The Promise: The twisty new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller, guaranteed to keep you up all night

Chapter 9

Connor managed to escape the first day of school unscathed. He was already popular, even before trying out for the rugby team. He liked doing after-school sports – it was a legitimate reason to not be at home, a reason his father wouldn’t argue with, a reason Jacob wouldn’t see as time-wasting.

Connor had had a meeting with the sports teacher at the end of the school day. He had sought him out, told Connor he was excited to have him in the school, how some fresh blood might shake up the team, along with some inevitable jokes about how American football wasn’t really that impressive because they are all padded up. Nothing he hadn’t heard a million times before from his father. He laughed along as though he found it as funny as the coach, but he had seen the kind of injuries that could be sustained during what he called football and it wasn’t a laughing matter. Padding or not, the sport was serious and the injuries were real. Still, he’d agreed to try out for the school rugby team.

As he walked home from school, he spotted just ahead of him the girl he had seen in her bedroom next door when he had been up in the tree house. She had her head down and eyes to the ground as she moved with small, fast steps. She was on the other side of the road to him, opposite their houses. When she drew parallel with her house, she crossed the road without even turning to check the traffic. Connor frowned. It was almost as if it were him that she was avoiding. He couldn’t think why. She disappeared inside her house, and he picked up the pace and ran home.

Once inside, Connor dropped his bag on the floor and rushed out to the garden, quickly climbing the tree until he reached his den at the top. He saw the girl close her bedroom door and slide her backpack onto a chair. She took off her coat and hung it on the door before grabbing a large hooded jumper out of her cupboard and putting it on. She kicked off her shoes and grabbed a book from a shelf next to her bed, then lay down and began to read. Connor pulled his cigarettes out now that there was no way she would notice him.

After some time the light outside started to fade and he saw her reach for her bedside lamp. At the same time, he saw the kitchen light in his own house come on. His father was home. Unwilling to deal with him just yet, Connor decided to light up again and wait until the last possible moment before heading back inside.

‘Con!’ Jacob called from the back steps. ‘Con, are you out here?’

Connor put the cigarette out and shuffled across the floor to the exit. He climbed down, annoyed that he couldn’t just be left alone for once. So much for keeping out of his father’s way.

‘So how did it go?’ Jacob asked as he walked back into the kitchen.

‘It was OK, how was work?’

‘Same shit, different place.’

Jacob took a swig of beer, draining the bottle. He picked up two fresh bottles off the table and handed one to Connor. Connor noticed his father’s mood and decided now was as good a time as any to bring up going out the next evening. He had promised he would be different to how he had been back home. He’d vowed to try and mix with good kids and get in with the right people, not people who would try and coerce him into doing stupid things. But maybe those were his people, they seemed to find each other. Pippa reminded him so much of the girl he had back home. They didn’t look alike, but they were the same type. Not even the cultural differences could hide that desperation to be popular, to be envied and coveted. Connor was familiar with those feelings, although they were gone from him now. All he wanted was to be allowed to be himself.

‘Is it OK if I go out Friday? Some of the people in my class invited me bowling,’ he said.

‘As long as you’re back by ten … Let me guess, you need the car? Just be careful over here, don’t forget you shouldn’t be driving for another year.’ Jacob rolled his eyes and Connor left the beer on the side, going upstairs before he got embroiled in another conversation with his father. They didn’t always end as well as this one.

Chapter 10

Having finished with the list of people who had used the recruitment agency and specifically dealt with Erica Lawson, Imogen was frustrated. Every single person had an alibi for the night of the murder and so it was back to the drawing board. Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy. They had already checked menus of the restaurants closest to her house and moved further afield in a spiral pattern. In order to check for witnesses, they would have to visit the restaurants that flagged as serving the right type of food themselves. They had two restaurants to visit in the city next, they needed to speak to the staff and check any footage that might be available through CCTV. Imogen’s stomach growled at the thought of food. It was nearing lunchtime and she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. She looked over at Adrian who was staring at some paperwork, although she could tell that his eyes were not connected to the page but instead lost in thought. She wondered when he’d last eaten.

‘What say we go down the Guildhall and pick up one of those jacket spuds? I’m starving and I’m not sure I can face the canteen food today,’ Imogen said.

‘OK. I’m down with that.’

‘It’s right by the restaurants we need to go to and we can show them the pics of Erica, see if they saw her with anyone,’ Imogen said. She felt as though she were overexplaining, but if Adrian suspected she was worried about him, he would shut down. Cautiously, she reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

‘OK, you’re acting weird. What’s going on?’ Adrian folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, his eyebrow raised suspiciously.

‘I’m hungry, that’s what’s going on.’ She knew he wouldn’t take kindly to any show of sympathy at this point, but he didn’t look well. He didn’t seem to stop for lunch any more, or go home in time for any kind of substantial meal. He looked to be in a permanent state of exhaustion as far as she could tell.

‘Bullshit. What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing!’ she protested, in a voice slightly higher than normal.

‘You don’t need to worry about me, Grey, I’m fine. Just a little tired.’

‘Well that’s lovely, but I really am starving. Come on.’ She walked out, knowing he would be following behind her. She had to remind herself not to be too nice to Adrian. Not to arouse suspicion. He had been there for her before, now it was her turn to be there for him. They were a package deal, her and Adrian. She always felt in safe hands around him somehow – they were more than colleagues; they were friends.

Outside, she opened the car door and got in – less than ten seconds later Adrian was sitting in the passenger seat, resigned to doing as he was told. They drove to the Guildhall and parked in the multistorey before walking to the centre and ordering lunch at the jacket potato vendor. They sat on the low-lying wall and ate in silence for a few minutes. This was all a strange feeling for Imogen, aside from her mother she had never looked after someone before, not like this. She was genuinely concerned that Adrian was hurting and she wanted to make his pain go away. Knowing that she had no control over that, she tried to control the things she could, like making sure he ate. It beat thinking about her own problems.

