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Truth or Die
Katerina Diamond
‘All hail the new Queen of Crime’ Heat magazineLet the games begin…When Professor Hugh Norris is found brutally murdered at Exeter university, DS Imogen Grey and DS Adrian Miles turn to the students for answers. Who would target a seemingly innocent man – and why? Someone knows more than they’re letting on – and they’re playing a very sinister game. A game so dark, it will shake the university to its core…As another professor is found butchered and the death toll begins to rise, the police have to examine their own pasts to uncover the person behind the killings – before it’s too late. But are they brave enough to face up to the truth?The Sunday Times bestseller is back in a twisty new novel, perfect for fans of M.J. Arlidge and Angela Marsons.



TRUTH OR DIE
Katerina Diamond



Copyright (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Katerina Diamond 2019
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019 Cover photographs © Katarzyna Lukaszewska/Arcangel Images
Katerina Diamond 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.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008282929
Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008282936
Version: 2019-07-01

Praise for Katerina Diamond (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
‘Diamond is the master of gripping literature’
Evening Standard
‘A terrific story, originally told. All hail the new queen of crime!’
Heat
‘A web of a plot that twists and turns and keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. This formidable debut is a page-turner, but don’t read it before bed if you’re easily spooked!’
Sun
‘A page-turner with a keep-you-guessing plot’
Sunday Times Crime Club
‘Diamond neatly handles a string of interlocking strands’
Daily Mail
‘This gem of a crime novel is packed with twists until the last page’
Closer
‘A deliciously dark read, Katerina Diamond keeps her readers guessing throughout as she leads us on a very secretive, VERY twisted journey … everything I was expecting from a well-written, pacy thriller’
Lisa Hall, author of Between You And Me
‘A dark, twisting tale that won’t fail to captivate’
Mint Velvet
‘Wow, I thought The Teacher was fantastic but The Secret is on another level. Was gripped all the way through and kept me guessing as the story unfolded’
NetGalley Reviewer
‘Another grim and gory spider’s web from Katerina Diamond – closely following on from The Teacher and not letting up on the twists and turns’
Goodreads Reviewer
‘An impeccable novel with nail-biting chapters … Katerina Diamond deserves the title of Queen of Crime, because I’ll be damned if anyone writes novels like she does. 5* doesn’t do this book justice’
The Brunette Bookshelf
‘Has the feeling of a nightmare come to life …’
LoveReading
‘The suspense is literally out of this world’
Compelling Reads
‘A dark and twisted tale that had me gasping in fear’
Handwritten Girl

Dedication (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
To Audrey,
Over the last 13 years, I’ve come to think of you as someone who lives in my house.
Love Mum
Contents
Cover (#u5b2f20a2-11f3-5bfb-abed-1abf6f2dc96a)
Title Page (#u7e8e2840-22b6-5fbe-a7fb-466a759439ad)
Copyright
Praise for Katerina Diamond
Dedication
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Part Two
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading …
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher

Part One (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)

Chapter One (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
Six months ago
‘Is this thing on?’ Toby said into the camera on his phone. ‘OK, watch this. It’s going to be incredible.’
The camera was placed on the ground, resting against Toby’s empty can of cider and pointing up at Exeter Cathedral. The angle meant the whole cathedral was in shot. Toby switched on the GoPro on his head as well and ran towards the front of the building. He wasn’t sure how many people would be watching the live stream at this time in the morning, but he had to assume that there was a possibility the police could turn up at any point, so he needed to hurry. The front of the medieval building had enough nooks and holes for him to place his feet and fingers in, to grip and pull on, to climb. This would be the biggest achievement for Toby; he had climbed many buildings in the town, but this was surely the jewel in the crown. It wasn’t the tallest building by a long shot, but it was so iconic, there was no way he wouldn’t score some major points with it – it might even go viral. Heavily decorated with carved and moulded stonework, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of this before.
Toby had been doing parkour for five years, since he was fourteen years old. In the last year his game had really improved though. This was barely a challenge now that he looked at it. The west screen, the front of the cathedral, was covered in half-sized statues of knights, angels, kings, apostles and other small figures nestled in the niches. At school they had learned that these small animated figures were once painted in brightly coloured medieval paint, long since eroded and washed away. Lots of knobbles and bobbles to wrap his fingers around. Even the safety net wouldn’t be much of an obstacle as it had a little give in it.
Toby started to climb. He grabbed a hold of one of the angels on the first row of niches. They were holding up the other characters. A vision of heaven that Toby was putting his feet all over. Even where there were no sculptures to use as footholds, the walls weren’t smooth but rugged, and the stone bricks were chipped or broken at the corners, often providing enough space for the front inch of his trainer or for his fingers to hold onto. His nerves weren’t too bad because he had had a couple of drinks on the way here, just enough to take the edge off without dulling his instincts.
Toby had hardly broken a sweat by the time he reached the end of the first part of the challenge and grabbed hold of the crenelated wall at the top of the figures. He slipped through the gap in the wall and turned around, making sure the GoPro on his chest was pointing forwards. He leaned over and waved at his own phone. He didn’t want to waste any more time and so he turned back around and looked up at the rose window.
The rose window itself was the easiest part to climb; it was practically a ladder once you got past the long slim windows into the actual rose. He got to the top of the structure in no time. He made sure to look down, so that he could get a shot of the ornate window directly beneath him with the camera strapped to his head. He wondered how many viewers he had now. No sirens yet.
At the top of the window he had a couple of tricky manoeuvres to do before he could get over the second ledge onto the small balcony. Once they had been executed, he grabbed the thin ledge and pulled himself up, and then hoisted himself over the wall. One last push before he could get onto the roof. He could go to the side and climb up that way, but it wasn’t as interesting for his followers and so he continued on his path straight upwards. He was feeling a little tired – probably the cider; next time one can would be enough. He didn’t know why he had been so nervous in the first place; this was a doddle.
He climbed up the final window and grabbed hold of the feet of the statue standing at the top of it. He didn’t know who it was of, probably St Peter. Neither history nor religious studies were his subjects at school, so he hadn’t paid attention on the various school trips they had made to the building over the years.
He got his hand around the spike at the centre of the top of the roof and pulled himself up. He didn’t give himself time to rest; he wanted his followers to see the view and so he spun around and looked out over the city. His phone was a tiny blip on the ground from where he was standing, but he waved nonetheless. He would splice the footage together later and put it to music. This was going to look awesome; he couldn’t wait to watch it back.
He looked behind him at the lopsided crossed roof and then to the North Tower. He had to go up there; it was the highest point after all. The roof was battered and difficult to navigate, the central beam covered in an ornate metal design, presumably specifically to stop these kinds of shenanigans. From the centre of the roof he couldn’t see his phone any more, but he wasn’t particularly worried about anyone stealing it. He made his way across the central beam towards the North Tower and started to climb.
Halfway to the parapet, his leg started to cramp. He tried to get to the top faster, but the pain in his leg deepened. He shook it to lessen the pain but it just got sharper. His thigh was spasming now and he had to decide whether to go up or down. The top was closer and at least if he made it there then there was a flat surface to stand on. He pulled himself up, wincing with the pain, his leg pulling him down. He should have just stayed at the top of the western screen. It’s not like the camera could see him any more, anyway.
Toby reached for the thin ledge and his hand slipped. All too quickly and without him knowing in which order his body was failing him, he started to fall. His shin hit the triangular spine of the roof with the full weight of his body behind it. The spikes tore through the fabric and the flesh straight through to the bone. He cried out. Still no sirens to be heard. He continued to fall and bounce from stone and slate for what felt like an eternity, his skin grazing and bruising with each thud. This was the last one though, the last fall. Was there any way to survive a fall from this height?
He hit the ground, his head cracking against the pavement. He was facing west and he could see his phone on the grass pointing up at the rose window. It wasn’t even capturing this moment. He was dying and no one would even see it.

Chapter Two (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
DS Adrian Miles looked at the pink envelope on his desk. He glanced around the room and his partner, DS Imogen, Grey shrugged.
‘Don’t look at me!’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘Someone obviously loves you,’ Imogen said, although it sounded like more of an accusation than anything else.
He opened the card to see a picture of two bears cuddling, and inside, just a question mark.
‘This isn’t funny. Who left this here?’
‘It could be anyone in this place, Adrian, I’ve seen the way the new recruits look at you. If only they knew.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said with more indignance than the question probably deserved.
‘Maybe it’s the duty doctor. What’s her name? Dr Hadley? She was in earlier.’
‘We went for one drink, that’s all. We decided not to go out again. I doubt it’s from her,’ he said, not convinced and more than a little uncomfortable getting this information from Imogen. He had been on a date with one of the doctors who worked invariably at the station. She had been their point of call on a couple of cases in the past and she had asked him out for a drink last week. He’d said yes – and in another life he might have been more interested. But the truth was that his friendship with Imogen was getting complicated, and so it felt really odd to be on a date with another woman.
‘Face it, Miley, you’re wanted.’ She winked.
Adrian looked at Imogen, who then nodded over to Denise Ferguson, the duty sergeant.
‘Didn’t you say you’d help her out with booking tonight?’
‘Oh, shit.’ He remembered promising something like that. He guessed being stuck behind the front desk processing drunks on a Saturday night was better than being subjected to dating shows on TV, by yourself, because you live alone.
Valentine’s Day was not typically the quietest of nights in the station. Even if you ignored all the drunken roadside domestic disputes and the minor pub brawls because someone looked at someone else’s woman the wrong way, nationally it was still a night that saw a statistically significant increase in crime. Petty criminals taking advantage of the fact that most couples were out enjoying a romantic meal or a nice walk meant that break-ins and car theft were higher on this night than most others. Fingers crossed tonight would be a slow one.
‘I’m not in until Tuesday now. I’ve got a couple of personal days,’ Imogen said.
Adrian wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Was she inviting him over? Over the last few weeks they had made a regular habit of staying over at each other’s houses, more as a comfort than anything else. Both happy to be alone, but still not totally OK with being lonely. They would sleep in the same bed together; it had become comforting, if a little strange. Almost platonic, but not quite. There was a definite undertone to what they were doing, but it had been a little over six months since the woman Adrian was seeing, the woman he was falling for, had been taken from him violently. It had been even less time since Imogen had ended her intense relationship with an ex-con. Neither of them particularly relished the idea of dating anyone right now, but still, they were growing closer. Despite that, Imogen hadn’t yet spoken to Adrian about her mother’s death, and her funeral was on Monday – Adrian kept wondering whether she wanted him to go with her.
‘Have you met the new DI yet?’ he asked, changing the subject. If she wanted him there she would ask. He hoped.
‘No, who is it?’
‘Someone who’s transferred in.’
‘Not from Plymouth, I hope,’ Imogen said quickly, shuddering at the thought of her old job.
‘No, someone from the DCI’s old area. I think they wanted an outsider, someone who wasn’t caught up in any of the local shit,’ Adrian reassured her. Imogen herself had transferred from Plymouth under a bit of a black cloud and so he knew she wouldn’t appreciate working with any of her former colleagues.
‘Yet.’
‘Apparently she personally endorsed his transfer. The DCI has worked out all right. Maybe it’s a good move.’
‘Him? Is he hot?’
