The Guilty Wife Read online

  I followed Jason past restaurants, through the crowds and towards the Thames, where there were fewer people and only the odd café or restaurant in sight. If we were anywhere else in London, it would have been heaving with sun-seekers on their lunch break, but here in the business hub, the crowds were too focused on not falling off their corporate ladder to bother with frivolities like tanning. Besides, they could pay for a sunbed session at the weekend, anyway.

  I tried to stay out of sight as Jason strode along the riverside path, checking his phone every few seconds. After a few hundred metres he stopped and I flattened myself against a flashing billboard to avoid being seen. From behind the blindingly bright screen I could see Jason, just in view, looking around nervously and casting glances at his phone.

  This was too suspicious not to record. I grabbed the camera from my bag and took a few photos. Maybe Alex would have a theory about his strange behaviour.

  Further down the river, another man caught my eye. His pace was purposeful; direct. Jason suddenly hunched his shoulders and began tapping on his phone, trying to look casual, but achieving the opposite.

  The stranger stopped suddenly in front of my awkward husband to tie his shoe. Jason looked startled, but then I noticed that his lips were moving. They were speaking to one another.

  I took as many photos as possible, trying to capture as much of the man as I could without being seen from my hiding place. Their conversation took no more than a few seconds, and then the man stood up, offering me the perfect view of his face. I focused and clicked a few more times before he turned casually and disappeared the way he’d come.

  I was so engrossed in checking the screen of my camera to make sure I’d captured him that I almost missed Jason bending down. My body went rigid when I saw what he was leaning over to pick up: a white envelope.

  He held the envelope in both hands, turned it around, and ripped it open.

  I stood completely still, apart from my finger madly pressing the shutter button, hoping I’d see, even from this distance, what was inside. Jason’s hand hovered over the opening he’d just torn, and then he shoved it into his jacket pocket, as though he’d suddenly thought of an urgent reason why he shouldn’t look.

  I had to get away before he noticed me. I walked quickly back the way I’d come, staying as close to the barrier between the footpath and the river as possible. I tried to look purposeful, as if I was just another Canary Wharf worker, stressed about getting back to the office for my next meeting. I even affected a small limp, hoping that Jason wouldn’t recognise me by my walk, the way I’d spotted him.

  I made it back to the bustle of the lunchtime crowds and slipped into a café to stay out of sight while Jason returned to his building. I was ordering a soup when a voice behind me caused my insides to liquefy.

  ‘Bethany?’

  I turned, and saw my husband a few feet back in the line, staring at me like he’d just spotted an ex at his wedding.

  ‘Jason, hey, I was just about to call you to see if you wanted to come down and join me,’ I lied.

  ‘But … but what are you doing here?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his confusion.

  ‘Oh, just scouting a location for a new client Fran booked. It’s a corporate thing, so they want it to be in a professional location. I was thinking down by the water here, with the buildings in the background.’

  I grabbed the soup that was being waved at me by the impatient guy in the apron, and ignored the sighs being hurled my way from the back of the queue. I returned to the line to join Jason and continued to nervously babble about the imagined photoshoot I was there for.

  Once he’d been handed his sandwich I asked if he wanted to join me by the river while I snapped some photos. I watched as his face turned a few shades lighter.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked, playing the concerned wife.

  ‘I just, um … I just realised I’m late for a meeting,’ he said, flushing unnecessarily. The lie was obvious enough already. ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t stick around. See you later?’ he asked, and then rushed out of the café before I could answer. I watched his back growing smaller and smaller, and then contemplated my next move.

  I desperately wanted to know what was in that envelope, and who the mystery man was. They obviously didn’t want to be seen together, which explained the bad spy-film act, but without seeing what was inside the envelope I had no idea why. It could be the next letter for Jason to deposit in our house to fill me with terror, or an alibi for him for that night. Perhaps some more incriminating photos of me, taken by the same stalker photographer who had already captured my argument with Calum.

  I remembered that, in all likelihood, I was being tracked right now, which meant that if I had any chance of Jason believing me, I’d have to go down to the river to take photos of my fabricated shoot location. He might already know that I’d seen his shady exchange, but in case he didn’t, it was worth keeping up appearances.

  As I left the café, I realised that I was beginning to believe Alex’s accusation. I didn’t want to, but Jason wasn’t behaving like a normal husband. His actions were suspicious. I couldn’t pretend any longer that there was no merit to the theory that Jason was the killer.

  Packing my camera back into my bag after taking about fifty photos I intended to delete on the way home, I spotted a phone booth and rummaged for spare change at the bottom of my bag. I scrolled to Alex’s number on my phone and dialled.

  ‘Alex Taylor.’

  ‘It’s me, I’m calling from a payphone.’

  ‘Good idea. How’s the stalking going?’ she asked.

  ‘Um … can we meet?’ If someone was listening at her end, I didn’t want them to hear me telling Alex what I’d seen.

  ‘Sure, come over to my place after work. I’ll get out of here early, so I can get home for about six.’

