The Promise: The twisty new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller, guaranteed to keep you up all night. Katerina Diamond
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few moments later another woman appeared. She looked around thirty years old and had cropped black hair, so pristine that it looked painted on.
‘Jenny said you wanted to ask something about last Thursday? Tanya Maslin.’ She nodded and folded her arms.
‘I don’t suppose you remember this woman coming in for dinner last week?’ Imogen held up her phone; she had a taken a photo of a photo in Erica Lawson’s house. ‘She would have eaten …’
‘Oysters. Yeah, she was here.’
‘You remember her?’
‘Oh yeah, she was quite tipsy when she left; they drank a lot of wine.’
‘I don’t suppose you remember who she was with?’
‘A man, blond, shoulder-length hair, about six feet two I reckon. He was early forties, I think.’
‘That’s a good memory you’ve got there.’
Tanya Maslin shrugged.
‘Do you remember anything else about him?’ Adrian asked.
‘He was cute. Cuter than her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he was a solid nine and she was a six.’
‘Wow, OK.’ Imogen rolled her eyes.
‘OK, a seven. But he was definitely out of her league. Probably why I noticed them. I can’t get a date but a girl like that can? Ridiculous.’
Imogen shook off the urge to shout at this woman who seemed to think she was in a position to judge other people, or at least other women. Imogen had known plenty of women like her in her time. Women who saw other women as competition, constantly looking for advantages over them, for flaws to exploit. Imogen couldn’t imagine anything more lonely or insecure.
‘Do you think you would be able to describe him to a sketch artist?’ she asked.
‘Maybe. He kept his head down a lot, his hair was pretty unruly as well. I got the feeling he was trying not to be seen; he asked to be seated in that corner over there. Normally when men behave like that it’s because they’re out with their bit of fluff but, in this situation, I don’t think so. I can’t imagine anyone cheating with a girl like her. I mean, you usually trade up, don’t you? Why do you want to find him?’
Imogen bit her tongue before responding. ‘We need to speak to him with regards to an ongoing investigation.’
A look of realisation dawned on Tanya’s face. ‘Wait, she was that girl in the news, wasn’t she? I knew I recognised her from somewhere else too!’
‘Do you have their card receipt or anything?’ Imogen asked.
‘No, he paid in cash. I remember because it’s quite unusual and he gave me a huge tip. You don’t think it was him, do you?’ she said in an incredulous tone.
Imogen didn’t get the impression the woman was particularly bothered about having served a murderer. It was more likely that she couldn’t quite believe that someone who was attractive would do something like that. She had been quite open about the fact that she thought Erica Lawson was not pretty enough for this good-looking stranger that she had barely met.
‘We just need to eliminate him from our inquiries.’
‘So, what do I do now?’ Tanya asked.
Imogen pulled out her notebook and pen.
‘I’ll need your contact details, home address and phone number, any mobile numbers you might have. Then we’ll contact you and arrange a time for you to meet the sketch artist.’
‘I’m Tanya Maslin, as I said. I live at 15, Gladstone Road. I’ll write my numbers down for you.’
She grabbed a napkin and took a pen from her pocket, scribbling down three telephone numbers and her email address. She handed the napkin to Adrian, who wasn’t paying any attention to her at all.
‘Thank you, that’s all,’ Imogen said before Tanya Maslin disappeared back into the kitchen. Imogen couldn’t help but notice how distracted Adrian was; she wished there was something she could say or do that would help him get through this. Maybe he should have taken more time off work, not that that would help. Work was probably the best place for him.
They left the restaurant and took a photo of the exterior.
‘Don’t suppose there’s any point getting forensics down here?’ Adrian said.
‘We’ll tell the DCI and see what she wants to do,’ Imogen said.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’
‘Don’t say it.’ Imogen felt her body tense.
‘CCTV. Now we know where, we’re going to have to see what cameras around here might have on record from last Thursday.’
‘Oh God, I can’t face it tonight. I’ll start in the morning.’
‘I’ll get started,’ Adrian said. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’
Imogen kept glancing at him as they walked back to the car; his head was down and he was watching his feet as he walked, lost in his own thoughts again. No one volunteered to watch hours of mind numbing CCTV of an evening, he must be struggling. She knew that he needed to grieve in his own way, but she just didn’t think he was dealing with it at all. Just pushing it down and pretending that it was all OK without the girl he had barely had time to fall in love with. She didn’t know what to do.
Connor felt Pippa’s hand on his thigh. He edged across the bonnet of his father’s car and knocked back the beer he had in his hand. The fact that he was breaking the law made him even more attractive to Pippa; he could see how impressed she was when he turned up in it. He looked over at the group of kids they had come out with – they were different from the kids back home. There was less competition. Granted, though, it was a smaller town and so you didn’t get the superstars of high school like he had back at his previous school. The truth was, Connor had been one of the superstars, but he didn’t want that again, he didn’t want the constant pressure and expectation. He didn’t need to feel like he was letting anyone other than himself down if he fucked up and went off the rails.
Connor had had girls like Pippa all over him back then, too. Girls that saw him as a trophy boyfriend, a symbol of their status within the school. Always with a boyfriend, always attached to someone, her self-worth measured by the popularity of the boy she can attract. Right now, Connor knew he was the hot topic. Even if he hadn’t looked the way he did, he was unknown and therefore interesting. The kids here were a lot less uptight, a lot less concerned with image and popularity and the cliques didn’t seem to be that well defined, unlike the huge school he’d got kicked out of, where not even his football skills could save him.
Connor looked at his watch, aware of the time, aware that his father had told him not to be late.
‘Got somewhere better to be?’ Pippa asked.
‘I need to get home soon.’ He swilled the last of his beer, then tossed the bottle into a bush.
‘You have a curfew?’ she giggled.
‘Nah, nothing like that, my dad needs his car back.’
She sidled up to him again, moving her hand up his thigh, edging ever closer to his zip. He looked down and watched closely as though he was watching her touch someone else’s leg. Maybe this technique worked on the boys here.
‘How can I convince you to stay?’
Connor jumped off the car and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
‘I