The Guilty Wife Read online

  Part of me wanted to have one last peek at the images, to study every pixel and memorise the way he’d looked at me. The way he made me feel. But I knew I’d have to make do with the memories I already had and the photos I’d taken for the book, the ones that wouldn’t draw suspicion.

  I looked at my watch again. I was early. Mark had asked me to meet him in the park near Calum’s building, but as I’d changed my mind and dumped my phone earlier, I just had to trust that he’d be here when he said he would. The wait had been agonising. My trust in Mark had swung in time with the second hand I was now studying. One moment I was convinced that agreeing to help me meant he was completely innocent, and the next I was certain that it was a ruse to give him enough time to find the memory card, while I walked straight into a police trap. There was no way of knowing which theory was correct. I considered flipping a coin just to have an answer, even if it was down to pure chance. But in the end I decided I couldn’t bear the stress of the coin landing on the wrong side.

  Now, praying this wasn’t a trap, I paced from the footpath through the sandy horses’ lane and to the very edge of the park where it met the asphalt of the road, sweating in spite of the dipping temperature. Up, down, path, sand, grass. Sand, path, sand, grass.

  ‘Bethany,’ hissed a voice from behind a tree.

  ‘Mark?’ I whispered. ‘You scared me half to death! What are you doing over there?’

  In any other circumstance, I might have laughed at his terrible undercover agent impersonation. But there was nothing funny about this. I beckoned him towards me, relieved that he’d actually shown up, and he slunk over.

  ‘Bethany, are you certain we need to do this?’ he asked. ‘I mean, can’t you just tell me where to find what you need, and then I can give it to you? I really think that would be the best course of action here.’

  I’d already thought about it. I didn’t want to go up there, to risk being caught, any more than Mark wanted to help me. But as much as I wished I could leave my mission in his hands, trusting Mark just wasn’t an option. Because even if he wasn’t the killer, the police could have convinced him that I was, and this could be a way for them to discover exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t much fancy being caught red-handed.

  I wanted to believe that I was just being paranoid, but I couldn’t bear not being in control of what happened to that memory card. As soon as I got to the cover of that book, I could destroy it, and that meant I’d still have hope.

  ‘Mark, please,’ I begged. ‘If there was another way, believe me, I’d jump at the chance. I just need you to trust me on that. Can you trust me?’

  There was a pause as he stared right into my eyes, trying to gauge my motives. He sighed.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said eventually. ‘But you’re going to do exactly as I say. Got it?’

  I nodded, fear crawling up my throat as I thought about all of the ways this plan could go wrong. Clever it was not. In fact, it was downright stupid, but I couldn’t see any other way to be certain that my secret affair with Calum stayed that way.

  ‘First things first,’ said Mark, pulling a backpack off his shoulder and unfastening the zipper. ‘You need to change.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, a hint of a question in my voice. I grabbed the bundle of fabric and unfurled it to reveal dark-coloured overalls, the kind worn by mechanics and plumbers. I looked at it, and then at Mark.

  ‘You’re coming to inspect the apartment for fumigation,’ he explained. ‘We found cockroaches there yesterday.’

  He used his fingers to make air quotes around the word found.

  ‘I’ve created an incident report and faked a work order for contractors, who are supposedly due here tomorrow morning. You’re coming to check out the room to assess how long the company needs in the apartment.’

  As I followed him to the entrance I’d walked through so many times before, I caught a glimpse of my reflection and grimaced. I looked outrageous in my overall and a baseball cap pulled low over my face. I had to hope it was enough.

  We stepped into the huge lobby, gleaming with marble and chrome and mirrors. Oversized bouquets of peonies burst from coffee tables, and scattered around them were designer leather chairs that had barely been used. I’d almost lost my nerve the first time I’d sat in one of those seats, and now, for the second time in this cavernous entrance, I almost backed out. Spotting three security guards, one at the door, one next to the reception desk and another right beside the elevator bank, my brain was screaming at me to turn on my heel and sprint back out of the door. Mark coughed quietly next to me.

  ‘Keep going,’ he muttered, so only I could hear him. I carried on walking, and focused on what had brought me here. The tiny chip of technology stuffed with the proof of a thousand furtive touches.

  I lingered near a sweet-smelling coffee table as Mark approached the reception desk, moving casually, no indication that he was aiding a suspected murderer. As he chatted to the sleek woman in the tight grey dress and heavy-framed glasses, I cast sidelong glances at the security guards, dotted statue-like throughout the gleaming space. Even in the jumpsuit and grubby cap I was still recognisable, if anyone bothered to look. But they made no move, so I shuffled on my feet and waited, nerves winding tighter and tighter until I was sure I would snap.

  The receptionist was nodding and gesturing towards the elevator bank, glancing at me every couple of seconds without so much as a hint of curiosity. Mark laughed lightly and looked back, beckoning for me to come with him, and then strode towards the lifts.

  I followed closely, desperate to remain inconspicuous, his invisible sidekick. I counted the steps as I walked, the only way to stop the bubble of panic that was burgeoning inside my chest. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Then we were at the lifts and Mark was pressing the up button. I heard the ding of the elevator as it arrived, and we stepped in together.

