‘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
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.
&nb
sp; 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
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.
Truth or Die Page 4