Truth or Die

TRUTH OR DIE

Katerina Diamond

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Copyright © Katerina Diamond 2019

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019 Cover photographs © Katarzyna Lukaszewska/Arcangel Images

Katerina Diamond asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008282929

Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008282936

Version: 2019-07-01

Praise for Katerina Diamond

‘Diamond is the master of gripping literature’

Evening Standard

‘A terrific story, originally told. All hail the new queen of crime!’

Heat

‘A web of a plot that twists and turns and keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. This formidable debut is a page-turner, but don’t read it before bed if you’re easily spooked!’

Sun

‘A page-turner with a keep-you-guessing plot’

Sunday Times Crime Club

‘Diamond neatly handles a string of interlocking strands’

Daily Mail

‘This gem of a crime novel is packed with twists until the last page’

Closer

‘A deliciously dark read, Katerina Diamond keeps her readers guessing throughout as she leads us on a very secretive, VERY twisted journey … everything I was expecting from a well-written, pacy thriller’

Lisa Hall, author of Between You And Me

‘A dark, twisting tale that won’t fail to captivate’

Mint Velvet

‘Wow, I thought The Teacher was fantastic but The Secret is on another level. Was gripped all the way through and kept me guessing as the story unfolded’

NetGalley Reviewer

‘Another grim and gory spider’s web from Katerina Diamond – closely following on from The Teacher and not letting up on the twists and turns’

Goodreads Reviewer

‘An impeccable novel with nail-biting chapters … Katerina Diamond deserves the title of Queen of Crime, because I’ll be damned if anyone writes novels like she does. 5* doesn’t do this book justice’

The Brunette Bookshelf

‘Has the feeling of a nightmare come to life …’

LoveReading

‘The suspense is literally out of this world’

Compelling Reads

‘A dark and twisted tale that had me gasping in fear’

Handwritten Girl

Dedication

To Audrey,

Over the last 13 years, I’ve come to think of you as someone who lives in my house.

Love Mum

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Katerina Diamond

Dedication

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Part Two

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Part One

Chapter One

Six months ago

‘Is this thing on?’ Toby said into the camera on his phone. ‘OK, watch this. It’s going to be incredible.’

The camera was placed on the ground, resting against Toby’s empty can of cider and pointing up at Exeter Cathedral. The angle meant the whole cathedral was in shot. Toby switched on the GoPro on his head as well and ran towards the front of the building. He wasn’t sure how many people would be watching the live stream at this time in the morning, but he had to assume that there was a possibility the police could turn up at any point, so he needed to hurry. The front of the medieval building had enough nooks and holes for him to place his feet and fingers in, to grip and pull on, to climb. This would be the biggest achievement for Toby; he had climbed many buildings in the town, but this was surely the jewel in the crown. It wasn’t the tallest building by a long shot, but it was so iconic, there was no way he wouldn’t score some major points with it – it might even go viral. Heavily decorated with carved and moulded stonework, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of this before.

Toby had been doing parkour for five years, since he was fourteen years old. In the last year his game had really improved though. This was barely a challenge now that he looked at it. The west screen, the front of the cathedral, was covered in half-sized statues of knights, angels, kings, apostles and other small figures nestled in the niches. At school they had learned that these small animated figures were once painted in brightly coloured medieval paint, long since eroded and washed away. Lots of knobbles and bobbles to wrap his fingers around. Even the safety net wouldn’t be much of an obstacle as it had a little give in it.

Toby started to climb. He grabbed a hold of one of the angels on the first row of niches. They were holding up the other characters. A vision of heaven that Toby was putting his feet all over. Even where there were no sculptures to use as footholds, the walls weren’t smooth but rugged, and the stone bricks were chipped or broken at the corners, often providing enough space for the front inch of his trainer or for his fingers to hold onto. His nerves weren’t too bad because he had had a couple of drinks on the way here, just enough to take the edge off without dulling his instincts.