‘Why are you asking me?’
‘You can’t objectively say whether a man is attractive? Are you worried that I might think …’
‘Don’t finish that sentence. His face is very symmetrical, which suggests he is probably quite good-looking.’ Adrian smiled at her.
‘Wow. I’d hate to hear how you describe me.’ She gathered up her things to go.
‘I don’t think I have ever described you.’ He paused for a moment, not wanting her to disappear completely until Tuesday without at least giving her an option to invite him to the funeral; he didn’t just want to assume. There weren’t many people that Adrian felt completely at ease with, but Imogen was one of them. ‘If you’re not busy you can have lunch at mine tomorrow,’ he said, as much for himself as for her. Valentine’s Day, a painful reminder of your situation, whatever that situation was.
‘Text me when your shift ends,’ she said as she walked out.
Adrian had found himself noticing more and more how difficult he found things when Imogen wasn’t there; it was as if something was missing, or there was something he was forgetting, like he had left the oven on. There was always a part of his mind that was aware when she wasn’t around, and it wasn’t happy about that at all. He pushed the feeling aside and went to help Denise.
All in all, the night passed without much beyond the usual; in fact it was unusually quiet for Valentine’s Day. He sat mostly in silence, occasionally grunting a response when someone called his name, or when someone was brought in. Still, Adrian was grateful that he wasn’t at a loose end this evening. He couldn’t handle the endless whirring of his brain; he needed a break from thinking about himself and his situation. He had never been a strong believer in depression, but it was certainly knocking on his door, trying to get a hold of him.
‘Thanks for agreeing to this. I wasn’t sure if you would have plans,’ Denise said to him.
‘Nope, no plans.’
There was a pause, awkward, too long to be natural.
‘You could come over to mine when we’ve finished if you want … no strings,’ Denise said, a cheeky smile on her face, the kind of smile that had worked on him several times in the past.
‘Um, wow, thanks, but I think I have a migraine brewing.’ Strange that she would proposition him now; maybe it was just the idea of being alone. Valentine’s Day seemed to magnify any feelings of loneliness in everyone; Adrian knew because he could feel it, too.
‘I thought maybe you wanted to get together, I thought that’s why you agreed to do this.’
‘Denise, you know I like you a lot, but I’m just not in the right headspace to be in a relationship right now, no strings or otherwise.’
‘Oh. Sorry I brought it up. Let’s get back to work. No big deal.’ Her face was flushed, easy to see against her porcelain skin and bleached bob; the pink shone through like sunburn. She seemed embarrassed at her assumption and shut down completely.
Just then, the station door opened and one of the uniformed officers walked in, dragging a sullen-looking boy behind him, his face white with a tinge of green. The boy looked up and grinned at them both behind the counter, then projectile vomited against the window. Both Adrian and Denise jumped back to avoid the spray, stopped abruptly by the clear wall of glass, all that was between them and a shower of gloopy stomach contents.
Adrian groaned to himself. Why did he volunteer for this?
‘Who’s this charmer then?’ he asked.
‘Name’s Finn Blackwell,’ the constable said, ‘student up at the uni, caught him driving the wrong way around a roundabout. We had to breathalyse him and he’s well over the limit. We’ve brought him in to sober up.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Marsh Barton. No one around, but you know.’
‘Well that was silly, wasn’t it, Finn?’ Adrian said as Denise scribbled down the information. The glass had become almost clear as the pale brown gelatinous liquid pooled at the bottom of the counter and over the edge onto the floor.
‘I do apologise,’ the boy said with a sarcastic wobble of his head.
‘How old are you?’
‘I’m nineteen. Twenty in August. You interested, darling?’ He winked at Denise, who just rolled her eyes and continued writing.
‘Chuck him in number four while we get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said.
The constable took Finn Blackwell through to the holding cells.
‘I don’t know what’s going on up at that university,’ Denise said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, last week I had a couple of other incidents up there. A kid was arrested for possession. A couple of disturbances – nothing major, just a little unusual. Then, of course, there was that idiot Toby Hoare, who climbed up the cathedral and fell off.’ She still wouldn’t look Adrian in the eye.
‘Look, Denise, about earlier.’
‘Please, don’t mention it,’ she said. He could tell from her tone that she meant it.
‘I’m going to get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said. He did regret their previous fling a little; he had used her, and he wasn’t proud of it. Just because she’d let him didn’t make it any better. He knew he couldn’t be that person any more. Adrian needed to be better, he wanted to be better and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Chapter Three (#ufbb1d4c8-ae62-551f-8372-f904c8da692b)
Imogen felt comfortable in black; it suited her. It seemed strange to have picked out her dress the day before; she could only imagine what her mother would have said about it. An insult disguised as a compliment: how it would look nicer if it was longer, or shorter, or a different colour. But not the way it was, never the way it was. It was the same with everything; Imogen always thought that one day she would be good enough, would do something right. Not today though, never today.
She tried not to be resentful of her mother on the day of her funeral, but the anger she felt towards her was not something she ever thought would go away. She didn’t know why either, not really. Her mother had made a lot of questionable life decisions, but Imogen wasn’t unhappy with the person she had grown up to be. It seemed unfair that she should feel this way about the one member of her family who had always been there for her, but there was no changing it, there was always just this low level of anger. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, either. The mother who raised her probably did the best she could.
Then there was her absent father, reconnected now but a figment of her imagination for most of her life. She didn’t have all those petty squabbles or embarrassing moments to refer back to, there was no point of reference, no resentment bubbling under the surface for years and years. He was just not there. She knew how difficult her mother was; if she told her father she didn’t want him having a relationship with Imogen, then it explained why he hadn’t been around. Irene Grey had a knack for getting her own way. Imogen felt like maybe she should hate her father for not being there. But she didn’t; she blamed her mother for it instead.
She smoothed her dress down with the palms of her hands. She didn’t even know if anyone would see her in it, apart from her father, Elias. She hadn’t invited Adrian to the funeral as she felt that it would add an extra dimension of complication to their already complex relationship. She had invited the friends of her mother’s that she knew about and just hoped that word would spread, because her mother’s life was a mystery to her. She probably knew her mother as well as her mother knew her, which wasn’t that well at all. Even though she had visited her frequently, her mum had always been into something new, some new hobby or collection or charity. Imogen had tuned most of it out. She wished her mother was there now and she would listen, she would take an interest in what she was saying and not just fob her off and look for an excuse to leave.
Imogen imagined Irene telling her that she was putting too much mascara on as she dragged the wand across her eyelashes until they clumped together. Going to a funeral like that was just asking for trouble. Imogen wasn’t a crier, unless you counted movies like Armageddon and The Shawshank Redemption. She had managed to fine-tune her apathy in the real world, but as soon as she was immersed in fiction she seemed to be able to connect to the part of her that had emotion. She was thankful for it. If it wasn’t for those experiences, then she might worry about her own humanity; it was reassuring to know that the idea of a meteor hurtling towards the planet and wiping everyone out was distressing to her.
When she felt like she had enough war paint on she pinned her hair back, ready to put on her mother’s yellow pillbox hat with black net across the eye. It was in the box of things she had taken from her mother’s place. Just one box from her mother’s hoard, Imogen hadn’t wanted any more than that. There were no great memories among all of Irene Grey’s possessions; she seemed to collect and discard items indiscriminately, and so Imogen had arranged for house clearance to go and sort it out after she had taken the few items she had wanted.
Imogen picked up the hat and put it on. A touch of colour – her mother hated black. She picked up her phone, unsure whether to text Adrian; he had offered to come, but it just didn’t feel right. There was also the issue of Elias. Being with Elias reminded Imogen of her ex-boyfriend Dean, and she wasn’t over him yet. She had met Dean during a case, before she had even met her father. Her relationship with Dean was incompatible with her job; he didn’t quite operate on the right side of the law. Her father and Dean were more than friends, they were family. Her father operated several businesses and Dean was the person he sent round when all other forms of communication had broken down. Whenever she was with her dad she was aware that he was in contact with Dean and the idea of Adrian being there at the same time was a conflict Imogen wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. She would have to do today alone. It felt wrong to want support anyway; it was her mother’s funeral and Adrian barely knew her mother. She put her phone on silent and chucked it inside her bag.
The day seemed to move as though she were on fast forward, occasionally stopping to take it all in, but mental absence seemed preferable to being upset. She found herself standing by the grave, her father opposite her, tears in his eyes, genuine love and affection in his disposition. She could feel the emotions creep to the surface as she thought of her parents, apart for all those years, knowing the other would come if they would only ask. How did they wait so long? If they had really loved each other wouldn’t they have just been together? She couldn’t imagine being told you couldn’t be with someone else and actually listening. How could he stand to be apart from the woman he loved? How could he stand to be apart from her, his daughter? A part of her would always resent him for that.
She brushed her eye with the back of her hand, trying to make it look less like she was wiping away a tear. Why did she care if people saw her crying? Why wasn’t she allowed to cry?
They lowered the coffin into the ground and the people gathered around for a few seconds, registering the moment until it was over and then dispersing. Back to life.
Imogen suddenly felt overwhelmed. Was that it? Was her mother really gone? It just didn’t make sense. Irene Grey had been Imogen’s entire family for so long; she was the only thing Imogen could depend on being there no matter what, always where Imogen left her. It felt so wrong to leave her here.
‘Imogen,’ Elias said, snapping her out of her thoughts. ‘Come on. Let me buy you a drink.’
‘I don’t really feel like it right now, to be honest with you,’ she said. She had managed to avoid spending any meaningful time alone with Elias since she had found out who he was. Somehow, talking to him today felt like a betrayal. Her mother hadn’t wanted them to pursue a relationship, and Imogen had to wonder why.
‘Let’s go and raise a glass to your mother. Please.’
‘OK,’ she acquiesced; it didn’t feel right to just slip back into real life immediately. She would have a gin, then go home and watch black-and-white movies, maybe some Fred and Ginger.
In the pub, the news was running, the same scaremongering, hate-fuelled drama that she had stopped watching years ago. It was no good for her anxiety.
‘It was peaceful when she died,’ Elias offered. ‘She didn’t even feel the aneurism; it took her in her sleep. When I woke up, she was just gone.’
‘That must have been awful for you. I still can’t believe it,’ Imogen said, both upset and relieved that she hadn’t been with her mother at the end.
‘No. It doesn’t feel real. I only just got her back.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Imogen said. She was genuinely sorry that they had spent all those years apart. Arranged marriages seemed so archaic and she just couldn’t get her head around the fact that he hadn’t fought for her and her mother, that he had chosen someone else.
‘Do you believe in fate?’
‘I try not to think about it. I don’t know what I think about things like that. I barely believe in coincidences though.’
‘I think maybe your mother and I weren’t meant to be. The obstacles were too many for it to be an accident.’
‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this.’
‘I think that me and her were never about us. I think we were brought together so that you could exist. I think you are the reason we fell for each other. You are special, important in some way.’
‘Isn’t everyone?’ Imogen said, brushing off the compliment. Is this how he let himself off the hook for not being around?
‘Maybe, yes. Your mother loved you very much, even though I know you struggled together, but because of your struggle you are a remarkable person.’
‘Is that what you tell yourself? That me growing up without a father is fine because it was character-building?’
