The Optician's Wife by Betsy Reavley Page A

since the pregnancy I couldn’t stand the smell of prawns or anything fishy.
    Larry sank his teeth into his BLT and opened a can of coke.
    ‘Want some?’ He held the drink out.
    ‘No thanks.’ I didn’t want to put on any more weight than I already had. I suspected that was the reason he was no longer sleeping with me. I looked down at the folded newspaper that lay on the bench between us.
    ‘I was just reading about the latest murder. They’re pretty sure it’s a serial killer now. This is number three.’ He wiped some tomatoes seeds from his top lip with a napkin.
    ‘Yes I know. Trisha was talking about it at work.’ I watched as a pair of swans floated past. ‘You don’t think it can happen where you live.’
    ‘I know what you mean.’
    I reached for the newspaper eager to learn more about the reported killer stalking the streets of Cambridge.
     
    CAMBRIDGE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN
     
    Rowers discovered the body of woman, named by police as Rose Delaney, in the city centre in the early hours of Sunday morning. A section of the river, from Jesus Green to Magdalene Bridge, has been cordoned off. Emergency services and an inflatable dingy were on the scene.
    Police said the woman, aged twenty-two, was a known prostitute. The Cambridge Evening News can reveal that the victim was sexually assaulted and had her eyes removed before being strangled in what is described as a frenzied attack.
    The detective, DCI Frank Wilkinson who is in charge of the investigation, admitted that police were exploring a link between the case and the discovery of two female bodies in the river in previous months.
    A police spokesman made a plea for information: ‘Anyone who was in the area and might have seen something is encouraged to come forward. No matter how small the detail may seem it might hold the key to catching the person responsible. We advise that the public remain cautious and call the police if they see anything suspicious.’
     
    ‘Makes for pretty depressing reading.’ I handed the paper back to Larry who’d finished his sandwich.
    ‘Doesn’t seem they have a clue who they are looking for,’ he pondered.
    ‘Bit of a change though, isn’t it, going from normal women to a prostitute.’
    ‘Maybe it was just easier.’
    ‘Probably. I didn’t even know there were prostitutes around Cambridge.’
    ‘Oh Dee, you’re so naïve. There are prostitutes everywhere.’
    ‘Well I’ve never seen one.’
    ‘They don’t all walk around holding signs you know. They just hang out in places where punters know they’ll be.’
    ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’ I immediately regretted the throw-away comment.
    ‘I don’t like your tone.’ Larry turned to me, rage burning in his eyes.
    ‘I didn’t mean anything,’ but it was too late. The damage had been done.
    ‘I’m going back to work.’ He stood up and dusted himself off.
    ‘But I haven’t finished my lunch.’
    ‘So?’ His eyes were cold. He turned and walked away. I felt the anger coming from him despite the distance between us.
     
    After work I went food shopping for dinner. Even in the supermarket I couldn’t escape the chatter about the killer. The woman serving behind the till was happy to impart her so-called knowledge to a customer who stood there transfixed by the details about the latest death. The conversation was holding me up and it bored me. These people clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. They wasted their breath throwing clichés backwards and forwards as if that was going to change anything. I clung on to my basket of groceries and bit my tongue waiting for the idle gossip to come to an end.
    I wanted to cook Larry his favourite. I had some making up to do. I’d never seen him so cross and I’d felt bad about it all afternoon.
    When I got home, I went straight into the kitchen. The house was quiet. Larry hadn’t returned from work, even though he finished the same time as I did. I hoped he wouldn’t be late back as