Page 49 of Vengeance is Mine

‘Come on. We’re going to be late.’ Robyn linked arms with me, and we headed for the coffee shop.

We were five minutes late.

Barbara was already sat at a table with a small Americano in front of her. She smiled when she saw me, but for the brief second before she noticed us, I saw the look of utter sadness on her face. I apologised for being late and blamed it on not being able to find a parking space.

‘I never drive into town,’ Barbara said. ‘I’ve never been a confident driver, and I panic in heavy traffic. Besides, I get extra reading time on the bus. It’s my book club tomorrow evening, and I’m not finished with Jude the Obscure yet.’

‘I haven’t read that one,’ I said.

She lowered her voice. ‘I’m not really enjoying it. You’re not missing out on much.’

I smiled. ‘Mrs White?—’

‘I wish you’d call me Barbara. We’re not in school anymore.’

‘Sorry. It feels wrong calling you by your first name, but I will try. Barbara, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Robyn. Robyn, this is Barbara White, Stephanie’s mother.’

They shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries. I went to the counter to buy the drinks. Barbara said she was fine with what she had, while Robyn asked for a large mocha and a chocolate twist. I decided not to make a pig of myself, electing for a medium black Americano.

We were sat uncomfortably in an oddly shaped triangle around a circular table. None of us wanted to be the first to get the serious conversation going. We all exchanged awkward smiles as we sipped our drinks.

‘Another cold day,’ Barbara said, looking out of the window.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Lovely and warm in here though.’

‘It was a cold night, too. It went down to minus four according to the weather this morning.’

Robyn joined in. ‘It’s been a long winter.’

‘Long time until spring,’ Barbara said.

We fell silent again.

‘Barbara, have you ever heard of Robyn Shelley before?’ I asked.

‘No. Should I have?’ she said, before smiling at Robyn.

‘She gave a statement at the time Stephanie went missing. The next day at school, in fact. She gave a very good description of a man she saw speaking to Stephanie at the back of the shops in Winlaton, but the statement wasn’t used in court, and Robyn was never asked to be a witness at the trial.’

‘I don’t understand why she wouldn’t have been.’ Barbara frowned. She was nervously playing with her fingers. ‘No other witnesses ever came forward. If Robyn gave a statement, then it was the only one, and would definitely have been used. I’m sure of it.’

‘I did give a statement,’ Robyn said firmly.

‘The thing is,’ I said, not making eye contact with Barbara, ‘something happened that we think may have been the reason why her statement was removed from the files.’

Barbara swallowed hard, preparing herself. ‘Go on.’

Robyn took a deep breath and told Barbara all about the man she knew to be Stephanie’s father coming to the house, demanding to know who she had seen with his daughter. She said how upset she and her mother had been, how he’d punched her father, and how the detective who had come to the school had been called and marched Harry White out of the house.

Barbara placed a hand over her mouth. Tears filled her eyes. She shook her head. It was a long time before she spoke.

‘I am so sorry,’ she said softly.

‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’ I leaned forward and placed a hand over hers.

‘The man you described definitely sounds like Harry, and the detective is Ian Braithwaite. They were partners. Ian was the Senior Investigating Officer looking for Stephanie. He must have removed your statement from the file to stop Harry getting into trouble. They always were close. They still are.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head as if trying to make sense of it all. ‘The man you saw with Stephanie,’ she began, looking directly at Robyn, ‘was it Dominic Griffiths?’

‘I honestly don’t know. In my head, when I think back to that day, I see someone I think could possibly be Dominic, but that may only be because I’ve been led to believe Dominic was the killer for all these years.’

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