‘I’m sorry to make light of it. I am sorry I missed all those years with you.’
‘I’m not. We did OK,’ Imogen said more defensively than she intended.
‘We can talk about the past if you want to. We can talk about why I wasn’t around.’
‘I know – you had to marry a good Greek girl and my mother wasn’t one.’
‘That’s true. I did have to marry someone I didn’t want to,’ Elias said, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
‘So why did you?’
‘Arranged marriage is a complicated thing that seems quite alien to people from other cultures. We were in financial trouble and my father had promised. I couldn’t dishonour him and so I married into the family.’
‘So, your money isn’t yours, it’s your wife’s?’
‘No, I worked hard and made sure not to repeat my father’s mistakes; my money is my own. Kiki has taken her half and we are now in the process of getting a divorce.’
‘And your children? Did you ever love their mother?’ Imogen said, still confused as to how he could have left them both.
‘Not like I loved your mother,’ Elias said, staring into his empty whisky tumbler.
‘So, what changed in your marriage?’
‘Our parents died, and we didn’t feel the same way about divorce as they did. She was in love with someone else, also. Our parents were the only winners in that situation. But we got our boys and we love them very much.’
‘All sounds very amicable,’ Imogen said, finding it hard to believe that the relationship that stopped her from having a father was that easy to dissolve.
‘It is.’
‘What do they think about me?’ Imogen said. Elias, a man who had been a ghost when she was growing up, suddenly thrust in to her life during a murder investigation barely a year ago. She had always been an only child and so it was hard to think of herself as an older sister to three grown men.
‘Your brothers? Surprised, but they want to meet you.’
‘They do?’ Imogen hadn’t even considered meeting his children, but hearing Elias call them her brothers made that seem inevitable and her discomfort returned.
‘Yes. We’re having a family gathering soon, would you like to come?’
‘I don’t know. It feels too soon for that. I can’t just get a whole new family now that my mother has gone.’ Imogen said. Irene was the only parent she had ever known; she had longed for more when she was younger and now that her mother was dead, she felt like it was wrong to replace her immediately.
‘At least consider meeting with me properly – we could have dinner on Friday night.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s too soon. I need more time.’
Imogen stood up and left her half-finished gin on the counter. This was all too strange. First he wanted to get to know her, now he wanted her to meet her brothers. Just the word brother sounded alien to her in this context; she had no reference for it. It didn’t mean anything to her, not in the same way as mother did, not in the same way that orphan did. That’s how she felt, orphaned, even though her father was sat right opposite her. It didn’t matter; she was all alone in the world now. No more Greys.
He stood up and held his hand out for her to shake. She took pity on him, knowing full well that she was the only person he could truly share his grief over her mother’s death with. She put her arms around him and felt his tension ease within her embrace. From now on, he would be the only connection she had to her mother, too. She had to consider carefully what to do next. There was a whole other world that she could immerse herself in, but the idea of it scared her. She was only just getting accustomed to the one she was living in now. Imogen needed to decide whether she wanted all her life changes to happen at once, get it over with. Could she handle any more heartbreak?

Chapter Four (#ulink_e2f07fe0-fcf7-55fe-9fe5-f4bd2c522646)
‘Please state your name for the tape,’ Imogen said. She had barely got into work when she was informed about the young girl waiting to be processed and questioned.
‘Caitlin Watts,’ the girl said, not looking at Imogen but clearly sizing Adrian up.
‘And how old are you?’
‘I just turned nineteen.’
‘You were spotted breaking into the old chapel on Smalling Street, is that correct?’ Adrian said.
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ She tilted her head down, keeping her eyes on him.
‘Was there a reason for that?’ Imogen asked.
‘Not a good one. I just wanted to see if I could,’ Caitlin said, still staring at Adrian.
Imogen noted that there was no nervous disposition with this girl at all; she seemed almost defiant, even a little defensive. What was her game?
‘We’re trying to get hold of the reverend in charge, who will tell us if anything is damaged or stolen.’
‘He’s away at the moment, gone to some pilgrim site in Kent.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I live with him,’ Caitlin said with a hint of a smile. ‘He’s my grandad.’
Imogen tried to gauge whether this was a lie or not; there was something very hard to read about Caitlin, a dishonesty about her. She looked over to Adrian, who shook off his surprise at this revelation very quickly and recomposed himself. Imogen could tell the girl was fixated on getting a reaction out of Adrian; her strange flirtation seemed to be working on him, he was visibly flustered by her.
‘Do you have any way of contacting him?’ Adrian said.
‘Not for a couple of days. He will be back before the weekend, though. He’ll tell you that nothing is missing or damaged; I’m not like that.’
‘If that were true you wouldn’t even be here at all,’ Imogen said.
‘We’ll check out your story – where will you be if we need to contact you?’ Adrian said.
‘I’ll be at my grandfather’s house, or at class. One of the two.’
‘What are you studying?’ Adrian said.
‘Psychology at the university. I want to be a shrink, get inside people’s heads and stuff.’ She smiled at Adrian.
‘You’re not staying in halls?’ Imogen said.
‘Not really any point, seeing as I live in the town. It saves money, which my grandad doesn’t have that much of.’ She answered Imogen coldly, seemingly annoyed that she was there at all, as though this would be a lot easier if Adrian were the only person in the room. She was an interesting girl – there was a definite vulnerability about her, something she was trying desperately to hide. Imogen could identify.
‘Are your parents not in the picture?’ Imogen asked.
‘No, apparently being parents was boring and not nearly noble enough, so they skipped off into the sunset together. I think they live in South America somewhere. They’re missionaries or something.’
That explained her strange behaviour – abandonment issues.
‘You don’t have any contact with them?’ Imogen pressed.
‘Not for around ten years now. But you know, I’m privileged apparently, so I don’t really deserve their attention. They only have time for Third World children.’ She brushed her glossy black hair behind her ears. The hair was the same colour as her perfectly groomed eyebrows, which almost looked painted on, but they were natural, Imogen could tell. Caitlin was making Imogen self-conscious; she watched as the girl’s striking blue eyes bore into Adrian and no doubt pulled at his heart strings.
‘I’m sorry, that must be hard,’ Adrian said.
Imogen shot him a look; it wasn’t like him to make personal comments like that. There was something a little mesmerising about Caitlin. She couldn’t tell whether it was intentional and manipulative or just the way she was, but Imogen was almost certain it was the former. Imogen was the one with a record for falling for suspects; it was the reason she’d lost the opportunity to get the DI job, because the DCI had found out about her relationship with Dean, which although not entirely illegal was most definitely frowned upon. The truth was that Imogen was a little relieved about not getting the position; she wasn’t sure she could handle the extra responsibility as well as everything else she had going on, on top of losing her mum.
That fleeting thought of her mother sent a chill through her; she couldn’t call her, she couldn’t go and visit.
Imogen shook off the impromptu melancholy and stood up.
‘We’ll check out your story. If your grandfather is happy not to press charges, you’ll be able to leave,’ Imogen said.
‘The uniformed officer will take you to the cell for a little while; it won’t be long though,’ Adrian said gently, taking the edge off Imogen’s words.
‘Thank you, Detective Miles.’ Caitlin smiled and blinked slowly, her thick black lashes closing then opening to reveal those eyes, almost in slow motion. There was an aura of ‘trouble’ around her, something Imogen couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘Interview suspended at three fifteen,’ Imogen said and turned off the recorder.
Caitlin Watts folded her arms and winced a little.
‘Is something the matter?’ Imogen said.
‘I cut my arm on the window while I was trying to get through it, no big deal.’
‘Let me see?’
The girl pulled her cardigan off her shoulder, locking eyes with Adrian while she did it. There was a gash in the top of her arm, about ten centimetres long, certainly not nothing.
Imogen held her breath and counted to three before speaking again.
‘You need some medical attention. I’ll get hold of the doctor on call to come and see you. I think that’s going to need stitches.’
Imogen opened the door to see PC Ben Jarvis standing there waiting for instruction. Ben was new to the district and already he had made no secret of his interest in Imogen.
‘I need you to take the suspect to holding, then get the duty doctor to check her out,’ Imogen informed him.
‘Whatever you need,’ he said, smiling in a way that made her a little uncomfortable.
He brushed past Imogen – she felt like he was making sure that some part of his body was in contact with some part of hers – before leading Caitlin Watts out of the room.
Imogen sat on the edge of the table and looked down at Adrian, who was watching the girl leave, not pulling his eyes away until she wasn’t there to look at any more. She thought it was funny how his perception of the situation in that room was so different to hers; she had been preoccupied with Jarvis, he had been preoccupied with Caitlin. He hadn’t even noticed her awkward interaction with the PC. She folded her arms, and her movement made him turn and see her looking at him, his face reddening, as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘She’s pretty,’ Imogen said.
‘No. That’s not what I was thinking.’ He tried to hide his smile.
‘Then what? You seemed to find it hard to look away.’
‘Don’t you think there’s something odd about her?’
‘I think there’s something odd about you,’ Imogen said.
‘Pot. Kettle.’
‘Do you think she’s telling the truth?’
‘Not even slightly,’ Adrian said. ‘I mean, the stuff about her grandad? She’s definitely lying, God knows what about. You know those people who just lie about everything? I think she’s one of those. They just can’t help themselves.’
‘You think she was trying to steal something?’
‘No idea. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her, though,’ Adrian said, still staring at the door long after Caitlin had been taken through it.
‘I’m sure you’re devastated about that.’ Imogen raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m not the one who’s into suspects,’ he said.
‘Touché,’ Imogen said, unsure whether to take offence or not. But she was uncomfortable having Dean and Adrian in the same headspace these days. She noted a hint of something whenever the subject came up between them, which was thankfully a rare occurrence. Was Adrian jealous? It certainly felt like it sometimes. Maybe she was paranoid, maybe it was wishful thinking. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
‘You didn’t tell me how your mum’s funeral went,’ Adrian said, cutting into her thoughts.
‘It went. It was tough. Glad it’s over.’
‘Was your father there?’
‘Still can’t get used to calling him that, but yes, Elias was there,’ she said, pulling the door open; she wasn’t in the mood for talking about herself right now. If she opened up to Adrian, she might start crying and never stop. She wasn’t sure she was ready for Adrian to see her like that just yet; she wanted him to think of her as strong.
As they left the interview room, they saw Denise walking towards them in the hall. There seemed to be some discomfort between her and Adrian, as they avoided eye contact. Workplace relationships rarely worked out, unless you were lucky enough to find ‘the one’ – an ideal Imogen wasn’t entirely sure she believed in. Most of the time, though, all that was left after the intimacy was resentment and embarrassment. Imogen promised herself she would never put herself in that situation again, which of course meant it was absolutely inevitable.

Chapter Five (#ulink_a83c7b33-6a22-5776-be52-8f0b65f63df3)
Adrian lay in Imogen’s bed. His house had felt haunted since he lost Lucy, the girl he had fallen for, the girl he’d barely had enough time to get to know, the girl who had been killed to teach him a lesson. It seemed as though that haunted feeling was following him around though; maybe it wasn’t the house at all. Maybe it was him.
Behind him, the door opened. Imogen walked into the room and slid under the covers. White T-shirt and bare legs. He turned and stretched his arm out for her to rest her head on. Neither one of them liked being alone and so this filled a need, and they could trust each other with it.