  As soon as Alex opened the door she instructed me to change into some of her clothes and leave my phone under a pile of blankets.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  I explained my afternoon, and when I told her I had photos, she grabbed her laptop. We scrolled through the images, stopping on the few where the mystery man’s narrow, angular face was visible. I cropped out the background to get a better look.

  ‘Do you recognise him?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I’ve never seen him before.’

  ‘Keep going to when Jason picks up the envelope. Did you get a clear one?’

  ‘I think so. Yes! There.’

  I zoomed in on the small white envelope to see if any details were visible. It was blank.

  We looked at one another, neither one of us sure what to do next.

  ‘Oh!’ I squeaked, remembering the email I’d read on my way to Alex’s.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m meeting Vincent on Saturday night,’ I said. ‘I’m going to try to get any information on what Mark’s relationship with Calum was really like. And also work out if anyone on the security team is suspiciously friendly with him.’

  ‘Who’s Vincent?’ she asked.

  ‘One of the guys on Calum’s security team,’ I said, filling her in on the theory I’d read online.

  ‘It’s all speculation,’ she muttered, narrowing her eyes at me.

  ‘Well, so is whatever might point to Jason.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ she admitted. ‘And it can’t hurt to look a bit more closely at Mark. Just please be careful what you say to this security guy, and how you say it. It’s not smart to let on that you’re investigating things on your own.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ I promised. ‘Have you got anything new?’

  ‘Yes and no. I met with my police friend to see what he knew about the case. Obviously I had to be subtle, so I couldn’t ask him too many questions, but it sounds like no one has a clue where to start. He mentioned a suspect – he called you an unnamed colleague of Mr Bradley’s – but they haven’t got enough evidence to officially charge anyone, and they can’t prove it’s you on that f
ootage. The weapon was a knife that’s commonly bought in outdoor shops, there are no fingerprints or traces of DNA at the scene, and there were no witnesses. They think a signal jammer was used to disable all of the CCTV cameras in the area, but they haven’t got any good leads there, either. It sounds like they’re all panicking over at the station because it’s so high profile. But it’s good news for you at least.’

  ‘I guess,’ I said. ‘It’d be better news if they just found whoever actually did it. How did someone commit a murder without leaving any kind of trace?’

  ‘They obviously knew what they were doing,’ she said.

  I was still scared – of course I was – but more than anything, I felt a determination to get to the bottom of the mystery I’d become entangled in. Reason had been replaced with a burning desire to win. To escape the killer’s trap. After all, if logic came into this, I should be scared of Jason. If there was even a possibility that he’d killed Calum so brutally, what horrors would he save for me? And yet, I couldn’t find room for fear.

  Anger, yes. But the man who I’d seen cry because his favourite football team had lost wasn’t a man to be feared. And anyway, if he’d wanted to hurt me – physically harm me – he’d had plenty of chances before even a whiff of suspicion headed my way. It seemed that he was having more fun toying with me. Our game, he’d called it in the last note. Rage rose like lava from somewhere deep inside and I sucked cool air into my lungs to extinguish it.

  ‘I just don’t know how much more of this I can take,’ I admitted.

  ‘Oh, Bethany, I know this is hard,’ Alex said, moving into the space between us and putting her arms around my shoulders. ‘You’re doing great though, you just have to hang in there. This will all be over soon.’

  I nodded, trying to force myself to believe her.

  But a nagging voice in my head reminded me of the fact I’d been trying to avoid for days. I didn’t know how I knew. But I had an overwhelming feeling that this ordeal was far from finished.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The police had come for me.

  In the time it had taken for me to leave my flat, buy bread and walk back, they’d arrived.

  The first thing I noticed was the car, with its telltale blue and red lights, parked on the road outside my home. I’d stopped mid-step, weighing up whether I should turn and run, or find out what they were after. It could just be surveillance. Or they might have found the evidence they needed to finally arrest me.

  I crossed the road and crept closer until I could see inside the car. It was empty. So that ruled out surveillance, then. I moved at a snail’s pace, muscles tensed and ready for flight, until I was hidden behind the bus stop opposite my flat.

  I could see them clearly from there, two men in police uniform standing outside the entrance to my home. One was peering through my front window, and the other was knocking on the door. I wondered how long they’d been waiting there.

  The taller man knocked again, then stood with his hands on his waist. I saw his shoulders rise and fall, a shrug of defeat, and as he turned I ducked back behind the bus shelter, praying they didn’t notice my feet.

  Their voices, little more than a murmur when they were at my front door, became clearer as they walked up the path.

  ‘We’ll try again this afternoon. She’s got to come home sometime.’

  ‘Hopefully they’ll just get that warrant sorted and we won’t have to worry if she’s around or not.’

  The car doors closed and as the engine started and joined the low hum of traffic, I allowed my muscles to relax. They hadn’t found anything yet.

  But they were closing in, and I was running out of time.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  As soon as I got back inside, I closed all of the curtains. If the police came back – at least without a warrant – I’d have to pretend I wasn’t home. Before I had a chance to think about my next move, my phone flashed Alex’s name at me. I felt a burst of annoyance at myself for forgetting to turn it off, but I couldn’t ignore the call.

