The Guilty Wife Read online

  ‘Look, we still don’t know for sure if it’s him, Alex.’

  I was being a hypocrite. Just moments ago I’d felt hatred for Jason for doing this. But as soon as Alex pointed the finger, it felt like a betrayal to agree.

  ‘This again?’ She stood up again, restless.

  ‘Why do you want it to be him so badly?’

  ‘Why are you so unwilling to look at the facts?’ She began checking them off on her fingers, one by one.

  ‘One: he was the only person who knew you’d been here. Two: the envelope. Three: getting into your house without a key. Four: running off right before the knife appeared in your home. Do you need me to go on?’

  I held my hands up in surrender.

  ‘I don’t want to fight. I just think all the stalking, recording my phone conversations, the CCTV cameras … well, I just don’t think Jason has the skills to do it.’

  ‘Doesn’t he work in IT?’

  I shook my head as Alex switched the washing machine over to dryer mode, and I watched my clothes tumbling, endlessly falling in the tiny metal barrel.

  ‘No, I’ve told you this. He’s a risk analyst at an insurance company.’

  ‘Well that sounds convenient.’

  ‘It’s not. He analyses retail stores for insurance companies. Nothing to do with life insurance or anything like whatever conclusions you’re jumping to.’

  ‘Still. He could have skills you don’t know about.’

  ‘I know that,’ I snapped. ‘I’m just saying we have nothing tangible on Jason apart from him picking up a white envelope. It’s still not enough. If it is him, he’s covered his tracks perfectly.’

  ‘But has he?’ Alex asked, pulling the note from her pocket and raising her eyebrows at me. ‘Prints.’

  ‘What prints?’ I asked, worried that she really was losing her grip on reality. ‘Yours and mine? That’s all they’d find on there now.’

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Bethany,’ she said. ‘This is a copy. The real one is safely bagged up along with the envelope and the original picture, ready to give to the police.’

  Her expression had changed from complete despair to a kind of confidence that I didn’t know how she’d mustered. I was in awe of her strength, and wondered if I could allow myself to hope that there was some way out of this, after all. I knew it was a long shot. But it was possible he’d made a mistake somewhere along the way.

  ‘Alex,’ I said, distracted by a sudden thought, ‘did he go through anything else here? Have you checked everything?’

  ‘Nothing else was out of place,’ she said. ‘And I searched every possible hiding place to make sure that arsehole wasn’t still in my apartment, if that’s what you mean.’

  I paused nervously. I hoped that I’d correctly interpreted her unusual actions a couple of days ago.

  ‘No, it’s just … well, it’s the knife, Alex,’ I said. ‘I, um … I hid it here the other day.’

  Alex snapped her head around to look directly at me.

  ‘You did WHAT?’

  Oh, shit.

  ‘I thought … the other day, when you were saying that I shouldn’t tell you what I did with it—’

  ‘I meant that you should get rid of it somewhere without telling me. What the hell were you thinking, Bethany?’

  She looked as panicked as I felt. I’d misjudged her horribly, and now she’d been targeted by the killer. Is that what he’d been here for?

  ‘Well?’ she said shrilly. ‘Where the hell is it? Has it been taken? Oh my God, I swear to God, Bethany …’

  I moved towards the pantry cupboard without a word. I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face her withering gaze.

  Opening the cupboard, I pulled out cans and boxes of varying shapes and sizes, throwing them onto the bench behind me until my fingers touched the plastic container at the back.

  Pulling off the lid and throwing it aside, I shoved my hand into the flour, not caring if my flesh met the blade. At least that would mean the knife was still there.

  Relief flooded my body as my fingers wrapped around the handle, and I pulled it out triumphantly, showering the kitchen floor with white powder.

  ‘I taped it up in plastic,’ I explained, laying the oddly shaped package on the kitchen island.