Adrian was having one of those rare moments of simplicity. He wondered why they felt like they needed to keep this a secret, not just from the rest of the world, their friends and families – but from each other, from themselves. It was as though there was something wrong with this platonic intimacy, as though it were weird because they weren’t ripping each other’s clothes off. It almost made him feel dirty in a way that sex wouldn’t, more complicated, less understandable. Why would anyone want this? They never spoke about it; it was a silent agreement between the two of them. They had yet to acknowledge it even happened outside of this house. This was a moment, in context, that didn’t exist anywhere else. They drifted off together and in the morning one of them would go before the other awoke.
Adrian’s phone rang at six thirty a.m., a whole hour before his alarm was due to wake him. He looked at the screen, it was Denise. The bed was empty.
‘Denise? Why are you calling me?’ Adrian said quietly before realising that Imogen wasn’t next to him and so he didn’t need to keep his voice down.
‘Good morning, sunshine.’
‘Get on with it,’ he snapped.
‘There’s been a murder up at the university.’
‘What?’
‘The call just came in. I thought you might want to get up there. I tried to call you before the new DI got up there, but DCI Kapoor called him and asked him to deal with it.’
‘So, he’s already there?’
‘Yeah, him and DS Grey.’
‘What?’ he said, managing to soften it a moment before it came out of his mouth.
‘She said she tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.’
‘I’m on my way.’ He hung up and jumped out of Imogen’s bed.
Adrian pulled his jeans on and roughly pulled back the sheets, noticing the full mug of coffee on the side table. He picked it up and it was still warm; she hadn’t long left. This was her apology. He drank it and left it on the bedside table.
At the university it didn’t take him long to find them, and as he walked through the halls of the humanities department, he could hear Imogen speaking before he saw her. He turned the corner to see her standing next to DI Matt Walsh, the newbie in CID. He must have been approaching fifty years old, with white-grey hair, but somehow still quite youthful in appearance. He wore jeans and a blazer, and his hair was thick and floppy, reminiscent of the nineties somewhat.
As if sensing his presence, they both turned to look at him in unison. He noticed Imogen’s eyes dart away for a second before resuming her composure.
DI Walsh held his hand out immediately. ‘Detective Miles, good to see you again.’
‘Detective Walsh. Please, call me Adrian.’
‘Likewise, call me Matt though, not Adrian.’
Adrian half-smiled. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Professor of Philosophy found dead in his office.’
‘Dead how?’ Adrian asked, annoyed that he was out of the loop and the information was being drip-fed to him.
‘Murdered. Looks like he got his head bashed in with a large glass paperweight,’ Matt Walsh said.
‘This feels like an episode of Columbo already,’ Adrian said.
‘The techs are just in taking photos and logging evidence, but go ahead.’
Adrian walked into the office, where three crime scene technicians were doing their business. He stayed in the corner and looked around the room. Being there in person was different to seeing photographs; in Adrian’s experience, memories of scenes could be powerful, things could get burned into the mind. Photographs just didn’t give you the same perspective. He had heard of cases in the military where they had to get in and out of a scene without touching it, so they would use special cameras to capture the scene, then use giant 3D printers to recreate it perfectly, just so they could get the perspective and walk through the scene as many times as they needed.
The professor’s face was hardly a face at all; caved in from the force and weight of the instrument used to kill him, the attack seemed almost frenzied. There were signs of a struggle, with books and papers strewn across the floor. Blood was spattered all up the walls, across the desk, everywhere, and the resin ball lay on the ground near the body. A blue flower was trapped inside, striking against the red of the blood. Someone must have been very angry to commit this level of violence, there was something crazed about it. No effort to tidy up or hide anything either. Adrian couldn’t imagine it was opportunistic in motive at least.
‘Any fingerprints?’ he asked the crime scene technicians.
‘Hundreds. But it looks like our perp wore gloves, so I doubt we’re going to find any,’ the technician closest to him said.
‘Any ideas at all?’
‘I’d say with the force used that you’re definitely looking for a male. And the stamina suggests someone young. They mashed his head. It’s going to be nigh on impossible to recreate the skull; it’s in tiny pieces and totally smushed in with brain matter.’
‘Vivid, thanks,’ Adrian said.
Adrian left the room; he’d seen and heard enough for now. Imogen and Matt Walsh were in the corridor, chatting about his previous placement.
‘Did you know DI Walsh used to work with DCI Kapoor?’ Imogen said.
‘I had heard that, yes,’ Adrian said, almost certain he had discussed it with Imogen before.
‘They used to be partners.’
‘Interesting,’ Adrian said, playing along with whatever Imogen was doing.
‘She’s one of the good ones. You guys got lucky getting her. I was happy to hear a placement opened up here so that I could apply,’ Matt said.
‘It’s not weird, working under your former partner?’ Imogen asked.
Adrian knew she was talking about them – one of them was bound to get promoted one day and he didn’t know how that would work, if it even could work.
‘It’s pretty great knowing someone you can trust has your back, actually.’
‘Sounds like you’ve been burned before,’ she continued.
‘Haven’t we all?’
‘Were you two ever … together?’ Adrian asked.
Imogen shot him a look.
DI Matt Walsh let out a raucous laugh, completely inappropriate given the situation. It reverberated so much in the room that everyone turned to look at him. There was a momentary pause before normal crime scene hubbub returned.
‘Nice to know she hasn’t changed,’ Matt said.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Adrian.
‘She doesn’t exactly talk about herself much, does she?’
‘True,’ Imogen acknowledged.
‘Well, she’s not exactly into guys.’
‘Oh.’ Adrian was surprised.
‘I didn’t find out ’til three years in, so you’ve got the jump on me,’ Matt said.
‘What do you think of this crime, then?’ Imogen asked, clearly uncomfortable with talking about the DCI’s personal business.
‘Messy and inexperienced.’
‘A student?’ Adrian said.
‘Maybe. Have a chat with some of the faculty in this block, see if they know anything. I’ll go and speak to the dean.’
He walked away. Adrian liked him already, which was a relief.
Adrian and Imogen made their way upstairs and knocked on the door to the psychology professor Gillian Mitchell’s office, but there was no response. The hallways started to fill with students getting to their morning lectures. There was a lot of mumbling; news of the murder had obviously got around. They knocked again.
‘Can I help you?’ A voice came from behind them.
They turned to see a blonde-haired woman, standing tall and lean in a brown linen suit. Her hair was almost iridescent in colour.
‘Are you Gillian Mitchell?’ Adrian asked.
‘Are you here about Hugh?’ the woman said.
‘Can we talk in your office?’ Imogen asked her.
‘Actually, I’d rather not. I’m waiting for someone to come up and sort out the giant spider I have locked in there. I may never go back in there again. What is it you want to know?’ She smiled.
‘Did you know Professor Norris well?’ Imogen said.
‘In passing. We weren’t friends or anything. He was a bit too chatty for my liking. Sometimes less is more. You find that with philosophers, though; they always want a bloody conversation.’
‘Not psychologists?’ Adrian mused.
‘I’m more of an observer.’
‘Did he have any enemies?’ Adrian said.
‘Absolutely not, he was a nice man.’
‘Any problem students?’ Imogen asked.
‘Here? Not really. Now and then we get one, but no one springs to mind.’
‘Did you teach any of the same students?’ Adrian followed up.
‘Sometimes we would guest on each other’s topics, try to show a different perspective, and we run the debating society in this block too. It’s got a big mix of students, mainly philosophy though; they love a debate.’
‘I see, and who was close to Professor Norris?’ Imogen asked.
‘Doctor,’ Gillian said.
‘Excuse me?’ Imogen said.
‘Technically he was a doctor, he had a doctorate, so he was a doctor, that’s his official title.’ She smiled, a hint of annoyance at having to explain it crossing her features. It seemed that Gillian might have a bit of a hang-up about her colleague’s status.
‘Was anyone close to Doctor Norris?’ Adrian said. Something about this woman was annoying him. Even though she was being pleasant, he found she had a bubbling hostility. It may just have been because they were police officers, or maybe it was something else entirely.
‘He always ate alone, seemed pleasant enough, but I never really saw him with anyone in particular. Sorry I can’t help you more.’
Adrian looked down at his notepad, then flicked back to a previous page, searching for a particular name. ‘What about Helen Lassiter? She’s got an office in this building, hasn’t she?’
‘I’m afraid she’s not in today. She’s away with some students on a trip. I’m not sure when she’s back off the top of my head.’
Adrian felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Caitlin standing next to him.
‘Detective Miles.’ She smiled at him. ‘Are you here to arrest me again?’
‘You weren’t actually arrested, Miss …’ Adrian said, struggling to remember her name.
‘Watts, Caitlin Watts,’ Caitlin replied.
He noticed how she left her mouth open when she’d finished speaking, moving her tongue gently against her top lip. She was flirting with him. He looked away quickly.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Gillian Mitchell said, ‘I just saw one of the maintenance men disappear around the corner and I really do need to get rid of this damn spider; I have notes in there I need later this morning. If that’s all?’
‘Don’t leave town,’ Imogen said as the woman hurried off, unclear if Gillian Mitchell had heard her or not.
‘You’re here about the murder?’ Caitlin said to Adrian, her head tilted back, the long line of her neck exposed, leading right into the V-neck of her clingy black sweater.
‘Do you know anything about it?’ Adrian asked.
‘Not really, except that there was lots of blood. I heard it was pretty intense.’ She smoothed her hair down, drawing his eyes to her chest. He could feel Imogen’s eyes rolling even though he couldn’t see her face.
‘We’d better be going then.’ Adrian pulled his card out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘If you hear anything or think of anything else, then let me know.’
Caitlin took it and walked away, turning back once to look at Adrian.
Imogen and Adrian made their way out of the building and back to Adrian’s car.
‘How did you get here this morning?’ Adrian asked, being careful not to mention the fact that they had left from the same place.
‘Matt swung past my place and picked me up.’
‘Oh. OK,’ Adrian said, uncomfortable with the fact that this annoyed him.

Chapter Six (#ulink_07100d63-9419-5093-b6fc-55ad06c71b33)
Imogen was still trying to figure out DI Walsh. He was charming, and he genuinely seemed nice, but there was something false about him. It was the disguise of someone pretending to be happy, or at least OK. She wanted to get to know him better. From what she knew about DCI Mira Kapoor, she didn’t trust easily and for her to bring him in from another division meant that he was probably on the up and up. Imogen tried to remember a time when she wasn’t so distrusting; it had been a while.
She watched Walsh and Kapoor through the interior window; they were talking, DCI Kapoor had her hand on Matt Walsh’s shoulder, consoling him about something. She wished she knew how to lip-read, even though that was a massive invasion of privacy. She just couldn’t get the measure of him and she wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much.
Adrian reappeared after going outside for a cigarette. She had given up and it was clearly annoying him. He was the one who gave up first, and she was the one who talked him back into it. The truth was, though, that she hadn’t felt much like smoking since her mother died; her own mortality was suddenly playing on her mind. Her life seemed to be forcing her to make some big changes at the moment, why not at least have one or two of her own choosing?
‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘What do you think they are talking about?’ She nodded towards DCI Kapoor’s office.
‘Not you,’ Adrian said. ‘Why do you care?’