  ‘I got a note, Bethany.’

  Alex’s voice was strained; watered-down.

  ‘You got a what?’

  My brain registered what she said, but it was too unexpected, too far beyond any of the bad scenarios I’d already imagined. She couldn’t mean what I thought she meant.

  ‘A note, I got a note. From … well, it’s the same handwriting as yours.’

  The fear hit me in the small of my back, like a punch out of nowhere, the shock reverberating in waves across my flesh. So that’s where the envelope went.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On my bed.’

  The killer had got to her, too. And it was my fault, I’d led him there, straight to her door. I knew exactly how violated she must feel right now. I felt it as well, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  ‘Can you get over here?’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  I didn’t bother with public transport. The cab pulled up at Alex’s pale purple front door, the one that she’d sworn for years she’d repaint, and she flung it open, pale-faced and angry.

  ‘In,’ she barked.

  I obeyed.

  ‘Strip.’

  Alex handed me a fluffy bathrobe, tags still hanging from its collar. She was wearing an identical one. I blinked and stripped down, placing my clothes in her outstretched hands.

  Alex balled them up, shoving them into her washing machine and violently turned the knobs that started the cycle.

  ‘Phone.’

  I watched as she buried my now switched off phone in a plastic container filled with rice, positioned next to an ancient radio. She turned it on and we were blasted by awful nineties punk rock.

  ‘Bathroom,’ she said, and I followed her into the black-and-white tiled room that looked like it was straight off a Pinterest board. Alex slammed the door shut and, with the same force, turned the tap on the shower so the room was soon filled with swirling, hot steam.

  I wondered how many espionage films she’d been watching lately, and whether any of these tactics were actually effective, but I didn’t want to tip her over the edge by suggesting that she was going too far. She already seemed unstable, and although I’d seen Alex in some pretty unhealthy states, this particular one was brand new.

  I couldn’t blame her.

  ‘I forgot my laptop charger this morning, so I popped home between meetings to grab it,’ she began, turning to look me in the eye. ‘And this was on my pillow. My pillow, Bethany.’

  She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a single piece of paper.

  ‘“You want to play?”’ she read, volume increasing with every syllable. I wanted to tell her to keep it down, to remind her of the lengths she’d just gone to not to be heard, but I didn’t dare interrupt.

  ‘“You didn’t get an invitation, but if you insist on gatecrashing I have one house rule: don’t call the cops. Oh, and don’t blame me for the hangover.”’

  I stared at her, silent, while the words seeped into my pores.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Alex,’ I said. ‘I never, not for a minute, wanted you to get involved in all of this.’

  My hatred for Jason, if he really was the killer, sparked and burst into flame. He could hurt me. It was still despicable, but he could do that. We were married. It was an almost unspoken rule that you could emotionally screw with your spouse. But not Alex.

  ‘I’m not finished,’ she snapped. ‘There wasn’t just a letter. He left this as well.’

  She shoved something into my hand. A photo. I looked down to see Alex’s face hovering over a line of white powder in a seedy-looking bathroom, her finger pressing down a nostril. I stared at the photo for a couple of seconds, and then back at my friend.

  ‘This was a bloody month ago, Bethany. A month!’

  ‘But …’

  Questions hung in the air between us and we stared at each other. I wondered if my face mirrored Alex’s: eyes wide, skin pale, li
ps parted with the unspoken. What was happening? Had Calum’s killer been stalking Alex all this time? Was this whole nightmare actually about me all along, and nothing to do with Calum?

  ‘How in the hell did he get this photo?’ Alex had found her voice again. ‘And what else has he got on me, Bethany? If this gets into the wrong hands …’

  I stared at Alex. My best friend; always strong, always capable, never ruffled. But here she was, with rivulets of mascara streaking her cheeks and an expression of pure panic masking her face.

  ‘Bethany, no one can see this. If it’s leaked, somehow, my career is over. I’m finished.’

  I knew how much her job meant to her. She was good at it – excellent, in fact. The awards she collected proved it, and so did her clients, who paid her a small fortune so they wouldn’t have to give away half of their larger ones. The killer knew that threatening her job would be the most effective tactic to get her attention. Bastard.

  There were no words that would fix this, so I stepped across the steam-filled space between us and hugged her, sobs muffled on my shoulder. It wasn’t until I felt like we’d suffocate on the steam that had closed in on us that we moved into the living room.

  I pressed a glass of water into Alex’s hand.

  ‘What does that even mean, “Don’t blame me for the hangover”?’

  ‘He thinks it’s some kind of game,’ I said. ‘He’s enjoying messing with us.’

  Alex’s breaths were shallow, rapid. I watched her sipping her water, trying to steady her shaking hands, and my body ached with regret for coming to see her, for telling her my secrets, for exposing her like this.

  ‘Sorry for breaking down like that,’ she said at last, her voice almost lost against an obnoxious guitar solo that was hopefully preventing anyone listening to us.

  ‘It was just the shock of it, but I’m done. Now all I want is to get this sonofabitch. I can call him that, right? I know you’re married, but …’