My Wife, the Serial Killer by H.J. Garbett

Author:H.J. Garbett [Garbett, H.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2025-06-17T00:00:00+00:00

‘So, Angus? Have you brought him in?’ I asked, breaking the silence that had steadily built up between Cis and I as we’d left the classroom and walked through the school corridor after Steve’s sermon had come to a close.

‘Well, we went to him to talk, he refused to leave his house, so we set up there to ask him some questions. God damn, the place was piled high with crap and reeked to high heaven. Have you been round there recently?’

‘No… no, I’ve never been,’ I said.

‘You’ve never been round to Fran’s brother’s house?’ Cis asked, not even trying to mask her surprise.

‘I’ve met him two, maybe three times, and he’s said about that many words to me, too,’ I explained, realising it would seem a bit crazy to someone who didn’t know about Angus. ‘The guy is a recluse, he barely comes out of his house and doesn’t seem to ever let anyone in. Normally Fran goes alone, every few weeks.’ I paused, realising there were several nuances and layers to Angus. ‘You do know he’s not Fran’s biological brother, right?’

‘Yeah, the records said. So, what actually is the relationship there?’

‘Fran never really speaks about it much. Well, she never really speaks about her childhood at all. But from the small breadcrumbs that she’s mentioned, she and Angus grew up together in the same children’s home.’

There was another brief, uncomfortable pause between us as we walked through the school corridor that was littered with shoddy art exhibits from the children. We signed out at the desk and returned our visitor passes. I felt like Cis bringing this up meant she had something up her sleeve. I was a pawn in some part of a plan I couldn’t quite fathom yet. Somehow, she needed me to connect the dots. Some people at training had called her ‘The Puppet Master’ after she used to play the pretend-witnesses off each other during questioning, causing them to accidentally incriminate one another in the process.

I liked Cis, but Fran had always said something about her just rubbed the wrong way. ‘Machiavellian’ or something was the word she often used. I always dismissed Fran when she said that or when her face turned into a scowl whenever I mentioned Cis’s name. But now, I was starting to wonder if my wife had more intuition than I realised. If your friend’s wife was a suspect in a murder case, would you really quiz him about it so nonchalantly?

‘This whole case, Gareth, it’s all completely baffling to me. I honestly believe you when you say you don’t think Fran did it,’ Cis said as we strolled back to the car.

Now, I knew that was an out-and-out lie.

‘What do you want, Cis? Just…’ I said in a half scoff, half groan, stopping in my tracks in the middle of the car park. ‘Just get on with it, please.’

‘Look, I didn’t want to get into this here,’ she said with a murmur, ‘but I need your help.’

Ah, Puppet Master, we meet again.

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