THE SERIAL KILLER’S WIFE
Alice Hunter
Copyright
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Cover design by Holly MacDonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021
Cover photographs © Karina Vegas/Arcangel Images
Alice Hunter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008414078
Ebook Edition © May 2021 ISBN: 9780008414085
Version: 2021-05-12
Dedication
For Katie Loughnane
an inspiring editor and friend, thank you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: Beth
Chapter 2: Beth
Chapter 3: Beth
Chapter 4: Tom
Chapter 5: Beth
Chapter 6: Beth
Chapter 7: Beth
Chapter 8: Tom
Chapter 9: Katie
Chapter 10: Beth
Chapter 11: Tom
Chapter 12: Katie
Chapter 13: Beth
Chapter 14: Beth
Chapter 15: Tom
Chapter 16: Beth
Chapter 17: Beth
Chapter 18: Beth
Chapter 19: Beth
Chapter 20: Beth
Chapter 21: Beth
Chapter 22: Beth
Chapter 23: Beth
Chapter 24: Tom
Chapter 25: Beth
Chapter 26: Katie
Chapter 27: Beth
Chapter 28: Beth
Chapter 29: Beth
Chapter 30: Beth
Chapter 31
Chapter 32: Tom
Chapter 33: Beth
Chapter 34: Beth
Chapter 35: Beth
Chapter 36: Katie
Chapter 37: Beth
Chapter 38
Chapter 39: Beth
Chapter 40: Beth
Chapter 41: Beth
Chapter 42: Beth
Chapter 43
Chapter 44: Tom
Chapter 45: Beth
Chapter 46: Katie
Chapter 47: Beth
Chapter 48: Beth
Chapter 49: Tom
Chapter 50: Beth
Chapter 51: Beth
Chapter 52: Beth
Chapter 53: Beth
Chapter 54: Tom
Chapter 55: Beth
Chapter 56: Katie
Chapter 57: Beth
Chapter 58: Katie
Chapter 59: Beth
Chapter 60: Beth
Chapter 61: Tom
Chapter 62: Beth
Chapter 63: Beth
Chapter 64: Beth
Chapter 65
Chapter 66: Beth
Chapter 67: Beth
Chapter 68: Tom
Chapter 69: Beth
Chapter 70: Beth
Chapter 71
Chapter 72: Beth
Chapter 73: Beth
Chapter 74: Beth
Chapter 75: Tom
Chapter 76: Beth
Chapter 77: Beth
Chapter 78: Beth
Chapter 79: Tom
Chapter 80: Beth
Chapter 81: Beth
Chapter 82: Tom
Chapter 83: Beth
Chapter 84: Beth
Chapter 85: Beth
Chapter 86: Beth
Chapter 87: Beth
Chapter 88: Tom
Chapter 89: Beth
Chapter 90: Beth
Chapter 91: Beth
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter 1
BETH
Now
I’m half relieved, half annoyed when I hear the insistent knocking on the front door. Poppy has only just settled after the third reading of The Wonky Donkey. I’ve promised her repeatedly that Daddy will definitely be home to give her a goodnight kiss. It’s gone eight, two hours past her usual bedtime.
‘Daddy’s here,’ she says, her aquamarine eyes springing back open, all sleepiness evaporating.
‘And it seems he can’t be bothered to use his key,’ I sigh, rising up from the Disney Princess bed. ‘You close your eyes again, my Poppy poppet, and I’ll send him up in a minute.’ I run my index finger from the bridge of her tiny button nose to the tip.
I dash down the stairs, unconsciously bobbing under the low oak beam, ready to fling the door open and shout at Tom for his lateness and lack of consideration. But at the same time, I want to throw my arms around him: he’s never late back from work and I’ve been winding myself up thinking something bad must’ve happened to him. I’ve tried convincing myself his train was delayed, or he’s been caught up in traffic on the way back from Banbury station – having to commute from Lower Tew to central London and back every day isn’t the quickest of journeys – but if that’d been the case, he’d have called to let me know he was running late. He wouldn’t let his little Poppy down – he loves hearing her delighted squeals when he does the daft voices. It’s something I clearly haven’t mastered, given the number of times she made me ‘try again’ to get it right.
I unlock the solid wooden door and take a steadying breath. There’s no need for me to be mad at him. He’s late, that’s all. Doesn’t matter if he’s woken Poppy up; he’ll happily settle her while I reheat his dinner. Don’t shout at him.
I swing the door open. ‘Why haven’t you got your key?’ The scolding words are out of my mouth before I even realise.
It’s not Tom.
‘Oh, erm … sorry, I was expecting …’ My sentence trails off. My heart tumbles in my chest.
‘Good evening. Mrs Hardcastle, is it?’ one of the two men says. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder at my small doorway, obscuring the view outside. I can’t see the vehicle they’ve arrived in but given their smart, suited appearance and the fact they know my name, I instinctively know they’re police.
‘Y–yes,’ I stutter.
My limbs tremble. I was right. Tom’s had an accident. I grasp hold of the edge of the door frame, closing my eyes tight. My breaths are coming fast and shallow as I wait for the inevitable.
‘We need to speak with Mr Thomas Hardcastle, please.’ The man, who looks to be in his early fifties, with hair greying at the temples and thinning on the top, opens a leather wallet and flashes a badge at me. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Manning from the Metropolitan Police and this is a colleague from Thames Valley, Detective Sergeant Walters.’
His words fly over my head as relief floods through me. If they’re asking to see him, they’re not here to tell me he’s been killed.
‘He’s not here. He’s late back from work. I thought you were him, actually,’ I say, my voice now more controlled. ‘What’s it in connection with?’ I frown, suddenly aware DI Manning is encroaching on the threshold of my cottage. The other detective, whose name I’ve already forgotten, has stepped back and is now strolling around my front garden.
Manning doesn’t respond.
‘Can I