‘I can’t figure him out, that’s all.’
‘What makes you think there’s something to figure out?’
‘We’re detectives, that’s our job.’
‘He’s a nice guy, let him be. If there’s anything we need to know, then we’ll find out.’
‘Are you tired or something?’
‘I’m supposed to be going to see Tom tonight, but he’s cancelled on me. I’m a bit pissed off, that’s all. I had hoped things would change now that piece of shit stepfather of his is gone but if anything, I am seeing him less,’ Adrian said.
‘He’s a full-on teenager now, you need to let him have his space,’ Imogen said, wishing there was a way she could help, but she knew better than to get involved in Adrian’s complicated relationship with the mother of his son.
‘I had space and ended up having a baby at sixteen years old; I want something better for my son.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that.’
‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it. What are you doing tonight?’
‘Nothing,’ Imogen said, her eyes shifting to the floor. ‘Home alone, again. Elias has asked me to meet my brothers, but I don’t think I can do it.’
‘Not surprised. I can’t even imagine finding out I have siblings. Although it wouldn’t surprise me; my father put it about a bit.’
‘Talking of putting it about … look who it is!’ Imogen said.
Adrian looked up and saw Denise Ferguson standing with Caitlin Watts.
‘I can’t believe you just said that about a teenage witness.’ Adrian shook his head in fake disapproval.
‘I was talking about you,’ Imogen said.
‘Jealous?’ He winked at her.
Denise walked Caitlin over to the desk. Adrian sat on the edge of the table and directed her to his seat. Imogen noted the girl’s submissive vibe with Adrian, head tilted back, looking up at him with her animated eyes. Denise raised her eyebrows at the scene; Imogen was glad that she wasn’t the only one who noticed.
‘We only saw you a few hours ago. What is it?’ Adrian said.
‘You asked me if I knew anything about Doctor Norris.’
‘Oh, you do?’
‘I remembered after you left. A while back he was going out with one of his students. A girl. I don’t know who though.’
Caitlin was painting herself as some kind of damsel; Imogen would have to remind Adrian how they met her. She hadn’t been the victim of a crime. Imogen had met girls like her before, girls who flirted in a bizarrely subservient way, to play to the man’s sense of machismo. The whole idea of it disgusted Imogen.
‘How long ago was this relationship?’ Adrian asked.
‘A couple of months. Everyone suspected everyone at the time.’
‘Did anyone suspect you?’ Imogen asked, but Caitlin didn’t look at her. She wanted to laugh – it was so obvious what the girl was doing.
‘Although I do like older men, he wasn’t really my type.’ She licked her lips coyly, biting gently on the bottom one, and looked up slowly at Adrian again.
‘Jesus!’ Imogen said under her breath.
Adrian shot her a look and she realised she’d spoken aloud.
‘What else can you tell me about him?’ asked Adrian.
‘A few months ago, one of his students killed themselves.’
Now this was a fact they could check; the rest just felt like an excuse to get closer to Adrian – a mystery relationship, a rumour that couldn’t be proven or disproven.
‘Could it have been the one he was having an affair with?’
‘No, it was a boy. His name was Owen Sager; there’s a weird little memorial bench to him in town.’
‘Weird how?’
‘Well, you just associate memorial benches with old people, don’t you?’ Caitlin glanced at Imogen briefly, a tone in her voice that was slightly derisive.
‘How did he die?’ Adrian asked.
‘Hung himself in his parents’ garage.’
‘You seem to know a lot about him, were you close?’
‘No, they wrote about him in the college paper, a big bit on depression and how we should seek help if we’re feeling suicidal. He’s become the poster boy for exam stress. Which is stupid because he started in September. He was barely here three months before he hung himself – sorry, I mean hanged himself. I always get that mixed up. I brought the article for you.’ She pulled out a printed sheet of paper and handed it to Adrian.
He looked it over and put it on the desk. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Not that I can think of right now. If I do, I’ll come and speak to you again.’
‘You do that,’ Imogen said.
‘I have something really embarrassing to ask you,’ Caitlin said to Adrian, continuing to ignore Imogen’s existence.
‘Shoot.’
‘I lost my bus pass and I need to get back home. I don’t suppose you could lend me money for a taxi?’
It took all of Imogen’s strength to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
‘I can get someone to drop you home if you want?’
Imogen folded her arms and looked at Adrian.
‘Could you do it? I’m a little weirded out by this murder. It’s probably someone I know, and it was so violent. Who does that to another person?’
And just like that, she was crying.
To Imogen’s amazement, Adrian picked his coat off the back of his chair. Whatever this girl was doing, it was working. She was a stunning-looking girl; the kind of girl Imogen might have stared at for long periods of time in school and wondered if maybe she wasn’t heterosexual after all. Her jet-black hair and big blue eyes, now watery and vulnerable, were a winning combination. Was it really this easy? Was every man just looking for a damsel in distress? A chance to be a hero?
‘I’ll see you later, Grey.’ He ushered Caitlin Watts towards the door and left with her.
Imogen couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Adrian had been the one who commented on the trustworthiness of the girl and now here she was, wrapping him around her little finger.
Imogen grabbed the article off Adrian’s desk and read through the piece that suggested the boy just couldn’t cope with university and had taken his own life. There was a quote from Hugh Norris, the dead professor. He had said Owen had a ‘bright and promising future’ in philosophy and that he was a ‘deep thinker’, which had probably added fuel to his depression. Imogen wondered if his depression was documented in his medical records. Seeing as she had lost her partner to the siren call of whatever the hell that was, she needed someone sensible to help her work through this new evidence; Gary Tunney, the district’s forensic computer analyst, could help her find out. There had to be a connection between Owen’s death and the Hugh Norris murder. Maybe someone thought Norris was responsible for Owen’s death. She needed to find out if Owen had bonded with anyone on his course – maybe a friend would be able to shed more light on what actually happened.
She started writing down questions, annoyed that she couldn’t just fire them at Adrian because he had already gone. He had been acting strange since he met DI Walsh. Or maybe it was because she had left without waking him up. Things were getting complicated between them and she knew that their current situation was unsustainable. She was going to have to put a stop to their sleepovers if it was going to make things awkward between them.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_38a243b4-00d2-500b-ab52-fe4b12baa146)
When Imogen got into work, Adrian was already sitting at the desk, reading the questions she had left the night before when he had taken Caitlin home. She could tell that he knew she was there; he was staring extra hard at the paper, as though he were afraid to look up. Was he feeling guilty about something? Had something happened? She had no right to judge him if it had, except maybe for the age difference, but, morally speaking, Imogen didn’t have a leg to stand on after her relationship with Dean. She hated not having the moral high ground.
‘Well? You disappeared pretty sharpish last night, so I wrote out some stuff for us to look at today.’
‘Sorry, I’ll get started on this list of things you want checking out. If you want me to?’
‘I already sent the list to Gary. If there is anything to find, he will find it. What happened last night?’ she said, noticing the scrapes across his knuckles.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said, keeping his head down.
‘Look at me, please.’
Adrian sighed and looked up. He had a bruised eye and a scratch across his face. His neck was bruised. He’d been fighting.
‘I got mugged last night; I was walking back from the pub and I got jumped by someone. I think it was one person, I’m not sure.’
‘Who did you go to the pub with?’ Imogen knew that he sometimes got into pub fights; he didn’t exactly broadcast it, but he didn’t usually lie about it. Maybe he was embarrassed because he had sought comfort there instead of with her. Maybe he didn’t go to see Imogen because of something else.
‘I went alone. I just wanted a drink.’
‘Right. You sure you’re OK?’ She had to admit to feeling a little jealous of the way he had so blatantly tried to avoid looking at Caitlin Watts yesterday. She could almost see him willing himself not to be attracted to her. Maybe it was even making Imogen a little insecure about what was happening between them. They were in a strange and untenable limbo, not friends but not lovers. At some point they would need to decide one way or the other. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she didn’t want it to end; she didn’t want to go back, but at the same time she didn’t want to go forwards. She had managed to get out of one complicated relationship and straight into an even more confusing one. Not to mention the fact that it was completely and utterly against the rules for them to see each other.
‘Fine, Grey. Let’s just do some work.’
‘You don’t want to file a report on the mugging?’ Imogen said, wondering why Adrian was struggling to keep eye contact with her. What wasn’t he telling her?
‘Maybe later. What are we doing now?’
‘Well, we need to go and speak to Owen Sager’s parents. They live local-ish. See if they know why he killed himself. I already told DI Walsh we would head straight there this morning.’
‘We’d better get going then.’ He stood up.
She winced when she looked at his eye. The white was pooled with red, a subconjunctival haemorrhage. The lid was swollen and the bridge of his nose was also bruised. He had taken quite the thump. She wondered why he did it to himself, why he would go out looking for trouble. It wasn’t the first time he had turned up at work with a black eye or a broken rib.
‘Tell me the truth. Did you go out looking for a fight?’
‘Not this time, no.’ He walked out before she could respond.
His eye wasn’t the only thing that was bruised, so was his ego.
She grabbed the list of queries she had written about the Norris case and followed him outside. He was already sitting in the car, already smoking a cigarette. She waited outside for him to finish before getting in. Somehow, they had gone from their previous conversation to not speaking and she wasn’t even sure why. What had she said that upset him?
She handed him his sunglasses. ‘You’d better wear these when we speak to them; you look pretty bad.’
They got to Owen Sager’s house and knocked on the door. A woman answered immediately, a haunted look on her face, hollow and empty. She was in pain and you could feel it; she was transmitting her pain to anyone who would take some of it from her, release her from this burden. Imogen had seen it before in parents who had lost their children.
‘Mrs Sager?’ Imogen said.
‘Can I help you?’ Mrs Sager replied, an emptiness in her voice.
‘We’re currently working on a case that may or may not be connected to your son’s death. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering some questions?’ Imogen said.
‘What do you mean, connected?’ Mrs Sager asked, visibly surprised, pulled from her trancelike melancholy.
‘His philosophy professor, Doctor Norris, was murdered yesterday, which we believe was an anniversary of sorts,’ Adrian said.
‘I found my son exactly three months ago yesterday.’ Mrs Sager looked down and Imogen noticed she was holding a small piece of fabric in her hands, like a comforter. Probably something of Owen’s.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. There probably is no connection, but it warrants a discussion,’ Imogen said.
‘What’s left to discuss?’ Mrs Sager scrunched the fabric in her closed fist.
‘Did your son give you any indication as to what he was stressed about?’ Adrian asked.
‘He seemed happy. I thought he was OK.’ Her eyes widened, letting even more emptiness in.
‘Nothing changed in the days before his …’ Adrian tailed off.
‘Suicide,’ Imogen finished. They had been told in plenty of seminars how important it was not to mince your words around families of grieving victims. Don’t use words like passed away, say dead. Make it real.
‘Yes, he had begun to act erratically in the weeks before, but I thought it was just all the extra work he was having to do. The police told me that it was probably depression. He may have planned his suicide for some time. He never said there was anything wrong.’ She pulled at the edges of the fabric again.
‘This is not your fault in any way, Mrs Sager,’ Imogen said.
‘I wish I could help more. I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes glassy and her voice fragmented.
‘You’ve been a great help,’ Adrian offered.
