‘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.
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.’
