Page 71 of Vengeance is Mine

‘No. I think we have everything, thank you.’

They both stood up. Anthony followed.

‘We may need to talk to you again.’

‘I’ll be here,’ he said, with a smile.

Anthony stood and watched as the detectives made their way to the front door.

‘DI Braithwaite,’ he called out.

Terry stopped and turned back.

‘Are you a relation of?—?’

‘Yes,’ Terry interrupted. ‘I’m his son.’

‘This must be extremely difficult for you.’

‘All in a day’s work,’ he said, with a faint smile.

‘It’s not, though, is it? I really am incredibly sorry for what your father went through.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is he still?—?’

‘Alive? Yes. Retired now, obviously. Goodbye for now, sir.’

Anthony watched them leave and the door close behind them. He went back over to his armchair and slumped into it. He was no longer in the mood to bake a cake.

Chapter Thirty-One

Terry’s personal interest in the Dominic Griffiths case was playing on his mind. He hoped more than anything his godfather, Harry White, hadn’t decided to take the law into his own hands. One way to find out was to ask him, but he needed to do that on his own. He told Kyra to make her own way back to the station and take a team out to the crime scene to do house-to-house enquiries – talk to Dominic’s neighbours, find out what they had heard and seen the previous night.

He drove away from Langdale Crescent at speed, oblivious to Kyra standing on the pavement wondering how the hell she was going to get back to the city centre.

Terry’s mother, Helen, had died from breast cancer when he was four years old. Despite knowing what she looked like thanks to the many photographs his father had taken of their life together, he couldn’t conjure up a single memory of his mum, as hard as he tried.

His dad fell apart following the death of Terry’s mum. He avoided being at home, where her memory lingered in every room. He threw himself into his work and allowed cases to consume him. He’d fall asleep in his office from exhaustion and run home whenever he had a quiet five minutes to shower and change his clothes. He neglected Terry. That’s when Barbara had stepped in.

Barbara and Harry White were Terry’s godparents, but they had become so much more, like his substitute parents really. Barbara had picked him up from school and taken him home. Sometimes, there would be a note scrawled on the back of a receipt or bill from Ian saying he might not be home that night, and Barbara would take charge. She’d tell Terry to grab a few clothes for tomorrow and his pyjamas, and he’d go home with her and Stephanie. If he was honest with himself, Terry had preferred being at the Whites’ house. He knew he’d get a hot meal, his clothes washed and ironed, a comfortable bed in a warm room. He was loved there. Stephanie was his best friend and was like a sister to him. Then she went missing.

Terry pulled up in the Astra at the bottom of Harry and Barbara’s driveway. Harry’s Peugeot was parked outside, and there was a light on in the living room. He had no idea how they would take the news of Dominic’s death. Harry and Barbara had been living with the aftermath of their only child’s murder for twenty years. They had tried to move on and live comparatively normal lives, but whenever something happened to Dominic in prison, it made the newspapers. Whenever a child went missing, Stephanie was mentioned. Dominic’s release and his compensation payout from Maxton-Schwarz had made headlines around the world, and once again, it had brought back the torment Stephanie had suffered at his hands. They never seemed to be free from the pain of their daughter being murdered. They would never forget her, but they were never given the chance to move on. Now, with Dominic’s murder, Stephanie would be splashed all over the papers once more, and the nightmare would continue.

He knocked on the door and stepped back. He looked up at the house that had been his second home for most of his childhood. He had good memories here. He also had disturbing dreams that were set here. Watching Barbara and Harry fall to pieces after Stephanie was found, gathering in the living room for the wake after the funeral and listening to his father apologising over and over again for failing to find their daughter alive. This was a house of grief and sadness. It leached from the walls. Even birthday and Christmas celebrations couldn’t be relaxing and happy. There was always a hint of melancholy in the air.

Barbara’s face lit up when she opened the door and saw a familiar face. He was welcomed in with open arms, shown into the living room and told to sit down.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ she said. ‘You’re not looking after yourself, are you? When was the last time you had a cooked meal? That shirt could do with a good iron, and the hem is coming down on those trousers. You can come over here any time you want for something to eat. This is your house as much as is it ours. Tell him, Harry.’

‘I don’t need to. You’ve told him for me,’ Harry said, with a smile and a roll of the eyes as Barbara headed into the kitchen. ‘Barbara’s right though, you don’t need to wait for an invitation to come round.’

‘Thanks, Harry,’ Terry said. He proffered a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He felt uncomfortable here today. He sat on the edge of the armchair, taut like a coiled spring. He had no idea how he was going to bring Dominic Griffiths back into their lives without having to watch them falling apart all over again.

Barbara came in with a tray. She always was a good host. Terry turned down the offer of a sandwich, or a bacon butty, or scrambled egg on toast. A cup of tea was enough.

‘So, how are things at Northumbria Police?’ Harry asked.

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