Toby had hardly broken a sweat by the time he reached the end of the first part of the challenge and grabbed hold of the crenelated wall at the top of the figures. He slipped through the gap in the wall and turned around, making sure the GoPro on his chest was pointing forwards. He leaned over and waved at his own phone. He didn’t want to waste any more time and so he turned back around and looked up at the rose window.

The rose window itself was the easiest part to climb; it was practically a ladder once you got past the long slim windows into the actual rose. He got to the top of the structure in no time. He made sure to look down, so that he could get a shot of the ornate window directly beneath him with the camera strapped to his head. He wondered how many viewers he had now. No sirens yet.

At the top of the window he had a couple of tricky manoeuvres to do before he could get over the second ledge onto the small balcony. Once they had been executed, he grabbed the thin ledge and pulled himself up, and then hoisted himself over the wall. One last push before he could get onto the roof. He could go to the side and climb up that way, but it wasn’t as interesting for his followers and so he continued on his path straight upwards. He was feeling a little tired – probably the cider; next time one can would be enough. He didn’t know why he had been so nervous in the first place; this was a doddle.

He climbed up the final window and grabbed hold of the feet of the statue standing at the top of it. He didn’t know who it was of, probably St Peter. Neither history nor religious studies were his subjects at school, so he hadn’t paid attention on the various school trips they had made to the building over the years.

He got his hand around the spike at the centre of the top of the roof and pulled himself up. He didn’t give himself time to rest; he wanted his followers to see the view and so he spun around and looked out over the city. His phone was a tiny blip on the ground from where he was standing, but he waved nonetheless. He would splice the footage together later and put it to music. This was going to look awesome; he couldn’t wait to watch it back.

He looked behind him at the lopsided crossed roof and then to the North Tower. He had to go up there; it was the highest point after all. The roof was battered and difficult to navigate, the central beam covered in an ornate metal design, presumably specifically to stop these kinds of shenanigans. From the centre of the roof he couldn’t see his phone any more, but he wasn’t particularly worried about anyone stealing it. He made his way across the central beam towards the North Tower and started to climb.

Halfway to the parapet, his leg started to cramp. He tried to get to the top faster, but the pain in his leg deepened. He shook it to lessen the pain but it just got sharper. His thigh was spasming now and he had to decide whether to go up or down. The top was closer and at least if he made it there then there was a flat surface to stand on. He pulled himself up, wincing with the pain, his leg pulling him down. He should have just stayed at the top of the western screen. It’s not like the camera could see him any more, anyway.

Toby reached for the thin ledge and his hand slipped. All too quickly and without him knowing in which order his body was failing him, he started to fall. His shin hit the triangular spine of the roof with the full weight of his body behind it. The spikes tore through the fabric and the flesh straight through to the bone. He cried out. Still no sirens to be heard. He continued to fall and bounce from stone and slate for what felt like an eternity, his skin grazing and bruising with each thud. This was the last one though, the last fall. Was there any way to survive a fall from this height?

He hit the ground, his head cracking against the pavement. He was facing west and he could see his phone on the grass pointing up at the rose window. It wasn’t even capturing this moment. He was dying and no one would even see it.

Chapter Two

DS Adrian Miles looked at the pink envelope on his desk. He glanced around the room and his partner, DS Imogen, Grey shrugged.

‘Don’t look at me!’

‘Is this a joke?’

‘Someone obviously loves you,’ Imogen said, although it sounded like more of an accusation than anything else.

He opened the card to see a picture of two bears cuddling, and inside, just a question mark.

‘This isn’t funny. Who left this here?’

‘It could be anyone in this place, Adrian, I’ve seen the way the new recruits look at you. If only they knew.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said with more indignance than the question probably deserved.

‘Maybe it’s the duty doctor. What’s her name? Dr Hadley? She was in earlier.’

‘We went for one drink, that’s all. We decided not to go out again. I doubt it’s from her,’ he said, not convinced and more than a little uncomfortable getting this information from Imogen. He had been on a date with one of the doctors who worked invariably at the station. She had been their point of call on a couple of cases in the past and she had asked him out for a drink last week. He’d said yes – and in another life he might have been more interested. But the truth was that his friendship with Imogen was getting complicated, and so it felt really odd to be on a date with another woman.

