Truth or Die. Katerina Diamond

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