  We both stared at it as though it could come alive and attack us.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I said, turning to face my friend. Her arms were crossed against her chest and her face was a dark pink. I wanted to evaporate. ‘I screwed up. I should never have got you involved in the first place, and I completely misread what you were saying the other day. I’m a horrible friend. I’m going to dump this right now.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ Alex said.

  ‘No way. This is my problem. I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Well, you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of it properly,’ she retorted, and I gritted my teeth. ‘So I’m going to make sure no one will find this thing.’

  ‘Really, Alex, I can do it.’

  ‘Like hell you can. Don’t argue with me, OK? I’m really not in the mood.’

  I stared at the knife, wishing it could spill its secrets.

  ‘I just … I’m not arguing, but he didn’t find it while he was here. It didn’t even look like he searched the place. I mean, I’m happy to get rid of it, don’t get me wrong. But I’m just wondering if this is really the smartest thing to do?’

  ‘Why would we keep it? I’m not willing to risk having it here now that I know someone can get in. Besides, if the place is bugged then Jason knows it’s here now too, doesn’t he? And then he’ll definitely come back for it.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure it’s Jason,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Right,’ she waved her hand dismissively. ‘The killer will know it’s here now.’

  I narrowed my eyes to protest her sarcasm, but didn’t argue. She was mad enough at me already.

  ‘Are there absolutely no other options?’ I asked. ‘I do get what you’re saying, and I agree, but this knife is literally the only thing that could possibly tie the actual killer to Calum’s murder. Maybe they could trace who bought it, or find some other fingerprints or DNA or something that’ll prove it wasn’t me. I don’t think that throwing out the only piece of physical evidence from the murder is a very clever idea.’

  ‘It’s a horrible idea.’ Alex nodded. ‘But as you said just before, the killer is smart. Probably way too smart to have left evidence on the murder weapon, especially when he had to know there was a chance you’d take it to the police. Besides, even if there was something on the knife that could point back to whoever killed Calum, we can’t exactly take it to the police and ask them to test it, can we?’

  I hesitated, ransacking my brain for another solution.

  ‘Could we just move it? Put it somewhere neutral for safekeeping?’

  ‘Like where?’

  I drummed my fingertips on the cool marble of her countertop, listing and instantly dismissing options.

  ‘Safety deposit box?’ I asked, then continued before Alex could answer. ‘No. It’s too obvious. Public locker? Never mind. Too risky. There’s always CCTV where there are lockers, I’ve seen the films.’

  Alex and I stared at each other, willing the other to come up with an answer.

  ‘What about a public space, like Hyde Park? We could bury it?’ I offered eventually.

  Alex chewed her lip.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said after a pause. ‘But that’s risky, too. What if a dog digs it up? Or someone sees us doing it and gets suspicious. If anyone finds it, we’ll look even worse for trying to get rid of it.’

  ‘It’s a no-win situation, then,’ I said, exasperated.

  Alex closed her eyes and sighed dramatically.

  ‘I really do think we need to just get rid of it once and for all,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but if the killer knows we have it, he’ll just use that fact against us. I think it’s less of a risk to get rid of it than waiting to see whet
her he gets his hands on it again, or hoping he doesn’t tell the police to come looking for it here.’

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, turning her words over. Disposing of key evidence was undeniably foolish, but Alex was right. Getting rid of it meant we’d know for sure that it couldn’t be used to make me look worse. Hanging onto it left too many things out of our control.

  ‘So … where can we do this?’ I asked.

  ‘The river?’ Alex suggested, voice and eyebrows high.

  I tilted my head to think it over.

  ‘It could work,’ I admitted. ‘I doubt that it’d ever get found.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Alex.

  ‘It’s still a risk,’ I said.

  ‘Yep. But we don’t really have a choice, do we? We have to pick somewhere.’

  I nodded, despite the growing sense of dread balling up inside me.

  ‘Last chance to back out,’ I said. ‘I can do this alone, you know. I really think you should stay here, stay out of this.’

  Alex stood up.

  ‘I’ll get my keys.’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  I felt sick.