‘Face it, Miley, you’re wanted.’ She winked.

Adrian looked at Imogen, who then nodded over to Denise Ferguson, the duty sergeant.

‘Didn’t you say you’d help her out with booking tonight?’

‘Oh, shit.’ He remembered promising something like that. He guessed being stuck behind the front desk processing drunks on a Saturday night was better than being subjected to dating shows on TV, by yourself, because you live alone.

Valentine’s Day was not typically the quietest of nights in the station. Even if you ignored all the drunken roadside domestic disputes and the minor pub brawls because someone looked at someone else’s woman the wrong way, nationally it was still a night that saw a statistically significant increase in crime. Petty criminals taking advantage of the fact that most couples were out enjoying a romantic meal or a nice walk meant that break-ins and car theft were higher on this night than most others. Fingers crossed tonight would be a slow one.

‘I’m not in until Tuesday now. I’ve got a couple of personal days,’ Imogen said.

Adrian wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Was she inviting him over? Over the last few weeks they had made a regular habit of staying over at each other’s houses, more as a comfort than anything else. Both happy to be alone, but still not totally OK with being lonely. They would sleep in the same bed together; it had become comforting, if a little strange. Almost platonic, but not quite. There was a definite undertone to what they were doing, but it had been a little over six months since the woman Adrian was seeing, the woman he was falling for, had been taken from him violently. It had been even less time since Imogen had ended her intense relationship with an ex-con. Neither of them particularly relished the idea of dating anyone right now, but still, they were growing closer. Despite that, Imogen hadn’t yet spoken to Adrian about her mother’s death, and her funeral was on Monday – Adrian kept wondering whether she wanted him to go with her.

‘Have you met the new DI yet?’ he asked, changing the subject. If she wanted him there she would ask. He hoped.

‘No, who is it?’

‘Someone who’s transferred in.’

‘Not from Plymouth, I hope,’ Imogen said quickly, shuddering at the thought of her old job.

‘No, someone from the DCI’s old area. I think they wanted an outsider, someone who wasn’t caught up in any of the local shit,’ Adrian reassured her. Imogen herself had transferred from Plymouth under a bit of a black cloud and so he knew she wouldn’t appreciate working with any of her former colleagues.

‘Yet.’

‘Apparently she personally endorsed his transfer. The DCI has worked out all right. Maybe it’s a good move.’

‘Him? Is he hot?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘You can’t objectively say whether a man is attractive? Are you worried that I might think …’

‘Don’t finish that sentence. His face is very symmetrical, which suggests he is probably quite good-looking.’ Adrian smiled at her.

‘Wow. I’d hate to hear how you describe me.’ She gathered up her things to go.

‘I don’t think I have ever described you.’ He paused for a moment, not wanting her to disappear completely until Tuesday without at least giving her an option to invite him to the funeral; he didn’t just want to assume. There weren’t many people that Adrian felt completely at ease with, but Imogen was one of them. ‘If you’re not busy you can have lunch at mine tomorrow,’ he said, as much for himself as for her. Valentine’s Day, a painful reminder of your situation, whatever that situation was.

‘Text me when your shift ends,’ she said as she walked out.

Adrian had found himself noticing more and more how difficult he found things when Imogen wasn’t there; it was as if something was missing, or there was something he was forgetting, like he had left the oven on. There was always a part of his mind that was aware when she wasn’t around, and it wasn’t happy about that at all. He pushed the feeling aside and went to help Denise.

All in all, the night passed without much beyond the usual; in fact it was unusually quiet for Valentine’s Day. He sat mostly in silence, occasionally grunting a response when someone called his name, or when someone was brought in. Still, Adrian was grateful that he wasn’t at a loose end this evening. He couldn’t handle the endless whirring of his brain; he needed a break from thinking about himself and his situation. He had never been a strong believer in depression, but it was certainly knocking on his door, trying to get a hold of him.

‘Thanks for agreeing to this. I wasn’t sure if you would have plans,’ Denise said to him.

‘Nope, no plans.’