  I almost cried with relief as the heavy metal doors began to slide closed. I looked over at Mark and saw his chest rise and fall sharply, a sigh of relief.

  Then there was a canter of heels on the hard marble floor and a hand slammed against the left door, stopping its journey towards the centre.

  ‘Wait!’

  The trendy receptionist peered around the lift doors and I closed my eyes, waiting for her to wrench me out and demand that I stay with her while she called the police.

  ‘Mark,’ she said. ‘Please can you let me know the purchase order number for the work that’s being done tomorrow? I can’t let them start without one.’

  Mark frowned, but nodded at the young woman nonetheless.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and vanished as rapidly as she’d appeared.

  My lungs were about to burst. I’d been holding my breath for what felt like minutes, but as the doors slid closed again and the gap between us and the lobby became smaller and smaller, I took a greedy gulp of air. Mark swore, panting, as adrenalin took effect.

  I watched as the digital number above our heads climbed until the elevator slowed, coming to a smooth stop at the very top of the building. The penthouse suite had its own collection of security guards, but they knew Mark well and usually assumed that if he was bringing a guest, and they’d been vetted by reception, then everything was fine.

  A muscular hulk of a man turned around and I bent my head, praying that he hadn’t recognised me. This would all be over if he saw through my amateur disguise. Fighting the urge to just turn and run, I shadowed Mark, trying to shrink out of view behind him.

  ‘Hi, Reggie,’ said Mark calmly.

  ‘Hey, Mark,’ Reggie replied, his tone bored. I followed Mark’s lead as he turned and kept walking, pulse thudding in my oesophagus.

  Seeing the security guard jogged my memory. I was supposed to be meeting Vincent for a drink, to get information on Mark. I shook my head. It didn’t matter any more. Besides, if the memory card was missing, I’d know the answer to my questions about Mark anyway.

  When we reached the reflective surface of Calum’s doorway I
stopped.

  ‘I need to do this alone,’ I said.

  ‘Bethany …’ he began, but I held out a hand to stop him. This secret needed to end with me.

  ‘Mark. You said you trusted me. Please.’

  I saw the muscles at the side of his jaw working.

  ‘Fine. But only because I know Calum trusted you, and there aren’t many people who I can say that about. Just make it quick, all right?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I whispered, and reached for the cool, chrome handle.

  Without letting myself think about what I was doing, I turned it quickly, like ripping off a plaster. I half expected to see Constable Clayton behind the door, but there was nothing but silence. I exhaled. Perhaps Mark was on my side after all.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark apartment. The blinds had been closed, so even in the middle of the day it felt like the dead of night. I switched on a small lamp near the door.

  Someone had been here.

  The police, probably. Or maybe the killer. Possibly Mark, after he got off the phone to me. The overall felt like it was shrinking, suffocating me. I wanted to peel it off. But there was no time. Whoever had been here hadn’t ransacked the place. They’d opened a few drawers, shuffled some furniture around. It was hardly a disruption, but I knew how immaculate Calum had liked his apartment to be. He was constantly picking up after himself, never allowing anything to be out of place for more than a few seconds. It was almost a compulsion, his neatness. I’d teased him about it, but he had told me that part of his success was down to his perfectionism.

  I couldn’t argue with his fortune.

  I walked through the entrance hall and across the slippery floor to the enormous bedroom. The first time I’d been here – the first day I’d met Calum – I’d found him so ordinary. I wondered how things would have turned out if he’d remained unremarkable to me. Would he be alive? Would I be happy? I shook my head, trying to avoid the spiral of what-ifs I knew I could easily get lost in. That wasn’t what I was here for. If I started getting sentimental, I’d be trapped for hours.

  I had to get the memory card, destroy it and get the hell out.

  I turned away from the room full of memories and started towards the desk, spotting the book that held my secrets. Grabbing the top of the spine, I tipped it towards me and gripped it in both hands.

  And then I heard it.

  Behind me, the smallest sound, a scuff, a shoe on the wooden floor.

  I froze.

  Silence.

  But it was too late, I’d already detected a noise. It came from near the bed, too close for me to be out of sight. I thought about running, but where would I go? I heard another shuffle. It was getting closer. My brain screamed at me to take action, but my body was solid, unyielding. I forced my eyes shut for just a second and, without letting myself think it through, I whirled around to face the figure in the dimly lit room.

  ‘Jason?’

  Years of marriage will do that. Will make you able to identify someone in the dark and out of context.

  Even when they’re pointing a knife at you.

  Chapter Forty-one

  ‘Bethany!’ Jason yelped, dropping the knife with a clatter. ‘Oh, thank God. I hoped it was you but I was just so nervous … I didn’t know … I’m sorry.’

  He sounded breathless.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I asked.

  I couldn’t make sense of this. No one but Mark knew that I was coming. I’d got rid of my phone. Jason couldn’t have known that this was where I would be, couldn’t have got in undetected. It wasn’t possible.

  ‘I’d like to ask you the same thing.’

  I stared at him. Was he crazy? I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of a single word to say.

