ‘I saw him in the court. You might’ve been trying to make it look like you weren’t together, but I could tell, Beth.’

  I don’t like talking about Adam. ‘Well, as you always told me, you have to keep looking forward. So that’s what I did. What I’m doing now.’ I give him a sarcastic smile and add, ‘I needed a replacement.’

  ‘Let’s hope you made the right decisions, then. For Poppy’s sake.’

  ‘She can’t have a worse father than you,’ I say, to hurt him.

  ‘Strange how things work out. Isn’t it? I mean … my actions may well have benefited you, in the end.’

  ‘Really? I don’t see how you can look at it that way. Women have died, Tom. You took them away from their families, their friends. Destroyed lives.’

  He doesn’t say anything for a while, seemingly taking in my statement.

  ‘Yes, true. And it was a shame about Camilla’s accidental death, eh?’ He smirks, giving a knowing nod of his head. He turns and raises his arm to the closest officer.

  ‘I’m finished here,’ he says. ‘Goodbye, Beth.’

  I’m left open-mouthed as he walks away.

  Chapter 90

  BETH

  Now

  We sing songs on the long drive down, the car laden with as much as we could fit in. Excitement exudes from the kids, and it’s contagious.

  ‘Oh my God, I can’t wait to be able to open the curtains every morning to a sea view,’ I say, laying a hand on Adam’s thigh as he drives.

  We’re heading towards mine and Poppy’s future. It’s so important to me to ensure Poppy doesn’t have to go through anything like I did; that she has a safe and secure upbringing. With luck, she won’t have memories of the earlier blip: a few memories of Tom, but she won’t recall that her father, who she loved, was a serial killer. I’ll do my utmost to prevent her ever finding out.

  A shiver runs down my back. It’s been a challenging time. But, I remind myself, it had to come to this – Tom had to go to prison so that I was free to rebuild our lives. Adam will be a better father to Poppy in the long term. And she has Jess now, too – and who knows, maybe another child is on the way. I lay a hand over my belly.

  The sun is high over Teignmouth Pier. We’re skimming pebbles and building sandcastles while the girls squeal with delight. I’ve finally found perfection. It does exist. And it’s right here, with my Poppy, Adam and Jess.

  I knew I had chosen right – I was sure from the moment I set eyes on Adam that he was the one. I was confident he would make the perfect husband and father. There’d been a lightning bolt when he looked at me as I served Camilla at the café that first time. I believe in sparks, and we definitely had those in abundance. But of course, Camilla was the perfect wife and mother. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  But it wasn’t impossible, either. Nothing is, if you’re determined enough.

  What was it that Alexander, Tom’s boss, had said? ‘I had a feeling a determined woman like yourself wouldn’t take any of this lying down.’ And he was quite right. Once Tom opened up and told me what he’d done, it was just a matter of time. I had to act quickly to begin planning a new life – there was much to be done before I could leave him. I was careful to slot in each bit in just the right place; it had to be done in the correct order. If I didn’t proceed with care, my plan wouldn’t work out and I’d be left alone.

  Or become one of his victims.

  Now, though, I realise Tom wouldn’t have killed me. That’s why he’d been seeing the sex worker – so he could release the pent-up tension and act out the fantasies I was unwilling to allow. Still, even if I’d known that, I would’ve carried on plotting my escape. Being Tom’s wife was too risky.

  When I’d found Katie’s email account on Tom’s iPad, I’d taken the opportunity to read everything Tom had sent pretending to be her. Why were her father and friends falling for it? The tone was so off – and the excuses for why she wasn’t coming home, why she hadn’t kept in regular contact, were flimsy.

  Tom was shocked when the police came looking for him that Monday evening – he’d looked so fearful as the detective asked for his help relating to a murder. But he didn’t ever suspect me. I’d sent an email to Katie’s father under the guise of being a worried friend. I’d gone to an internet café and used a new email address so it wouldn’t be traced back to me.
After I told him her emails seemed wrong, somehow, like they weren’t even from Katie, he finally did some digging. He emailed Katie several times, but I deleted them before Tom could send a reply. It was enough to allow his suspicions to grow, and that’s what led him to the police.