‘Did he ever talk about Doctor Norris?’ Imogen asked.
‘He really liked him, at least he did at first, talked about him all the time.’
‘That changed?’ Imogen pressed.
‘Now that you mention it, it did a little. I guess, as the time went on, the work got harder and Owen lost his shine for Doctor Norris. I just didn’t really think about it.’
‘Did they fall out?’ Adrian asked.
‘No, Doctor Norris was nothing but kind to Owen. Owen got in because Doctor Norris endorsed his application to the university even though he didn’t quite get the correct grades, and he also sent a letter recommending Owen for a full scholarship. He got turned down, but he did get a twenty per cent reduction in fees. Which was great.’
‘So, they had a close relationship, then?’ Imogen asked.
‘I know it sounds a bit unconventional, but Owen was so worried about starting at the uni, especially with his lower than average score, and Doctor Norris was really kind to him and took him under his wing. Before you say anything, there was nothing seedy going on. He was just a nice man.’
Adrian and Imogen’s phones went off simultaneously. Imogen pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at the screen. A text alert from the DCI. She wanted them at the hospital immediately.
‘Thank you, Mrs Sager, we had best be going now,’ Imogen said. ‘Here’s my card, call us if you think of anything.’ Imogen put her card in the palm of Mrs Sager’s hand and closed both hands around it. ‘So sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ She attempted to smile and stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her.
Adrian blew his cheeks out, obviously feeling the woman’s pain. ‘God, I can’t even imagine,’ he said.
‘Let’s get to the hospital,’ Imogen said, knowing full well that Adrian could imagine it – his son had come close to being killed in a previous case and it almost destroyed him.
They got back in the car and made their way across town to meet the DCI. Imogen couldn’t help looking at the scrapes on his knuckles and wondering if he was telling the truth about being mugged. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had shown up to work with unexplained cuts and bruises. She reminded herself he had no reason to lie. Did he?

Chapter Eight (#ulink_acab534c-e048-58c6-8a2b-6b609eae854f)
Adrian couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Mrs Sager’s face. He remembered back to the time recently when he’d thought his own son was dead, and the visceral memory of the way he’d felt, even for the briefest of times, was enough to make him want to throw up. But to live in that state, to know that you would never see your child again – that would be too much for Adrian. He wasn’t sure he would even want to carry on.
The hospital was busy, and by the time they found DI Walsh, visiting hours had begun. DI Matt Walsh stood with his arms folded, staring ahead of him. Adrian couldn’t help but look at Imogen’s face as they approached him, to see if he could work out what she was thinking. She had seemed preoccupied with finding out more about the new DI and for some reason that annoyed Adrian. He couldn’t admit to himself that he was feeling jealous.
‘What’s going on?’ Imogen called out, getting the DI’s attention.
‘A girl has been brought in. She’s in and out of it a bit, but she’s been completely brutalised,’ DI Walsh said.
‘Sexual assault?’ Imogen asked.
‘It seems highly likely at this point; I’m just waiting for the doctor to come and give me a clearer picture of what happened.’
‘Do we know who she is?’ Adrian asked.
‘Barely. I mean, you wouldn’t know it from her face; she has a lot of swelling and several nasty abrasions.’ DI Walsh seemed to stop dead in his tracks, obviously noticing the state of Adrian’s own appearance. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I got mugged last night, nothing serious though, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine. Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, seriously. I managed to swing a couple of punches, so he didn’t get anything. Really, it’s no big deal. I’ll file a report on it later on, I was planning on it anyway, but I don’t have much information at all.’ Adrian wanted to stop talking about it now. ‘Tell us about the girl.’
‘She managed to tell us her name, but her throat is pretty damaged; looks like he strangled her. My guess is whoever did this is going to be very disappointed when they realise she didn’t die. She was beaten so badly, there’s no way they intended her to walk away from that.’
‘You said she told you her name?’ Imogen said.
‘Caitlin Watts.’
‘What?’ Imogen shot Adrian a look again.
‘You know her?’
‘We had her on a B and E the other day; all turned out to be fine though,’ Adrian said, his voice catching a little as he spoke. What the hell was going on?
‘Did she say if she felt like she was in danger from anyone?’ Matt Walsh asked.
‘No, not at all. She was in yesterday and she was fine,’ Adrian said.
‘So, you saw her yesterday?’ DI Walsh pressed.
‘She knew the professor; she came in to give us more information on the Norris case,’ Imogen explained.
‘She was the witness who came forward? Do you think this attack could be linked to the murder? Did she give you any indication who she thought might have killed Doctor Norris?’ DI Walsh asked.
‘No, but she was the one who told us about the kid who committed suicide. Owen Sager,’ Imogen said.
‘I dropped her off at home at around six and she was fine,’ Adrian added.
‘You dropped her off at home?’ DI Walsh queried, and there was an element of derision in his voice that Adrian didn’t like.
‘She said she couldn’t get home. I was making sure she got back all right,’ Adrian said.
Dr Hadley appeared at that moment and Adrian was relieved to have the spotlight off him. He didn’t appreciate the way DI Walsh was speaking to him.
‘She’s awake and she’s stable; you can talk to her for a couple of minutes. The damage to her throat at this time means she can only talk in a whisper. She’s been through quite an ordeal.’
‘Was she raped?’ Imogen asked.
‘Yes, she has extensive damage to both her vaginal opening and her rectal lining. She also has some cracked ribs, a supraorbital fracture and more bruises than I can count,’ the doctor said, clearly very angry.
‘Jesus,’ Imogen muttered.
‘I have done a rape kit and sent it straight to the lab,’ Dr Hadley noted.
‘Can we go in now?’ Adrian asked. Caitlin was a sweet girl, if a little misguided, and the thought of this happening to her, of this happening to anyone, was stomach-turning.
‘Sure. But be considerate; please, she’s been through a lot.’
They walked into the room and could immediately feel the heaviness in the air. The nurses were working with a solemn concentration, not speaking but still somehow comforting with their presence.
The sight of Caitlin was something to behold: her face was swollen and bandaged, and she was barely recognisable. The one eye that was on display was full of tears as she stared out the window.
Imogen went over to the bedside and sat in Caitlin’s eyeline. Caitlin blinked a tear away as Imogen gently placed her hand on top of hers.
‘Hey, Caitlin, do you remember me?’ Imogen spoke softly.
Adrian felt like an intruder. Even though they were there to get a statement so that they could find the bastard who did this, he couldn’t help thinking they should leave the poor girl in peace.
‘Hello,’ she whispered and closed her eye.
‘I know this is difficult, but can you remember any details of the attack?’ Imogen asked.
‘Yes, I can,’ she whispered, her voice rough and crackling with pain.
‘I’m sorry, but would you be able to tell us what happened?’
Caitlin blinked slowly and wheezed in a deep breath before speaking.
‘He put his hand around my throat and told me he would kill me if I called out,’ she said, tears flowing freely from her one uncovered eye. ‘I thought I was going to die. He punched me in the side of the head and I just felt the pain in my eye exploding; it was so horrible. I was dizzy. He told me to get on the floor, but I said no, and that’s when he punched me in the stomach and made me take my pants off. He got on top of me and I tried to push him away, I even hit him, but he still wouldn’t stop. I tried to fight him …’ Caitlin’s whisper disappeared into a breathy cry as she got more and more distraught. She was fighting back the tears.
How could anyone do this to someone else? Adrian never could get his head around this kind of crime.
‘Just take your time,’ Imogen said.
Caitlin nodded gently before taking another deep breath.
‘After he was done, he made me do other stuff, too.’
‘How long was he there?’ DI Walsh said.
Imogen shot him an angry look, but he ignored her.
‘A couple of hours, I don’t know.’
‘Did you know your attacker? Could you tell us his name?’ DI Walsh said.
For the first time since they had entered the room, Caitlin turned towards the men who were standing at the door. She lifted her hand and pointed at Adrian. What was happening?
‘He did it.’ She burst into tears as she said it.
‘Excuse me?’ Imogen removed her hand from the girl’s immediately as though a bolt of electricity had just shot through her.
‘After Detective Miles drove me home last night, he raped me,’ Caitlin said.
‘What?’ Adrian finally managed to push a word out of his mouth; he wasn’t even sure what word it was. His head was thumping and his ears were ringing. This was up there with his worst nightmares. This couldn’t be real. Being accused of rape was one of those unshakable accusations. Once it had happened, everyone would always wonder. Once the seed was planted, there was nowhere to hide. It would be a rumour that would follow Adrian for the rest of his life. He wanted to throw up. ‘Caitlin!’
‘Could you wait outside the room please, Detective Miles?’ DI Walsh said calmly.
‘This is not true. Caitlin, why are you doing this?’ Adrian said – he knew he shouldn’t say anything, but the impulse was too strong.
‘Just for a moment, I’ll be right out,’ Matt pressed.
Adrian looked at Imogen for guidance. She nodded that it was best for him to leave. He walked out of the room and watched intently through the glass of the door as they spoke to Caitlin. Why would she do this?
It wasn’t long before Imogen and the DI came out of the room. Imogen kept staring at Adrian, willing him to look at her; he could see her out of the corner of his eye. He kept his eyes down though. If he didn’t focus on the floor, he would be sick.
‘We have to investigate this,’ DI Walsh said.
‘I swear I didn’t do this. I couldn’t!’ Adrian said, struggling to breathe.
‘That’s not for me to decide, I’m afraid. There has to be a proper investigation. Do you at least have an alibi for last night?’
‘Not really. I went to the pub, someone might have seen me there. What happens now?’
‘We go and tell Mira. She will have to contact the Professional Standards Division and they will send someone to come and figure out who is telling the truth here.’
‘You think I did this?’ The idea of having PSD looking into his conduct at work made Adrian uncomfortable. He had been investigated for evidence tampering before and even though he was eventually exonerated, the process was degrading. He could just imagine the talk that would be flying around the station. It didn’t even bear thinking about.
‘I don’t know you. I think at this point it doesn’t matter what I think.’
‘It matters to me,’ Adrian said, trying to ignore what he felt DI Walsh was inferring.
‘I think you will probably get assigned to desk duty for as long as it takes to clear your name,’ DI Walsh said unapologetically.
‘Imogen. You believe me, right? I didn’t do this.’ He could feel his voice getting higher as he got more agitated.
‘I know you didn’t,’ she said without hesitation, calming the swirling in his head for a second.
‘False rape claims are a lot rarer than people think they are,’ DI Walsh said. ‘There’s a lot of physical evidence that she’s been assaulted.’
‘I’m not saying she wasn’t raped, I’m saying it wasn’t me,’ Adrian said.
‘Well, the PSD will clear it up. Now, let’s get back to the station.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
‘That’s not my call. DCI Kapoor will make that decision. I think there will be at least some preliminary investigation before that happens. See what the rape kit turns up.’
All Adrian could think about was what had happened to Caitlin; it was horrific and brutal. Maybe the head injury she’d sustained had messed with her memory and she really did think he had done it. He had dropped her off, but then driven straight home before walking to the pub. Something was bothering him about the timing of all of this though. For him to coincidentally get mugged on the same day, covered in scrapes and bruises on the exact same night, what were the chances? Maybe the attack on him wasn’t a random mugging, after all. Maybe he was targeted. But why would someone target him? And what did Caitlin have to do with it? Adrian couldn’t help feeling paranoid at this point. After what he had been through in the past with Dominic Shaw, his son’s stepfather – a man who dedicated his life to messing Adrian’s up – he didn’t believe in coincidences and the fact that the attack on Caitlin happened the same night as his attack meant that someone had planned this. But why? What was the end game?
