Truth or Die

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‘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.