The Serial Killer's Wife Alice Hunter (thriller book recommendations txt) 📖

It’s times like this I wish I had family I could drop in on. A safe haven to crash at, even if only for a few hours. Having no one wasn’t an issue when I first met Tom – he took the place of my family. He was my everything. I didn’t need anyone else. Tom would tell me that all the time. He said I was all he needed, too.

But I don’t think that was entirely true.

I’m in Banbury before I know it, parking up at the train station.

This is part of Tom’s daily commute. Perhaps I’ll follow his steps – the ones I thought he took on Tuesday morning. Why was Tuesday different? It can’t have been a coincidence that he chose the day after he’d been questioned about Katie to take the day off. Perhaps he just couldn’t face work after a long, emotional night. I’ve no reason to think he hadn’t planned to go to work as usual when he left me and Poppy at six fifteen that morning. Perhaps he got here and decided in that moment to go off and spend time alone.

Did he drive, leave his car at Banbury, in this car park, then take a different train somewhere for the day? DC Cooper said they’d checked CCTV and they hadn’t seen him getting a train into London. And surely, if he’d driven somewhere, they’d have picked him up on a camera – they have those ones that automatically recognise number plates, so they would’ve checked, wouldn’t they?

After sitting contemplating, watching people head to and from the station, I make my mind up. I’m going into London. I’ll drop into Moore & Wells myself; see if anyone there will tell me why Tom didn’t show for work on Tuesday. Someone must know. I’m not entirely sure why I’m doing this – I think I just need to find out what Tom’s been hiding from me. If I know, I can protect myself. Protect Poppy. Because in my gut I know he wasn’t just taking a bit of time out. He was up to something. And he didn’t want me to find out what.

Chapter 49

TOM

Now

The initial hearing, a formality, is over. Maxwell had already explained my case would be referred to the Crown Court and that I wouldn’t be bailed because their enquiries regarding my whereabouts on Tuesday are ongoing, so there were no surprises. I’m being taken to Belmarsh prison to await my trial. A remand prisoner. My stomach rolls and twists. I don’t want to spend a single night in a prison cell, let alone years. Maxwell has reassured me I won’t be treated as a convicted prisoner. Yeah, right. I might not have to follow the usual regime or wear prison issue clothing, but I’m going to be incarcerated. With convicted criminals.

I can have a one-hour visit three times a week.

Please, Beth. You must see me. I need you.

Chapter 50

BETH

Now

The train rattles into Marylebone station and I rush to exit before I get caught up in the crowd, weaving my way towards the Bakerloo line. It’s been a long time since I’ve used the underground: I’d almost forgotten how busy and congested it could be.

I don’t have a lot of time to spare. I called Julia while I was travelling, explaining the situation. She kindly agreed to collect Poppy for me and look after her until I get home. It seemed a big ask, but she didn’t hesitate – she said she was expecting to pick her up anyway after this morning’s escapade.

Nerves take root as I think about what I’m doing. Why do I think I’ll find out what Tom was doing on Tuesday from one visit into London? If the police haven’t uncovered his whereabouts, I doubt I’ll have better luck. But I have to try. I have to feel like I’m doing something. If I do discover where he was, though – what he was up to – what am I going to do with the new information?

It depends what you find out.

I’m carried off the tube with a dozen other passengers. We all surge to the door at once, then along the platform and up the escalators. My body goes with the flow. It feels I have little choice in the matter. When I finally break away from the river of people, I stand on the pavement outside the station, taking a moment to gather my thoughts and to figure out exactly where I am. My starting point has to be the bank. I can’t remember the last time I set foot in there. I can barely recall any specific names or conjure any faces in my mind’s eye, but hopefully there’ll be a name that rings a bell. Someone willing to talk to me about Tom.

As soon as I’m through the main door of Moore & Wells, I begin scanning the lobby floor for an employee I recognise. For an uncomfortable moment I think I might have wasted my time, but relief washes over me as I’m approached by a familiar-looking man dressed in a charcoal-grey suit. A flash of recognition passes across his face, too.

‘Good morning,’ the man says. His eyes are wide-set, the bridge of his nose spread – a boxer’s nose. It’s that which has sparked a memory. ‘Do you have an appointment here today?’

I gaze at the silver name badge on his lapel. Andrew Norton. Andy. New to the banking business when I was last invited to one of the firm’s dinners. I got stuck chatting to him about investment banking – an exhilarating conversation it was not. I won’t forget having it, but I would never be able to recall a single thing he’d actually said if questioned. Several hours of my life I’ll never get back.

I’m reminded now of how Tom always talks about his day in relation to how he felt about it, rather than specific details, precisely