DI Walsh walked in front as they exited the hospital and Imogen dropped back a little until she was by Adrian’s side.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said to Adrian in a whisper, clearly not wanting to draw DI Walsh into the conversation.
‘I swear I didn’t do this.’ Adrian felt compelled to say it over and over again.
‘I know you didn’t,’ she reassured him.
‘I was telling the truth about last night, too. I got jumped. What if that and this are connected?’
‘That seems a little far-fetched.’
‘After everything we’ve seen over the last couple of years you think that’s far-fetched?’
‘OK, say it is connected. What is it about? Hugh Norris? Owen Sager? Is it because of what she told us at the station yesterday? And why would they target you?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Do you think she’s lying, or do you think she’s just remembering it wrong?’
‘I don’t feel confident to say; it’s possible she’s got confused, that it was a nasty attack. I say for now we give her the benefit of the doubt. I don’t like to think anyone would falsely report a rape. The amount of damage it does is unbelievable. Not just to the accused but to the whole system. So, for now we work on the assumption that she’s confused. But that’s between you and me.’
‘Thank you,’ Adrian said.
‘What for?’
‘For not doubting me.’
‘I’d like to think I know you well enough to know you weren’t capable of something like that.’ She paused. ‘What was the name of the pub you went to last night?’
‘I went up to The Imperial.’
‘You went to the biggest pub in town?’
‘Someone might remember me,’ Adrian said.
‘Well, let’s hope so. Did you go into her house?’ Imogen said, looking away from him, obviously afraid of the answer.
‘Nope, absolutely not. I pulled up outside, she got out and then I drove away. I swear to God that’s what happened.’
They arrived back at the cars.
‘Adrian, I think you should come back with me,’ DI Walsh said.
Adrian didn’t know whether DI Walsh believed him or not, but he knew in his situation, he would be inclined to believe the victim. A thought that gave him no great comfort. Either way, this was a shitshow and Adrian was the main attraction.

Chapter Nine (#ulink_ad262b53-c472-52a3-9b4c-3b3bb5414365)
Imogen stood with her arms folded, looking down at DCI Mira Kapoor, who was responding to an email from PSD, the department that were sending someone over to investigate Adrian. She had come in to speak to the DCI on her own, without DI Walsh breathing over her shoulder. She knew he wasn’t actively trying to piss anyone off, and that he was right to question what was going on, but he seemed to have made his mind up already. Admittedly, looking at Caitlin Watts in that hospital bed was enough to give anyone pause. It really wouldn’t make sense for her to make it up, why would she? Wouldn’t she want to see her attacker put away for what he had done to her? Meeting Caitlin before and forming a strong opinion about how manipulative she was was definitely clouding Imogen’s judgement. She knew there were plenty of people who would be happy to think of Adrian as someone who would do this. The truth was, of course, that even though there was no doubt in her mind that Adrian was innocent, there was still that voice in the back of her mind, demanding to be heard.
‘You can stop looking at me like that, DS Grey. This is procedure, there is nothing I can do. My hands are tied.’
‘He didn’t do this. No way,’ she urged.
‘I’m glad you have his back, and while I admire your loyalty, I don’t have that luxury.’
‘Can I help with the investigation?’
‘I think we both know the answer to that.’
‘I can’t just do nothing. This isn’t right,’ Imogen said.
‘Between us … you met the girl before. What did you think of her?’
‘Honestly? She was all over Adrian, disturbingly so. Flirting and desperate for his attention.’
‘And you don’t think he could have taken that the wrong way and maybe—’
‘No. Aside from the extreme violence towards her, which I am positive Adrian would have no part in, I just don’t think he’d be into it if the person wasn’t into it, too. If you know what I mean,’ Imogen said, unsure if she was making things better or worse, worrying she was digging Adrian into an even bigger hole.
‘Why do you say that about the violence? People can surprise you,’ DCI Kapoor said gently, as though she were trying to prepare Imogen for the worst.
‘On previous cases, Adrian has been quite affected by violence against women. His father was a violent man, apparently; hit both him and his mother frequently.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ DCI Kapoor said apologetically.
‘He doesn’t talk about it much, but I just can’t imagine him raising a hand to a woman. Let alone this,’ Imogen said. Adrian hadn’t talked about it much but on the few occasions where he had said something it was clear to her that it was something he felt very strongly about.
‘Have you and he ever—’
‘No,’ Imogen said before she had a chance to finish the sentence.
DCI Kapoor’s computer pinged and she clicked on something. She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, exhaling and scrunching her face up. She was obviously trying to decide what to do.
‘PSD are sending over Detective Chief Constable Trevor Sneddon. If you would, please meet him and bring him to my office. He’ll be out front in about five minutes. I’ll see if he has a problem with you observing the in-house interviews. Observing being the key word. You won’t be able to sit in, but you can watch from the control room if he gives you the OK.’
‘Thank you,’ Imogen said, breathing out a small sigh of relief at not being shut out completely.
‘Any idea why Miss Watts might make this up?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘OK, thank you, Imogen. Can you send Adrian in?’
Imogen left the DCI’s office and sat back down at her desk. Adrian was perched on his chair with his head in his hands – anxious was an understatement. She could see he was lost in his own thoughts.
‘The DCI wants to see you now.’
Adrian stood up and barrelled towards DCI Kapoor’s office. Imogen hoped he didn’t lose his temper. She couldn’t stay in here and try to guess what the DCI was saying to Adrian; she needed some air. It had been raining earlier, so she grabbed her coat and went outside to wait for the DCC to show up.
Just being outside made Imogen want a cigarette, but she hadn’t had one since about three days after New Year’s Eve. One more week and she would have gone two whole months without one.
A car she didn’t recognise pulled into the forecourt and a man she wasn’t familiar with got out. She wrapped her coat around her and walked towards him, the wind whipping her hair into an unruly mess.
‘DCC Sneddon?’ she called out.
‘Yes, how did you know?’ He was tall with sandy blond hair and a stern face, but she liked to imagine he didn’t look unreasonable.
‘You just look like PSD.’
‘I’ll pretend that’s a compliment.’ He held his hand out and she took it; he had a firm shake, confident, that of someone in a position of authority.
‘I’m DS Imogen Grey. The DCI has asked me to take you through to see her.’
‘Do you know the accused?’ he said sombrely.
‘I do. He’s my partner.’
‘I’m guessing you believe him.’
‘Correct.’
‘OK, let’s get this show on the road,’ he said in an apologetic voice.
This at least gave her hope that he wasn’t just out to nail someone. She hated her job sometimes.

Chapter Ten (#ulink_1fc36f62-7cb8-5816-bdbf-d8abab5d11ce)
Being on this side of the interview table was no fun. Adrian waited patiently for DCC Trevor Sneddon to start asking questions. They had already got the formalities out of the way: date, time, name, rank. Adrian could feel the beginnings of a migraine, or maybe he just really wanted a drink.
‘Could you tell me about the first meeting with Caitlin Watts?’ DCC Sneddon began.
‘She was brought in for breaking into a chapel. Her grandfather was a reverend, though, and so no charges were brought and we let her go,’ Adrian said.
‘Did she steal anything?’ Sneddon asked.
‘Apparently not.’
‘How did she seem at that time?’
‘I don’t know. Normal. She was quite friendly,’ Adrian said. Did that make him look bad?
‘And the next time you saw her?’
‘Yesterday morning. She said hello to us near the scene of the Norris murder. We went to speak to one of his colleagues, who turned out to be her lecturer. Psychology, um … her name was Gillian Mitchell. Miss Watts walked past and said hello.’
‘And you hadn’t arranged to meet Caitlin Watts there?’
‘Of course not. It was a murder that we were called out to. How would I know beforehand that it was going to happen?’ he said, trying not to get annoyed at the questions. He knew they had to ask them.
‘And then the next time?’
‘Yesterday again. She came in late afternoon and told us that she thought Hugh Norris was having an affair with a student. She also told us that one of his students committed suicide exactly three months ago. She brought in an article about the suicide and I put it on the desk.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘She told me she couldn’t get home and that she was a bit upset by the murder, so I offered to give her a lift.’
‘You offered? Why?’
‘Actually no, I offered to get someone else to drop her home, but she asked if I could do it. She said she was nervous because of the violent nature of the murder.’
‘And you said?’
‘I said, fine. I was leaving anyway.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘I drove her home, she got out and I drove home.’
‘You didn’t get out of the car and see her to her door?’
‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t even really watch her go inside. I just left. Then I parked up at home and walked to The Imperial.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘Yes. I was a bit pissed off because I was supposed to have my son stay over last night, but he made other plans.’
‘So, no one can corroborate your story?’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘OK. Let’s talk about you for a moment,’ Sneddon said with a heavy sigh, clearly not enjoying this any more than Adrian.
‘I thought that was what we were doing.’
‘Are you in a relationship?’ Sneddon asked.
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but no.’
‘I heard your last relationship ended rather traumatically. Is that correct?’
‘Do they ever end well?’ Adrian said, trying to make light of it.
‘Have you sought any counselling for what happened? It’s hard losing someone to an act of violence.’
‘I’m dealing with it just fine,’ Adrian lied.
‘Have you ever dated anyone in the station?’
‘I had a casual relationship with Duty Sergeant Denise Ferguson, but that ended a long time ago. I haven’t had a relationship at all since Lucy died.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Why does this matter?’
‘Just answer the question.’
Adrian thought about Imogen for a moment. Should he mention it? It wasn’t a relationship, it wasn’t even sexual, but somehow it was important. Far too important to talk about here.
‘I went out with PC Tessa Burgess briefly and a couple other officers who have since transferred out.’
‘Does briefly mean a one-night stand?’
‘Yes. But there wasn’t any drink involved or anything. It was a consensual situation and it was before she worked in this division.’
‘We’ll speak to her, but for now, you can see yourself out.’
Adrian left the interrogation room feeling worse than he had done before he went in. Everything he had said made him sound like a complete scumbag.
Imogen was waiting outside. He struggled to even look at her at the moment. It was taking all of his energy not to just throw himself in front of a bus right now.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_1713441e-48ef-5f38-87ce-6d1e01f5e185)
Imogen had tried to explain her feelings about Caitlin Watts to DCC Sneddon without making her sound like a psychotic vampire. It didn’t sit well with her at all, not believing the victim. She felt like she was betraying every rape victim that had ever walked through the door. Imogen tried to imagine what she would feel had she not met Caitlin beforehand and immediately distrusted her. Did that distrust automatically mean she was lying now? For all she knew maybe she was all of those things that Imogen thought about her beforehand. That didn’t exclude her from being attacked, that didn’t mean she would never tell the truth ever again. Sometimes people lie, sometimes they tell the truth. If it were any other man, she might even have given Caitlin Watts the benefit of the doubt. But this was Adrian.
‘You and Detective Miles have worked together for some time now,’ DCC Sneddon pressed.
