Page 106 of Vengeance is Mine

‘No,’ Rita said, turning towards the exit. ‘Come on, let’s go. I’m perished.’

Parked a few metres away from the gates of Blaydon Cemetery, Terry hunkered down behind the wheel of his Astra when he saw Barbara White enter. She was dressed in funereal black and had a sombre look on her face. There was only one place she could have been going dressed like that, and that was Anthony’s funeral. But why? It wasn’t long before she came back out. She passed his car and wiped away a tear. She hadn’t been there long enough to watch the burial service. At first, he wondered if she hadn’t realised it was Anthony’s funeral today – maybe she had been intending to visit Stephanie’s grave, saw the service and decided to leave. But she wouldn’t wear all black clothing to visit Stephanie, she never did. Why would she want to witness the funeral of the father of the man who murdered her daughter?

A few minutes later, Dawn and Rita left the cemetery. They wore grim expressions as they headed for Dawn’s car.

Anthony’s will hadn’t been read yet, but Terry knew the solicitor and had asked for a sneak preview. Dated six months ago, Anthony had left everything to Dawn. His house and its contents, his shares in various companies and money from several savings accounts totalling more than fifty thousand pounds had all been bequeathed to the granddaughter he had known for less than a year. The granddaughter who had conveniently discovered his body a few days after finding the body of her murdered father. Add on the money she would inherit from her father, and Dawn was going to be a very rich twenty-two-year-old.

Terry watched them drive away. They headed in the direction of Ryton, where Rita lived. He couldn’t help but think he was watching a murderer drive away. If only he had the evidence to prove it.

Chapter Forty-Seven

There was a knock on Terry’s door. He looked up from the latest overtime report he was struggling to write and saw a smiling Kyra Willis on the other side of the glass. He signalled for her to come in.

‘Hello, stranger,’ he said. Since Anthony Griffiths’ death, the investigation into who had killed Dominic had stalled. The forensics hadn’t turned up anything useful, they had no leads on the origin of the synthetic hair and their follow-up interviews with Dominic’s co-workers hadn’t led anywhere. Kyra had been reassigned, and Terry had been told not to spend all his time on it. Another week or so, and the case would be shelved. It would then be down to the cold case squad to review it every eighteen months or so.

‘Why is it every time I see you, you look paler and thinner?’ Kyra said as she came into the small office and sat down.

‘Did you want something?’ Terry was well aware of his weight loss, as he’d had to bore another hole in his belt. Some cases made a home for themselves in his mind and wouldn’t leave until they were solved. Dominic Griffiths’ murder was such a case. It was a constant headache that neither paracetamol nor alcohol would evict. He spent his free time either with his father or sitting in his dark living room, mind whirling over how clever Dawn Shepherd had been at covering her tracks. That’s if she was the murderer. Maybe he was too close to this case to accept that Harry and Barbara White were the culprits. It caused Terry sleepless nights, loss of appetite and a yearning to get in his car and drive to a new life. If only he could leave his head behind.

‘First of all, I’d like you to sign my holiday form,’ Kyra said, placing it on his keyboard in front of him.

‘Going anywhere nice?’ he asked. He signed without even reading it.

‘Matthew’s taking me to Niagara Falls in July. I’ve always wanted to go.’

He looked up and saw she had a beaming smile on her face. He wondered if he’d ever been that happy. Probably not. He’d never had a relationship that lasted longer than a month. He’d never been on a romantic holiday with a girlfriend. In fact, he’d never been on a holiday. What was the point if he didn’t have anyone to go with?

‘I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,’ he said, as he handed back the form.

‘Also, I’ve had a call from forensics. They’ve finally got the DNA back on those hairs from the jacket found in Dominic Griffiths’ living room.’

‘It took them long enough.’

‘They have a backlog. This was labelled as priority. We could have put a rush on it, but we’d get charged extra for that.’

‘I’m aware of costings, Kyra, thank you,’ he said, as he glanced at the next report he was having to write, justifying the budget for his department. It wasn’t even his department. DI Sheffield should have been writing the report, but he was on long-term sick leave due to burn-out.

‘Anyway, they’ve managed to extract DNA from the hairs, but whoever they’re from is not on the database.’

‘How did I know you were going to say that? Anything else?’

‘No. That’s about it.’ She stood to leave. She reached the door then stopped. ‘Erm, there is something, but it’s not work-related. It’s personal.’

Terry sat up and folded his arms. ‘Are you wanting to report someone?’

She smiled. ‘No. It’s nothing like that.’ She retook her seat. ‘Look, speaking as a friend, you let cases get to you, and you shouldn’t. I know this isn’t a regular job that you can switch off from at the end of the day, but you don’t just take the work everywhere you go, you absorb it. It’s obvious you’re not looking after yourself.’

Terry could feel a wave of emotion burn inside him. He knew Kyra was right but hearing it out loud was upsetting. He couldn’t tell her to leave, because he couldn’t be sure what would come out of his mouth if he opened it.

‘Now, do you know Sergeant Morton in uniform?’

He shook his head.

‘Yes, you do. About my height, dark red hair, slim, Yorkshire accent. You wrote that character report for her when she thumped that rapist last year.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘I remember her, yes.’

‘Well, she’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you. And I thought, before you lose so much weight you disappear completely, you might like to take her out for a meal.’

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