‘OK, you were right, I feel better,’ Adrian said eventually.

‘Me too. Let’s go and see this Carmichaels place and The Bay Tree restaurant then. Let’s also hope she didn’t travel out of town for her date or we will have a shitload more restaurants to get through.’

‘That’s the spirit!’

They walked through the arch onto the high street, then down to the cathedral square which was still partially cordoned off due to the horrific fire that had ripped through the Royal Clarence Hotel, the oldest hotel in England, in fact the first building to use the term ‘hotel’ in England. The hotel had collapsed in on itself after burning for over twenty-four hours in October 2016. Now it was just a façade, the interior completely obliterated. No floors, walls or ceilings, just a charred empty box on the inside. In the corner of the square, tucked out of the way was a small restaurant with a blue exterior called The Bay Tree, and on the opposite side of the square was Carmichaels, a burgundy-fronted restaurant. As much as it would make sense for them to split up, it was better to go to both places together, see if anyone was behaving strangely when they were shown the photo. It meant that one of them could keep an eye on things while the other one did the talking.

They walked into The Bay Tree as the staff were clearing the tables after a lunchtime rush. They offered a reasonable set lunch menu and Imogen made a mental note to remember it if she ever went on a date again. Now that Dean was gone she didn’t see much chance of that. There was a Mediterranean smell about the place, lemon juice and olive oil, fresh coriander and salad vegetables. A flustered blonde waitress with pink cheeks and a glistening forehead approached them.

‘Table for two?’

‘Ah, no thanks.’ Imogen flashed her warrant card.

The waitress’s eyes widened in surprise, followed by an irritated huff, obviously annoyed at their timing.

‘We need to ask you a couple of questions. Were you working here on Thursday night last week?’ Adrian said.

‘No, I wasn’t, sorry, but Tanya was. I’ll get her for you.’ She seemed relieved that they wouldn’t need to speak to her. She forced a smile and disappeared back into the kitchen, scuffing her ballet pumps along the ground as she went.

A 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.

Chapter 11

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 really should be going.’

Pippa looked deflated by this. He knew what she wanted; she wanted him to break the rules for her, to prove that he would get into trouble just to have a little of what she was offering. It was hard to resist, not because of who she was but because of what he wanted. It had been so long since he had felt close to anyone.

‘Can you give me a ride home then? I live on Gloucester Road,’ she said, undeterred by his efforts to shake her off.

He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, giving in to the inevitable again. Be normal and do what you’re supposed to do, then people won’t ask too many questions. He had to fit in; he was already at a disadvantage because he stood out like a sore thumb. There was no reason to draw even more attention to himself by turning down one of the hottest girls in the school. It didn’t make sense and people would wonder why. He couldn’t have people looking too closely at him – and so he opened the door for Pippa.

Outside Pippa’s house, the sound of the car clock rolling over made Connor pull back from her and look at the dashboard. All the zeroes. Midnight – his father would not be happy. Connor’s seat was pushed right back and Pippa was straddling him, both of them with shirts unbuttoned. Pippa kissed Connor’s neck, making a lot of noise about it. She sat up a little; he looked through the space between them and saw her tanned breasts inside her cornflower blue bra, striking against her white-blonde hair.

‘You aren’t like the boys around here.’

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘Oh, hell yes.’

Connor glanced at the clock again as he pushed Pippa off him; she was light but fit under her clothes. He did his flies up. Connor remembered his girlfriend back home, how they would have sex in his car, how she would use sex to make sure he stayed in line. This had been a huge mistake. Connor felt torn between wanting what he used to have and running from it, knowing full well what the outcome had been. He couldn’t replace the girl he had lost, the life he had lost, and he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want history repeating itself.

‘You should go inside,’ he said, ‘I need to get home.’

After dropping Pippa off, Connor pulled into his own drive. The house was completely dark as he walked towards the front door. He pushed the key in as quietly as possible. With any luck, his father had drunk himself into a stupor again and passed out in front of the television.

The door clicked open and he stepped inside. Dead silence. He waited until he could see the bottom step before he attempted to go upstairs. As his eyes adjusted to the light, a weight lodged in his stomach. He noticed the shape of a man, a silhouette to be precise, leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway.

‘Jesus Christ!’

The light came on. Connor saw that the figure was Jacob … drunk.

‘Nope, just me,’ his father said quietly.

‘You scared the shit out of me!’ Connor exclaimed.

‘What the fuck time do you call this?’ Jacob said through gritted teeth, edging closer to Connor, who instinctively tensed and leaned away.

‘I had car trouble.’

‘Car trouble? What? Do I look like a fucking idiot to you or something? You think you can just lie to me whenever you feel like it, you little prick?’ Jacob’s voice got steadily louder as his temper took hold.

‘OK, sorry I’m late. I won’t do it again.’ The sound of his own voice pleading made Connor feel sick. How pathetic. He should just tell him where to go.

‘You’re damn right you won’t! If you screw things up this time you are on your own, I’m not moving to a new house again.’

‘I’m not going to screw anything up; I’m just a bit late.’

Jacob moved in towards Connor and looked him dead in the eye.

‘No girl is worth ruining your life for, asshole. Keep your dick in your pants and your mind on school.’

Connor sighed. Jacob didn’t understand, how could he?

‘OK, I get it … jeez.’

‘Are you trying to be clever?’

‘No, Dad, I’m just tired. I’m going to bed.’