The Promise. Katerina Diamond

as he spoke.

      ‘Jesus.’ Imogen sighed before pulling her gloves out of her pocket and entering the house, Adrian behind her.

      Inside, the cottage itself was quaint and traditional in its decoration. There was a smell though, a sweet, unpleasant smell that caught in the back of Imogen’s throat. The floral sofa was adorned with a crochet throw and in the centre of the floor was a jute oval rug under an Ercol coffee table. It was all retro shabby chic, duck egg blues and cowslip yellows. The walls were filled with photo frames, with lots of pictures of two women on various holidays together. Presumably the victim and her sister. Imogen was hit with guilt for being angry with the woman who had contaminated the crime scene. Sometimes you had to try to remember that it was more than just a job, that there were people involved, family, loved ones. Maybe she needed a holiday. Case by case, she could feel her empathy eroding.

      She gave herself a shake; it must just be tiredness. When this case was over she might see about having a few days off.

      They made their way up the narrow staircase in silence, aside from the creaks and groans of the floorboards. Imogen took a deep breath before entering the bedroom. Time to meet the victim.

      The body of Erica Lawson lay on top of the covers, fully dressed. At a first glance, you might think she was asleep; her arms were folded across her waist, almost like the classic image of Sleeping Beauty. But when they got closer, it became evident that the woman’s eyes were open and her body had started to decay.

      Imogen had seen a few petechial haemorrhages in her time, enough to know that this was a case of strangulation: the red dots around Erica’s eyes caused by the explosion of the tiny blood vessels that link the smallest parts of your arteries to the smallest parts of your veins. Ignoring the body, the room seemed to be incredibly clean and tidy, immaculate. If there was anything out of place, it wasn’t at first obvious. It was cold though, very cold. The window was open. Imogen made a mental note to double check the sister hadn’t opened it. Maybe whoever did this wanted to confuse the time of death.

      They would have to bring the girl’s sister back from the hospital when she was feeling up to it to check if anything had been disturbed. That would happen after the scene had been processed by the crime scene technicians who were all bustling around the room, quietly placing evidence markers and taking photographs.

      ‘What do you think?’ Adrian said, breaking her train of thought.

      ‘Well it’s staged, that much is for certain.’

      ‘Agreed, obviously.’

      ‘Very controlled.’

      ‘Look at the buttons on her blouse,’ Adrian said.

      ‘What about them?’ Imogen peered over at the body. Something was off. What had Adrian noticed?

      ‘They’re slightly skewed, see? It’s like the fabric is twisted wrong. I don’t think she dressed herself.’

      ‘Are you thinking she was sexually assaulted?’

      ‘I don’t know about that, but I can see that she was dressed by someone else, probably after she died. Everything is just sitting wrong.’

      He was right, it did look awkward in places. Looking at Erica’s skirt, Imogen could see that it was a back zip that had been done up on the side. She had probably been naked when she died.

      ‘What about the pose?’ Imogen asked.

      ‘No idea. Maybe he was trying to respect her?’

      ‘You’re going with “he”?’

      ‘She’s not the slimmest of women; you’d need a fair bit of strength to dress her once she was dead. I think “he” is a safe bet at the moment. Unless we learn anything else from forensics.’

      Imogen looked at Erica. She would put her weight at roughly seventy kilograms, around an average size twelve. She was slim-waisted and attractive, obviously very active and naturally quite muscular in the legs. It would be difficult for a woman to be able to handle that kind of weight without assistance. Until forensics showed otherwise, they would work on the assumption that it was a male. Neither of them wanted to say aloud that in most cases, the assumption was usually that it was a male they were after.

      ‘Does it match any other cases we’ve had?’ Imogen asked.

      ‘Not to my knowledge, I’ll have a look when we get back to the station.’

      ‘You mean you’ll get Gary to check.’

      ‘What about her phone?’ Adrian asked one of the crime scene technicians, but she shook her head.

      ‘No phone?’ Imogen asked.

      ‘We haven’t found one,’ the technician said.

      ‘Call us if you do,’ Adrian said.

      ‘There are no signs of a break-in either. We think whoever did this was known to this woman,’ the technician offered.

      Imogen put her hands on her hips and looked around the room some more. It was a small space and they were on the verge of being in the way, so she signalled to Adrian who stepped out of the room first. She followed him, nodding to the technicians, and they headed down the corridor, peering into the bathroom. Another technician was in there taking swabs and samples. They would have to come back when it had been properly processed; there simply wasn’t enough room for everyone. This initial assessment would have to do for now.

      DCI Mira Kapoor was standing in the lounge when they got downstairs. She had a suitably sombre expression on her face. She always behaved the way she was supposed to behave, said what she was supposed to say when in public. At the same time, she was quite rebellious, at least on the sly, in her office where it mattered. She listened when she needed to listen and she never took any action that wasn’t carefully considered. Imogen was quite taken with her, although she still reserved some judgement; she had been burned by her superiors before.

      ‘Poor girl. I want you two to speak to the neighbours and work colleagues, see if you can get a picture of who she was. Later on, you can speak to the sister, she was pretty inconsolable by all accounts and the hospital have admitted her. She’s sleeping now apparently.’

      ‘OK, Ma’am,’ Imogen said.

      As they went to leave, the DCI spoke again.

      ‘Grey, can I have a private word?’

      Imogen nodded to Adrian who carried on outside.

      The DCI gestured to Imogen to come closer and jerked her head at Adrian’s fast retreating back.

      ‘How is he doing?’

      ‘OK, quiet. He’s OK though.’

      ‘Do you know if he’s been to see the bereavement counsellor?’

      ‘He hasn’t mentioned it, but I’m going to guess not.’

      ‘See if you can get him to, please. Last thing I need is him cracking up.’

      Imogen nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

      ‘Have you given any more thought to the DI exam, Grey?’

      ‘I don’t know if it’s the right time.’

      She should want it, shouldn’t she? Didn’t everyone want to advance their career? The thing was that she was happy with how things were at the moment, or maybe she was scared of change; it was hard to know which. Moving up the ladder had always been the plan, but she just didn’t feel ready. What was holding her back? Was it Adrian? He would be happy for her and she would be happy for him if the roles were reversed, but at the same time, the dynamic was working for her. Having a stable and dependable friend was important to her right now; she liked being on the same level. Besides, after what Adrian had been through recently, losing his girlfriend, she didn’t want to leave him right now. She had to hope this wouldn’t be her only opportunity.

      ‘Well, there’s an opening and, as