Page 94 of Vengeance is Mine

Anthony stepped back and slammed the door. He was visibly shaking as he turned the key in the lock and bolted the door at the top and bottom. The doorbell started to ring again, and someone knocked on the door.

The letterbox was lifted. ‘Mr Griffiths, if you’d just answer a few questions, we’ll leave you in peace.’

He didn’t believe a word they said.

‘Go away!’ he shouted. He didn’t recognise his own voice. It sounded nervous, frightened, petrified. He was in fear in his own home.

He staggered to his bedroom, holding onto the walls for stability. He slammed the door closed and went over to the window which looked out onto the back garden. He pulled the curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness. He fell onto the bed face-down and cried into the pillow.

When Anthony woke up, he was surrounded by silence. A ticking clock in the distance, probably the small carriage clock on the mantel in the living room, and the hum from the fridge were all he could hear. He hoped the journalists had gone, and he’d be left in peace.

He must have fallen asleep within minutes of throwing himself down on the bed. He sat up, wiped his eyes and turned on the bedside lamp. Next to it was a framed photograph of his wife. It had been taken on the day they’d moved into their first home just after they married. She was standing on the doorstep, the front door wide open behind her. The sun was shining on her, and she smiled to the camera. She was proud, pleased, happy to be living in her own home with the man she loved. It was the beginning of their journey together. They were both full of hope and optimism, but that had died so quickly.

He picked up the frame and held it close. He looked deep into his wife’s beautiful eyes. She really was beautiful. Smooth skin, full lips, shiny hair, gorgeous figure, tiny ears, button nose. He loved every inch of her.

Anthony hugged the frame, holding it tight to his chest. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘I miss you so much, Carole,’ he choked. ‘It’s a physical pain being apart from you. Every day is torture. I just want us to be together. I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to smell your hair. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you as much while you were still alive. I hate myself for not realising you needed help. It was all such a tragedy, all such a big mistake – every bit of it.’

He looked back down at the photograph. He smiled through the tears.

‘I’m so, so sorry, Carole. I love you.’

He put the photo, face-down, on the bed next to him. He swung his legs off the bed. He was weak from crying, from lack of food, from exhaustion.

Anthony took several deep breaths and managed to grab a hold of his emotions. He braced himself by placing a hand on the bed either side of him. The tears stopped flowing, and his mind began to clear. He knew what he had to do.

He looked at the calendar box of tablets on his bedside table. He hadn’t taken any today, and he should have had three at breakfast time, two at lunch and two this evening. He had missed a full day’s dose. No wonder he was feeling so ill. He took a pad of paper and a pen out of his bedside drawer and started writing. He took his time, choosing his words carefully, and when he had finished, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t felt for years. He sealed two letters in two envelopes and left them on the bedside table, before taking the photo of his wife in his hands and kissing it one last time.

‘I hope you’re waiting for me, Carole.’

Chapter Forty-Two

DI Terry Braithwaite was at his desk, leaning back in his chair, head slumped down on his chest, snoring gently.

The door opened and DS Kyra Willis entered. She coughed but that didn’t wake her boss. She coughed louder, and he jolted up with a start.

‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping the drool off his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I sat back to have a think and must have nodded off for five minutes.’

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, with a frown.

‘Fine. Why?’

‘You look… rough,’ she said, unable to think of a better word.

‘Thank you, DS Willis. You didn’t pass that charm school course, did you?’

‘Sorry, it’s just… when did you last have a full night’s sleep?’ She pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs.

‘Last night, actually,’ he said, not looking her in the eye.

‘Really? What time did you get in this morning?’

‘I haven’t been here long. About half an hour maybe.’

‘I parked next to your car in the car park. The bonnet was cold. I checked.’

‘Of course it was, it’s cold. It’s below freezing out there.’

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