  ‘Bethany,’ he said, walking towards me. ‘Are you all right?’

  I was about to explain how far from all right I was when I realised that I still didn’t have what I came for.

  In my panic at seeing Jason, I’d forgotten the memory card.

  I whirled around and wrenched the book off the shelf, opening the cover with such force that it tore along the spine.

  I almost cried out with relief when it was there, taped safely to the book, exactly where Calum had left it.

  So the killer hadn’t found it. Although he could be standing right next to me, waiting to snatch it from my grasp. As long as I could get rid of it, he couldn’t use it against me.

  This was the memory card that could be the difference between prison and freedom for me. Before Jason could see what it was, or take it from me, I turned away from him and bent the card between my fingers until it was folded in two. Then I bent it the other way, to and fro, faster and faster until the plastic was so brittle it broke apart. I had to destroy the fragments separately to make the data completely irretrievable. I shoved one half in my mouth and swallowed it, wincing as the jagged edge tore its way down my throat. Then I ran to the kitchen, threw the other half in the sink disposal and pressed the switch on the wall, waiting for the violent sound of metal chewing through the plastic to finish.

  I turned to Jason, who had followed me to the kitchen and was staring at me, his face the epitome of a question mark.

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re up to,’ I said, ‘but I think it’s about time we had an honest conversation.’

  Chapter Forty-two

  I couldn’t hear what was being said at the door; just the low drone of male voices. Then Jason, volume raised.

  ‘Mark! Please!’

  More muttering before a silence, during which Jason returned to the living area where I’d collapsed on a chair, too confused and exhausted to ask all of the questions that were jostling for priority in my brain.

  I stared at my husband.

  ‘What are you doing here? And how did you get in?’ I asked as he sat down across from me, wearily running his hands through his hair.

  ‘Mark,’ he said, as though that cleared things up.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  ‘It’s true!’ he said, defensively, palms facing the ceiling.

  ‘I’m not suggesting that it’s untrue, Jason. I’m just not following. I could do with more than a one-word answer.’

  ‘Fine,’ he sighed. ‘After football this morning I saw the news – and I had about a hundred messages from people asking if I was OK—’

  ‘If you were OK?’ I snorted.

  He ignored me, and carried on.

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of you, and I didn’t know where you’d be so I tried calling Alex—’

  ‘Wait. You’ve been talking to Alex?’

  I felt panic rising. What had she told him?

  ‘Are you going to interrupt every single sentence, Bethany? Just listen.’

  He held up his hand to stop me from asking another question, and I slumped back in the chair, arms crossed defiantly.

  ‘She didn’t know where you were, so I rang around and asked everyone to let me know if they heard from you. I called reception here and asked them to call me back if you got in touch.’

  ‘And Mark ratted me out,’ I said wearily, understanding that I couldn’t trust anyone.

  ‘He didn’t rat you out, Bethany. He was worried. And he didn’t know what to do. You’ve put him in a pretty tough position here.’

  ‘Oh, he’s in the tough position, is he?’

  ‘God, Bethany. Stop it. Don’t you think we’re aware how bad this is for you? It’s why we’re helping.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’ I asked, confused. ‘And how exactly are you helping?’

  ‘Mark and I. He told me your plan to come here, and agreed to let me up before you arrived. I knew you wouldn’t agree to meet me anywhere – you wouldn’t even answer my calls – so I figured the only way to see you was for me to be where you were.’

  ‘What, and he just let you up?’

  ‘Well, yes and no. He was going to call the cops, so I … well, I worked something out with him.’

&
nbsp; ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That’s not important right now. Listen, we don’t have much time, and I need to know what you know so we can solve this thing.’

  ‘What do you mean, solve this thing?’ I asked.

  I felt stupid, repeating everything back to him as a question, but I couldn’t think quickly enough to process what he was saying. I was still trying to reconcile the scene – my husband, in my dead lover’s apartment. I was in a nightmare.

  ‘I know you didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘But everything was pointing that way. The … well, the affair. The video. I could see where it was all headed, and I couldn’t let that happen to you.’

  I blinked. Did he just say the affair?

  ‘Yes,’ he said, sensing my question. ‘I knew. I mean, I guessed, but when he died and I saw your reaction, then I knew. I’m not an idiot, Bethany,’ he added, spotting the look on my face.

  Silence hung over us, heavy with the unsaid. I knew I should say sorry. That’s what spouses did when they were being confronted with their own infidelity. But at this moment, an apology just seemed trite.

  I risked glancing up at his face, expecting the worst. If he knew about the affair, that meant Alex’s theory about his motive could be spot on. He must have been furious, so mad that he’d been driven to kill the man I was cheating with.

  He was avoiding eye contact, looking down so I couldn’t read him.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I was … I mean, I am, devastated and, quite frankly, part of me would like nothing more than to see you go through hell for it. Helping you wasn’t my first reaction, believe me. But, unlike you, I’m not a selfish arsehole.’

  I felt heat rising in my cheeks, but I couldn’t deny it.

  ‘And despite my better judgement, I actually love you. Which is pretty inconvenient, if I’m honest.’