  DC Imogen Cooper’s parting comment the day she left my cottage made me realise she knew. ‘Thanks for being brave enough to start the ball rolling,’ she’d said. I am grateful she didn’t make a thing of it. Grateful she didn’t dig too deeply.

  Now, I only hope that no one else does, either. With me out of the picture, maybe Julia will get on with her life; find a new best friend and forget all about me, and the secret I shared. My drunken confession to Julia came to me in the early hours of this morning, as I lay next to Adam, staring at him, thrilled to be finally at peace. How I’d told her I thought Adam was a wonderful father, how I’d had a connection with him the very first time we’d met. That it was a shame we weren’t both single. I’d told her how lucky I thought Camilla was. And how jealous I was of her perfect life.

  ‘Jealous enough to do something about it?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ I’d lied. ‘But I think I always secretly hoped an opportunity would arise in the future. Now it looks as though that time might have come. Good things come to those who wait.’

  I feel absolutely sure I wouldn’t have told her anything more; but then I never imagined telling her that much. And maybe what I said was enough to make her question everything. I can only pray her memory is blurry; dulled by the Prosecco. Even if that wasn’t the case, what can she do? There’s no evidence of foul play.

  Chapter 91

  BETH

  Fifteen months ago

  It takes a lot of courage to do something as awful as I’m about to do.

  I lay out the fresh cookies and other baked goods along the glass counter at Poppy’s Place, ready to open at bang on nine a.m. I pop the special butterscotch and oatmeal cookie on a plate and place it underneath the counter until she comes in. Then I’ll slip it into a paper bag and ask her to try it when she gets home. It’s made from the recipe we chatted about last week, along with one more ingredient that means I would usually display this type of cookie with a label: contains nuts.

  Camilla comes in at ten thirty. She’s been running, by the looks of her – her hair is swept up in a ponytail, a sheen of sweat covers her face and arms. She’s wearing Lycra running shorts and a t-shirt, so tight they show off her every curve. I note the bumbag attached around her waist. She’s ever so slightly out of breath as she approaches me.

  ‘Morning, Beth,’ she says as she unclips her bumbag and takes a seat at the table closest to the counter. She plonks the bag to one side on the table. Bubbles of apprehension begin rising inside me. Will I really be able to go through with this?

  ‘Hi, Camilla – good run?’ I catch the wobble of my voice and clear my throat to hide it.

  ‘Usual. I loathe running,’ she says, ‘but needs must. Can’t keep eating your fabulous cookies if I don’t put in some hard work!’ She flashes me a wide grin.

  ‘True,’ I say, forcing my lips to turn upwards. ‘No gain without a little pain, eh? Can I get you a latte?’

  ‘Yes, please. No cookies today, though. I’m trying to be good.’ Camilla taps her belly. It’s as flat as a pancake, but I don’t say so.

  I make sure no one is within earshot when I speak again. ‘Perhaps one for the road then? I’ve baked some butterscotch ones especially for you to try.’

  ‘Oh, using the recipe I mentioned?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘Well I’ll definitely take a few to go – I’m glad you’ve tried the new recipe. You’ll have to write down the exact ingredients for me so I can have a go at making them, too. Not to try and do you out of business, of course,’ she gives me a coy smile. ‘But Adam adores cookies, and I’m sure Jess will have a nibble too. And it’s safer all round if I bake the nut-free ones.’

  The knot inside my stomach intensifies.

  ‘Let’s see if you like it first! I’ve only got the one today – I’m afraid we liked them a little too much and Tom and Poppy devoured the rest. But of course, if you enjoy it, I’ll be baking them regularly. And no doubt you will be too.’ I hope the reason I only have the one sounds believable. I can’t have her taking more than one and there being evidence left over.

  We chat, in between me serving the odd customer, about the girls. About our husbands. It’s a little awkward talking about Tom – I’m still feeling blindsided by his confession – but I try to be as natural as possible. I don’t want to raise any red flags with Camilla; not when I’m so close. When she talks so warmly about Adam, my heart rate increases; a hard lump presses against my throat. I’m nervous for the future. There was a spark when Adam and I first met in here, but that doesn’t mean he’ll find solace in my arms once his beloved wife is dead. I could be doing this for nothing.