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever noticed a particularly sexist or negative attitude towards women at all?’
‘For being women? No.’
‘He’s had some relationships within the station. Did you know about them?’
‘I knew about him and Denise. I don’t tell him everyone I sleep with either though, to be fair.’
‘Denise Ferguson? Did she say anything to you about the relationship?’
‘No. I know she wasn’t happy when it ended though.’
‘Does DS Miles have many impromptu relationships?’
‘A few, I think. Or at least he used to. What’s that got to do with anything? Sleeping around doesn’t make him a sexual predator. Women like sex, too. Not all of us are being manipulated into it when we have a one-night stand.’ She hated the constant portrayal of women as easy to ‘trick’ into sex. As though a woman who wants to sleep around is being taken advantage of each time because she has a low self-esteem. So much stigma around women who liked sex.
‘What about you? Have you ever been intimate with DS Miles?’
‘Depends what you mean by intimate.’ She tried to laugh off his question, but he looked at her curiously, as though he knew she were hiding something. She wasn’t about to tell him about her and Adrian’s arrangement. It didn’t mean anything, and it certainly didn’t bear any relevance to this case.
‘Have you ever had sexual intercourse or taken part in any sexual acts with DS Miles?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
Not a lie, not quite the truth either.
‘Would you say your partnership is solid? Do you think he keeps secrets from you?’
‘No, I don’t think he does. I trust him implicitly.’
‘OK, thank you, Miss Grey.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it for now at least. Unless we hear anything that contradicts your statement.’
‘Should I send Denise in?’
‘Thank you, yes.’ DCC Trevor Sneddon attempted a smile to comfort Imogen, but she left the room without returning it.
She walked straight outside, needing some fresh air. Within a few seconds, Adrian was standing beside her.
‘Well?’
‘Well what, Adrian? You know I can’t talk about it.’
‘Fuck that, what did you say?’
‘I said what I would have said if you were standing in the room. Don’t worry, I’m on your side.’
‘Did he ask you about us?’
‘He did.’
‘And what did you tell him?’
She felt her eyebrows involuntarily raise as he said the words. Neither of them had spoken about this, let alone outside work in the daylight.
‘That there was nothing going on between us. There’s nothing to tell,’ Imogen said.
A weight clearly lifted from him when she said that.
‘That’s what I thought. I just wanted to check with you. I didn’t tell him either.’
‘I don’t see how it would make any difference to the investigation. Apart from getting us into a whole heap of shit.’ She changed the subject. ‘Sneddon’s speaking to Denise now. I might go and watch. Why don’t you speak to Gary and see if he can find any CCTV footage around The Imperial to prove where you were. If she is lying, we can prove it, just remember that.’
‘What do you mean if?’ Adrian snapped.
‘Don’t be like that, you know what I meant.’
Adrian relaxed. ‘Thanks for having my back on this. Not everyone would.’
‘I hope if the situation were reversed you would do the same for me.’
‘You know I would. Good idea about Gary, I’ll see if he can work some of his magic. Is anyone speaking to Caitlin Watts?’
‘I think DI Walsh is back over there taking a statement. I’ll speak to you later.’
Imogen left Adrian outside. She noticed how uncomfortable she felt around him, and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it just that they had finally spoken about their strange sleepovers out loud? Or was it something else?
Not wanting to think about that right now, Imogen wanted to hear what Denise had to say, so she went into the adjacent room and watched the live feed.
‘How often would you say you and DS Miles had sex?’ Sneddon asked Denise.
‘Do you have to be so crude? Every few weeks.’
‘But there was no relationship?’
‘I don’t know how to answer that question. We were both single, consenting adults. Yes, we hooked up for sex. Is that wrong?’
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you if the sex was particularly rough?’
‘It was as rough as we both wanted it to be,’ Denise huffed.
‘That’s not an answer. I’m going to need more than that,’ DCC Sneddon said.
Imogen felt wrong listening in, but she couldn’t tear herself away. Denise was obviously holding something back.
‘It was a bit rough. But only because I wanted that. Adrian wasn’t like that at first.’
‘So, you’re saying his aggressive sexual behaviour escalated?’
‘No! I’m saying I asked him to be rougher and he was. I told him what I wanted, that’s all. He didn’t do anything outside of that. He never did anything I was uncomfortable with.’
‘Did he ever hit you during sex? Did you ask him to?’
‘No. I feel like my words are getting twisted up here. Adrian’s a good guy.’
‘What about choking? Did he ever strangle you? Either with his hands or anything else?’
‘I don’t want to answer that question.’
‘I think we’re probably past that now. You have to answer the question.’
Denise took a deep breath and Imogen found herself closing her eyes, waiting for her to say what everyone now knew she was about to say.
‘I asked him to choke me, and so he did, yes.’
‘More than once?’
‘Yes, more than once.’
‘And did you ask him every time? Or did he sometimes just do it?’
Denise exhaled loudly, exasperated. ‘I didn’t ask him every time, no.’
‘Did he ever choke you until you passed out?’
‘No, never. It wasn’t like that.’
Imogen was growing more and more concerned for Adrian; Denise wasn’t doing the greatest job in the interview. Rather than alleviating any concerns they might have about Adrian, she was sure that Denise had just opened a whole other can of worms.
Imogen left the room, unable to listen to any more. Over at the bank of desks, Adrian and Gary were huddled together. She noticed people looking at Adrian and the occasional whisper from some of the newer members of staff. Adrian did have a reputation for being a bit promiscuous, and it was completely justified a couple of years ago, but even in the time that Imogen had known him he had grown up and changed. Anyone who knew him well knew he wasn’t capable of this.
‘Any luck with the CCTV?’ Imogen asked Gary as she reached the two men.
‘I’m fast, but I’m not that fast. I’m collecting the feeds and will get straight on it after I grab some dinner from the canteen, I’m starving. I’m just trying to get a clear picture of Adrian’s movements so that I know where to look before I start.’ Gary smiled nervously.
‘Do we know what time she says the attack took place?’ Imogen pressed.
‘Around ten p.m.,’ Gary replied.
‘Did you take any money out? Most cashpoints have a camera on them; we could see if there’s anything,’ Gary asked Adrian.
‘I did, at the Lloyds cashpoint by St David’s Station. At around nine thirty, I think.’
‘I’ll see if I can get some footage from the station at that time.’
‘What time were you mugged?’ Imogen asked.
‘Around eleven, I think. I left before last orders,’ Adrian said. He looked tired and a little manic. Imogen couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling.
‘Adrian, why don’t you go home and sleep? I’ll go through the footage with Gary. I’ll stay here all night until we find something, OK?’
‘What if you don’t find anything, Imogen? What then?’
‘We will. I won’t stop until we do.’
‘I’ve seen the way people are looking at me today.’
‘Of course they’re going to look at you, that’s to be expected. It doesn’t matter because you are going to be exonerated.’
Adrian nodded. ‘OK, I’ll go home. I just wish I knew why this was happening.’
‘I know. We’re going to figure it out,’ Imogen reassured him.
Adrian grabbed his coat and left, while Imogen settled down to the desk and put the headphones on. She started watching the CCTV footage they had so far, mostly on fast forward as nothing was happening in the majority of it.
Later, Gary sent her a text to tell her that the bank was shut and so they would have to wait until the morning to get the cashpoint information. This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Twelve (#ulink_432c3320-58ce-5219-9e16-c5f22f413b0f)
Adrian was on his third glass of whisky when he decided to run himself a bath. He needed a way to de-stress that didn’t involve him going out, getting drunk and then getting into a fight. As much as that was the only thing he really wanted to do right now.
The thoughts that kept circling his mind were foetid. Why would anyone do this to him? Who had actually hurt that poor girl and why was she accusing him? Nothing made any sense. He lay in the water, wondering if he could drown himself. He had heard it was impossible to do it in a bathtub, that the desire to live was too ingrained, too prevalent to be overridden by sheer will. That no matter how much you might want to die, something inside you would stop that from happening. Still, Adrian slid under the hot water; even for a new perspective it was worth it. He tried to stay under, but even when he knew he could hold out a little longer, his body forced him out.
He grabbed the bottle from the side of the bath and filled his glass again. He could see the bruises starting to form on his ribs, the bruises they had photographed with the UV camera and catalogued at the station. He felt unclean as a result of being treated like a suspect. He thought about all the people he had arrested in the past, especially the ones who maintained their innocence until they were put away. Having to have the inside of his mouth and his penis swabbed was humiliating, especially when it was a colleague who had to do it, a colleague who suspected you of rape, who treated you like a rapist. He drank.
Feeling somewhat soothed after getting out of the bath, on the outside at least, Adrian pulled out some comfortable clothes and decided to settle for the night in front of the TV with what was left of his bottle. He couldn’t help but think about what people must be saying about him. The idea of it turned his stomach.
He thought about the attack, whether it was something he was even capable of. He’d had one-night stands that were slightly rough, but nothing that hadn’t been invited first. He recalled his relationship with Denise Ferguson and how she liked him to put his hands around her throat. He hadn’t agreed at first; he’d made her promise him that she would let him know if he was squeezing too tight. The thought of doing that without her permission, with her struggling to get away, made him feel sick.
He had to distract himself from these thoughts. He needed to replace the image of himself hurting someone like that. He grabbed a box of beer from the fridge for when he ran out of whisky and took it into the front room.
The lounge still smelled of paint from where he had redecorated after his ex and son had sold all of his collectable toys to pay for a deposit on a flat. With every payday since Tom was born Adrian had bought some kind of collectable and over the last sixteen years they had increased in value. After Tom’s stepfather died and all his assets were seized, they sold all the toys and cards to put a deposit on a flat and now the house that had been overflowing with boxes was empty. They had spent the weekend painting together to make Adrian’s front room nice again and it was nice, it just didn’t feel much like home. It looked like he had been burgled by some painters and decorators.
He settled in and turned the TV on. There were a couple of shows he had been recommended, by people who probably hated him now, but hey, at least he had time to watch them.
He was awoken by a gentle knock at the door. He answered to see Imogen standing in front of him. She didn’t look particularly happy. He walked through to the lounge and she followed.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘You know how it is. I fucking hate looking through CCTV, it’s so dull. Can I get a drink?’
‘Sure. You didn’t find anything then?’ He picked up a beer and opened it before handing it to her.
‘The bank was closed and so we have to wait ’til morning to get the footage from the cashpoint. Gary phoned the twenty-four-hour helpline, but they said there was nothing they could do from there, that it was an onsite digital recording and there was no way of accessing it remotely.’
‘Thanks for trying.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
‘You seem angry. What else is going on?’ Adrian said.
‘This is just bullshit, Adrian. I hate it.’
‘How do you think I feel?’ Adrian asked.
‘I hate everything about it. I hate thinking she’s a liar, I hate knowing for sure she is a liar. Because what if one day some other poor woman comes in and says she was raped, and I decide that I know for sure that she’s lying too? Who the fuck am I to be able to decide that? Without evidence, just a decision I have made.’ She took a long swig.
‘I don’t understand,’ Adrian said. He wasn’t lying; was Imogen saying that she didn’t want to believe him or that she wished Caitlin was telling the truth?
‘I thought I would be able to be objective!’ Imogen replied, more animated than he had ever seen her before.

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