Page 118 of Vengeance is Mine

Ian went over to the bed and sat down on the edge. ‘Terry, I know you’re a detective, and you have to arrest people when they’ve done wrong, but Harry and Barbara are my friends. They’d been abandoned by a greedy society. They saw no alternative.’

‘Dad? What are you trying to tell me?’

‘Harry and Barbara killed the bastard. They killed Dominic Griffiths.’

The visit to see his father didn’t last much longer after that revelation. It didn’t seem to matter what Terry said to Ian, the old man wouldn’t calm down. When he started crying, Terry called for one of the nurses. She took him in hand, offered to make him a cup of tea and watch television with him for a while. Terry sank into the background. It distressed him to see his father in this state. Nobody knew what was going on in his mind, and he was unable to express himself competently. Could what he said be trusted? Dominic’s killers had been arrested; the case was closed. Harry and Barbara couldn’t possibly have done it, could they? He felt sick. After Ian had settled and was in the capable hands of the nurse, Terry left. He needed to get to the bottom of this, once and for all.

Terry sat in the car and listened to the sound of the rain lashing down on the roof. He didn’t turn on the engine and didn’t bother with the windscreen wipers. He wanted a few minutes alone with his thoughts.

Ian seemed adamant that Harry and Barbara had killed Dominic Griffiths. They both visited Ian often, sometimes together, sometimes alone. He guessed Barbara would be more outspoken when she visited alone, saying how she hated Dominic for being released and how much she wanted him dead. Had these conversations become convoluted in his mind, and he’d formed the conclusion that his best friends had indeed committed murder? Or was he telling the truth? Had they confessed to Ian that they had murdered Dominic to get it off their conscience, knowing, and hoping, he would forget as soon as they’d spoken the damning words?

The image of the couple walking down the garden path came to Terry’s mind. Maybe John Wheatley had genuinely seen someone approaching the house. But he had said they were of a similar height, give or take. Harry was just over six foot, and Barbara wasn’t much taller than five foot. It didn’t make sense.

There were three men in custody, charged with Dominic’s murder. Terry had never been one hundred per cent satisfied they were guilty, but the facts were there, and they had admitted to the beating. Was it possible someone had been waiting in the shadows to strike the final blow?

Chapter Fifty-One

Harry and Barbara were sat opposite each other at the dinner table. She’d made a shepherd’s pie and loaded their plates with fresh vegetables. It was Harry’s favourite meal, and his eyes lit up when she placed it in front of him. He tucked in straightaway, shovelling in huge forkfuls while Barbara merely picked at hers.

‘They’ve forecast snow for the weekend,’ Barbara said, breaking the silence.

‘Really? I’ll pop to Morrisons tomorrow, buy a few bits, just in case it comes down heavy.’

She smiled. ‘You always prepare for an avalanche. I doubt it’ll be even ankle deep.’

‘You never know. How are we doing for candles?’

‘We have more than enough,’ she said, a stern edge to her voice.

‘I’ll get some batteries for the torches.’

‘Maybe a few distress flares, too,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eye. Then, after a few mouthfuls, she said, ‘Harry, I’ve been thinking. We’ve never really moved on, have we?’

‘From what?’

‘From Stephanie dying. We’ve sort of been living in a limbo state for twenty years.’

‘I did mention moving years ago, but you wouldn’t have it.’

‘No. I know. I don’t want to move. I like our house. But, well, maybe we could have a clear-out.’

‘A clear-out?’ he asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

‘Yes. Starting with Stephanie’s room.’

Harry’s mouth fell open. ‘Really? What’s brought this on?’

‘We’ve lived in the past for too long. As much as I like to think I feel Stephanie’s presence every time I go into her bedroom, I know I don’t. She left a long time ago. We need to move on. I need to move on. And I can’t while I’m still clinging to what might have been.’

Harry reached across the table and took hold of his wife’s hand. ‘We will do whatever you want to do.’

‘There are a few things I want to keep, obviously, but there’s plenty that can go to the charity shop or the skip.’

‘I’d better add black bags to my list tomorrow.’

‘I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I, Harry?’

‘If you think it will help, then yes, you are.’

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