Chapters (85)
‘He promised!’ Amy shouts suddenly. ‘He promised me everything! A perfect life. Kids. Love. And – what? Nothing!’ Her composure has gone, her cheeks are bright red now, leaning forward into Freya’s face. ‘You know he couldn’t even get it up some days. Wouldn’t even try.’
Robin looks across at Freya. She’s sobbing now, tears rolling down her face, dripping from her chin. ‘So why didn’t you divorce him?’ she cries, her voice stuttering and wet. ‘If he was so useless?’
‘What? So you could have him?’ A look of pure disgust crosses her face. ‘Did you honestly think you and Jonathan would be together?’ Amy continues. ‘Living in domestic bliss? Happy?’ she mocks. ‘Fuck that. Fuck you. Anyway, he was worth plenty dead.’
‘His fertility results came back, Amy,’ Robin says. ‘There was nothing wrong with him.’ Her head whips round. ‘It was all normal.’
She shakes her head. ‘No. We couldn’t have children. It was his fault.’
‘No, Amy. It wasn’t.’
And that’s when Robin realises. The unprotected sex at the swingers’ club. It was to get pregnant. He feels sick. The lengths this woman had gone to, to try and create some sort of perfect life for herself. Sleeping with random men. Deceiving Jonathan’s best friend. And then killing her husband.
‘Why did you make him get tested?’ Freya says. ‘When you didn’t even care about the results?’
‘For you two, for the police,’ Amy snarls. ‘To show you what a devoted couple we were. How we were trying for kids. And he went along with it, although I knew he didn’t want to. He’d have done anything. Anything to avoid pissing me off. But what did it matter, in the end?’
Then Amy leans forward, facing them both. Her demeanour has changed. The anger has faded, the arrogance returned.
‘Can you prove I committed murder, DS Butler?’ she says quietly. Calmly. Too calmly. ‘Because I can prove you did, Detective. I can prove you killed Trevor Stevens.’
And Robin’s blood runs cold.
72
Amy sees Butler turn white, his mouth open in surprise. And the woman, too. So, she knows? That’s interesting.
They think they’re so smart, Amy thinks. Look at the state of them. Butler looks worse today, if that can be possible. He has a painful-looking black eye on his left side, and his face is grey and drained. West looks the same – bloated, red eyes. This is the woman Jonathan wanted? She’s a fucking mess.
West stands up suddenly. ‘I need a drink,’ she mutters.
‘On duty?’ Amy mocks.
‘I don’t give a shit, where’s your alcohol?’
‘Make yourself at home,’ Amy scoffs sarcastically, gesturing back to the kitchen. ‘Wine in the fridge, spirits in the cupboard.’
West leaves in the direction Amy has pointed. Amy watches her go, then turns her attention back to Butler.