There was a pause, awkward, too long to be natural.

‘You could come over to mine when we’ve finished if you want … no strings,’ Denise said, a cheeky smile on her face, the kind of smile that had worked on him several times in the past.

‘Um, wow, thanks, but I think I have a migraine brewing.’ Strange that she would proposition him now; maybe it was just the idea of being alone. Valentine’s Day seemed to magnify any feelings of loneliness in everyone; Adrian knew because he could feel it, too.

‘I thought maybe you wanted to get together, I thought that’s why you agreed to do this.’

‘Denise, you know I like you a lot, but I’m just not in the right headspace to be in a relationship right now, no strings or otherwise.’

‘Oh. Sorry I brought it up. Let’s get back to work. No big deal.’ Her face was flushed, easy to see against her porcelain skin and bleached bob; the pink shone through like sunburn. She seemed embarrassed at her assumption and shut down completely.

Just then, the station door opened and one of the uniformed officers walked in, dragging a sullen-looking boy behind him, his face white with a tinge of green. The boy looked up and grinned at them both behind the counter, then projectile vomited against the window. Both Adrian and Denise jumped back to avoid the spray, stopped abruptly by the clear wall of glass, all that was between them and a shower of gloopy stomach contents.

Adrian groaned to himself. Why did he volunteer for this?

‘Who’s this charmer then?’ he asked.

‘Name’s Finn Blackwell,’ the constable said, ‘student up at the uni, caught him driving the wrong way around a roundabout. We had to breathalyse him and he’s well over the limit. We’ve brought him in to sober up.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Marsh Barton. No one around, but you know.’

‘Well that was silly, wasn’t it, Finn?’ Adrian said as Denise scribbled down the information. The glass had become almost clear as the pale brown gelatinous liquid pooled at the bottom of the counter and over the edge onto the floor.

‘I do apologise,’ the boy said with a sarcastic wobble of his head.

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m nineteen. Twenty in August. You interested, darling?’ He winked at Denise, who just rolled her eyes and continued writing.

‘Chuck him in number four while we get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said.

The constable took Finn Blackwell through to the holding cells.

‘I don’t know what’s going on up at that university,’ Denise said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, last week I had a couple of other incidents up there. A kid was arrested for possession. A couple of disturbances – nothing major, just a little unusual. Then, of course, there was that idiot Toby Hoare, who climbed up the cathedral and fell off.’ She still wouldn’t look Adrian in the eye.

‘Look, Denise, about earlier.’

‘Please, don’t mention it,’ she said. He could tell from her tone that she meant it.

‘I’m going to get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said. He did regret their previous fling a little; he had used her, and he wasn’t proud of it. Just because she’d let him didn’t make it any better. He knew he couldn’t be that person any more. Adrian needed to be better, he wanted to be better and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Chapter Three

Imogen felt comfortable in black; it suited her. It seemed strange to have picked out her dress the day before; she could only imagine what her mother would have said about it. An insult disguised as a compliment: how it would look nicer if it was longer, or shorter, or a different colour. But not the way it was, never the way it was. It was the same with everything; Imogen always thought that one day she would be good enough, would do something right. Not today though, never today.

She tried not to be resentful of her mother on the day of her funeral, but the anger she felt towards her was not something she ever thought would go away. She didn’t know why either, not really. Her mother had made a lot of questionable life decisions, but Imogen wasn’t unhappy with the person she had grown up to be. It seemed unfair that she should feel this way about the one member of her family who had always been there for her, but there was no changing it, there was always just this low level of anger. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, either. The mother who raised her probably did the best she could.

Then there was her absent father, reconnected now but a figment of her imagination for most of her life. She didn’t have all those petty squabbles or embarrassing moments to refer back to, there was no point of reference, no resentment bubbling under the surface for years and years. He was just not there. She knew how difficult her mother was; if she told her father she didn’t want him having a relationship with Imogen, then it explained why he hadn’t been around. Irene Grey had a knack for getting her own way. Imogen felt like maybe she should hate her father for not being there. But she didn’t; she blamed her mother for it instead.