Truth or Die. Katerina Diamond
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.
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