  Alex had insisted that we walk, then take the bus in the wrong direction, then walk a bit more, and then take the train, just to be sure we weren’t being followed. We’d decided to go somewhere along the Thames that was far from where either of us lived, so even if the knife did wash up, it couldn’t be obviously tied to us.

  We stepped outside the station in Barnes and looked with suspicion behind us. There was no one. There hadn’t been anyone since we’d left Alex’s, and yet neither of us could shake the feeling that we were being followed.

  ‘I know it’s probably in my head,’ said Alex. ‘But I feel like any minute now someone’s going to jump out from behind a tree and grab me.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I muttered. ‘Let’s just get this over with and go home.’

  We hurried in the dark towards the bridge, looking down at our feet to avoid being detected by CCTV cameras, relying on our dark jeans and hoodies to make us forgettable. I could hear the gentle lapping of the Thames to my right, and hoped I could trust it not to cough up my secret on its muddy banks in the morning.

  We stopped at the very middle of the bridge, facing west. I looked around, but there was no one in sight. I was shivering, despite the still evening air.

  ‘Come on, hurry up,’ I said as Alex pulled the plastic-wrapped knife from under her jumper. I held it in my outstretched palms as Alex tentatively unwrapped the package, careful not to touch it. A bit of black appeared, a glint of steel like a knowing wink. I shuddered, and pulled the rest of the wrapping aside, balancing the exposed knife on one hand.

  Using the tea towel I’d wrapped the knife in when I’d brought it to Alex’s, I rubbed the handle vigorously.

  ‘Are you sure this is going to completely get rid of my fingerprints?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m sure. Well, not from personal experience, obviously. But everything I read online said this would do the job.’

  I shot another look over Alex’s shoulder. Over mine.

  I hesitated for just a second, but I knew I wasn’t going to change my mind. In one sudden movement I dropped the knife off the side of the bridge, and waited to hear the slap of it hitting the surface.

  Then there was silence.

  We looked at each other. Alex gave an almost imperceptible nod and without a word we walked away from the scene of our crime.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  I’d only just stopped shivering, despite having been back at Alex’s apartment for half an hour. I’d showered, and was dressed in the freshly washed clothes I’d arrived in earlier that day.

  The knife was now at the bottom of the Thames, the cloth I’d wiped my fingerprints away with was soaking in a bucket of bleach, and the plastic that was wrapped around the knife was in a bin somewhere near Clapham Junction. If that wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t sure what would be.

  ‘I should get home,’ I said. Light-headed and sleepy, all I wanted was to be in my own bed, even if I did share it with a potential killer.

  ‘Oh – my phone,’ I said, halfway to the door. ‘Can I have it back now?’

  Alex jumped off the sofa.

  ‘Sorry, I completely forgot,’ she said. Rummaging through the tub of rice, she pulled out my phone and handed it to me, while reaching for hers.

  I switched it on, knowing I’d have to make up an excuse if Jason had been trying to get hold of me. No voicemail messages, but a Facebook notification flashed on my screen.

  I frowned, confused. Why would Alex have tagged me in a post?

  ‘Alex, what’s this?’ I asked, tapping my notifications to see the detail.

  A map appeared on my screen, the river running directly through the middle.

  I peered at it. That was Barnes Bridge. The exact spot we’d stood in an hour ago as we’d thrown a murder weapon into the Thames.

  My heartbeat echoed in my ears.

  Above the map, a status update written by Alex, a little over an hour ago.

  Up to no good. ;-)

  ‘What the hell, Alex?’ I spat the words out, an accusation.

  She was the one who had blamed me for not properly disposing of the knife. Now she’d gone and made light of a situation that was neither funny nor public.

  Fury came, swift and red, blinding. I’d trusted Alex. I’d risked my life by telling her my secrets. I’d risked hers, too, but I’d never endanger her by posting about it on Facebook. Was this my punishment for hiding the knife in her flat? Is that why she insisted on coming along? Did she want me to be caught after all?