  On the other hand, I could get exactly what I want, if I’m patient. It’s not a quick fix by any means, but it does give me a way out eventually. That’s the best I can hope for in this hideous situation.

  In addition to her latte, I ply Camilla with a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice – a large one, on the house – and sit down beside her again. I need her to visit the bathroom. While her attention is taken by a noise outside, I surreptitiously take the bumbag from the table and place it on the chair beside me. I don’t want her to take it to the bathroom with her if she goes.

  This part is out of my control. If she doesn’t leave me alone with her bag, I won’t be able to take her EpiPen out of it. Then, even if she does get a reaction at home alone, she’ll just give herself a shot and everything will be fine.

  ‘Jess is with your friend today, isn’t she?’ I need to check – as much as I need Camilla out of the way, I don’t want a two-year-old put in danger through my actions.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a bit of time to myself today, thanks to Constance. Thought I’d do some reading. I have to catch up on the book, seeing as it was my choice for book club. Wouldn’t look good if I couldn’t discuss it at my own club, would it? Are you still good with me holding it here next week?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll be here on hand as always, to wait on you all.’ There’s a hint of bitterness in my voice, which I quickly rectify by adding how much I enjoy listening to them talk books.

  ‘You should join us,’ she says, brightly. ‘Properly, I mean. I don’t know why I haven’t asked you before. The next book after this one is To Kill A Mockingbird. So many of us read it for school, but never since.’

  I gulp the growing lump a bit further down my throat. The book title gives me a chill. Nerves and my guilty conscience mix. All this time I’d been trying to infiltrate her group, and now she invites me in, on the day I’m trying to kill her. Maybe I should back out; try another time. It’s not working, anyway.

  ‘And with that in mind, I’d best be going.’ Camilla jumps up, and I see her gaze move fleetingly over the table.

  Shit. She’s looking for her bag.

  ‘Might pop to the loo before I head off,’ she says, and heads towards the back of the café.

  Oh. My. God. This is my moment.

  I’m strangely reluctant, now it’s come to it.

  You’re doing this for Poppy. For her future, I remind myself.

  There are two customers – one is attentively painting a plate, the other is gazing out the front window, watching the street.

  Must do it now.

  I take the bag, unzip it, and pull out the EpiPen. I quickly get up and walk behind the counter to hide it. A noise to my left makes me jump, and I fumble and drop it on the ground at my feet.

  Fuck. She’s back.

  With the side of my foot, I scoot it forwards, underneath the counter.

  ‘I’ll take a chocolate chip cookie too, please, Beth,’ Camilla says.

  My legs feel shaky; I’m light-headed – that was so close. What on earth would I have said to g
et out of that if she’d caught me?

  ‘Sure,’ I say, my voice sounding as though I’m being strangled.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Frog in my throat,’ I say, putting my fingers up to my neck. ‘Right – one choc-chip and one special butterscotch and oatmeal coming up.’ I watch as she moves to the table to attach her bumbag around her waist, and then slip the cookie from the plate beneath the counter. I put it in a separate bag to the chocolate one.

  ‘Thanks so much, Beth. I’m looking forward to this.’ She flashes me a perfect grin before turning away.

  My stomach twists as I watch her walk out.

  What happens now is out of my hands. But that might well be the last time I see Camilla Knight.

  When I’m closing up, I duck down to retrieve the EpiPen. I’m not sure what to do with it. Bin it? Leave it somewhere obvious and say she left it behind? I walk to the table we were at and get on my hands and knees. If Camilla had dropped the pen when sitting here, it could conceivably have rolled under the counter-front – there’s a small gap running along the bottom. The counter is built-in – it doesn’t get moved, just cleaned around – so no one would find it. But if they did, it would look like she’d accidentally dropped it.

  Perfect.

  Just an accident.

  With Camilla out of the picture, I knew I’d have a little time to wait before I could put the rest of my plan into play. I had to ensure Tom was out of my life so that Adam and I were free to make a life together.

  A new family unit.

  Loving, safe and secure.

  As I had told Maxwell, I did what I had to do. Just like any good mother would.