  My mind flickered back to when I’d first come to Alex. ‘My advice is to take everything to the police and trust them with it,’ she’d said. Was this her way of forcing my hand?

  Alex looked up from her own screen, her face drained of colour.

  ‘This wasn’t me,’ she whispered. ‘Obviously it’s not me, Bethany. How could it be me?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I didn’t have my phone on me, it was right here, with yours.’

  I shook my head. She’d had multiple opportunities to grab it when I wasn’t looking.

  ‘You’re the only one who knew where we were, Alex.’

  ‘Obviously I’m not. Jason must be—’

  ‘Stop already with this obsession with Jason,’ I yelled. ‘He’s my husband!’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, her voice pleading. ‘I’m sorry. But this Facebook post wasn’t me, Bethany. Think about it. If I really was out to get you – which I’m not – I wouldn’t implicate myself, too. How stupid do you think I am?’

  I looked at her, trying to read her eyes.

  ‘Plus, your Facebook account has already been hacked once. Our phones are clearly accessible to the killer. Bethany, come on. This wasn’t me, and you know it.’

  She was right. Even if she was trying to get me in trouble, she wasn’t stupid enough to make herself look guilty in the process. I hated this feeling of not believing the people I loved, of second-guessing everything, analysing every word. Alex was my best friend. She was the one person I could lean on. I didn’t even have my husband to turn to any more, so if I couldn’t trust Alex, then I really couldn’t trust anyone. I had to take a risk. I had to choose to believe her. She was right, anyway. It really wouldn’t make sense for her to have written that post.

  I wanted to peel off my skin and stop being me for a bit. If Alex hadn’t posted that update, then someone had been following us after all.

  I prayed that no one had seen the Facebook status yet, that it would get lost among political rants and funny videos. But a quick scroll revealed seventeen likes and two loves, plus a handful of comments.

  Sounds fun, hun. When are we gonna go out and get up to no good again? ;-)

  Mysterious. What you up to?

  Lol. Standard Alex.

  ‘Delete it,’ I demanded.

  ‘Of course I’m bloody deleting
it, but that’s not the point, is it?’

  ‘I think my Twitter was hacked too,’ I said, suddenly remembering the tweet I’d discovered on the bus. It was only a couple of weeks ago, but it felt like decades. At the time, I was sure I’d never have tweeted something quite so irresponsible, but I’d convinced myself that I must have been drunk enough to forgo common sense. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘As well as your Facebook?’

  I nodded.

  ‘It was ages ago,’ I said. ‘Before Calum … before all of this. It was the morning after we went to that bar. I was hung-over when I found it, and I assumed I’d been so drunk that I’d just tweeted something I shouldn’t have. It didn’t make sense, but then with everything that happened since I just kind of forgot about it.’

  ‘Does that mean the killer was doing this stuff while Calum was still alive?’

  I let out a strangled gurgling sound. I’d thought that the note I’d received after Jason took me away was the murderer’s first strike. But Alex was right. He’d been tormenting me before Calum was even killed, only I didn’t know it.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, putting the pieces of my timeline together.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, Alex, I just realised.’

  ‘What, Bethany?’

  ‘Calum … he … he died the day I got that tweet.’

  We stared at each other, Alex’s eyes wide with shock, my mind clawing for answers. That tweet had been a warning.

  ‘I’m getting my laptop,’ Alex said. ‘And we’re deleting our social media accounts.’

  I nodded. How was it possible for this to get worse? So now I knew it wasn’t a crime of passion, a heat-of-the-moment thing. Someone had planned this out, down to the smallest detail. He wasn’t threatening me because he thought I knew something I shouldn’t. He’d known I’d be in South Kensington with Calum, and he’d known why.

  And now he was framing me for it, little by little. I didn’t stand a chance against him.

  ‘Alex,’ I said, not wanting to voice what had just popped into my head.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she replied, tapping furiously on her keyboard.

  ‘If he knows we just dumped the murder weapon, do you think he has proof?’