Chapter 30

Rita Shepherd drove Dawn back to her shop in Blaydon. She unlocked the door and shivered as she stepped inside. It was as cold in as it was out. The scent of flowers made Dawn sneeze. Rita turned on the lights, went into the back room and flicked on the kettle.

‘Come and sit down,' Rita instructed her daughter. ‘How are you feeling?'

Dawn sat, her coat hugged tightly around her. ‘I don't know. All I know is the police aren't going to investigate this properly.'

‘Yes, they will, Dawn. Their jobs will be on the line if they don't. They'll treat this like any other murder case.'

‘That's rubbish, Mum, and you know it. If they don't find a suspect, they'll shelve it. I can see it happening. They won't find Dominic's killer, and they won't care.'

Rita set about making the tea. She took a pint of milk from the fridge, gave it a quick sniff to make sure it was still okay and poured it into two mugs. She glanced back at her daughter. ‘Why don't you have a word with someone from work? They're bound to know people in the police.'

‘They probably do, but something like this, well, the police all band together, don't they?'

‘What about Dominic's solicitor? What was she called? That Delaney woman.'

‘Clare Delaney.'

‘That's her.'

‘She won't care anymore. She got Dominic his big settlement fee, took her cut, and now she's on to the next case. I bet if I did go to see her, she'd start the clock and charge me a hefty amount for a five-minute consult.'

‘You're calling him Dominic again,' Rita said, as she handed Dawn a mug.

‘Sorry, what?'

‘Since he was released from prison last spring, you've been calling him Dad. Now it's Dominic again. What's changed?'

Dawn held the hot mug in both hands. She was freezing, and it was slowly warming her up, fingers first, then hands and arms, as the warm blood started to flow through her veins. ‘I don't know,' she said. Her bottom lip began to wobble. ‘I suppose, if I call him by his name, then it gives me a bit of distance.' A tear fell from her left eye. ‘It's a lot to deal with.'

Rita put down her mug and went over to her daughter. She wrapped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to her chest. ‘Life is incredibly cruel at times, Dawn. We have to be on our guard, because if we take our eye off the ball for even a minute, something will come along to ruin everything.'

Dawn wiped her eyes with her coat sleeves. ‘You said something like this would happen, didn't you? That it would all end in tears.'

‘I did.' Rita nodded. ‘But I had no idea it would end in someone being murdered.'

Anthony Griffiths was sifting self-raising flour into a mixing bowl. He was wearing an old apron of his wife's he hadn't realised he'd saved. As he began to mix the ingredients, the doorbell rang.

‘Typical,' he said to himself. He wiped his floured hands on his apron and limped to the door. His left leg had seized up slightly – the effects of the cold weather, he guessed.

‘Mr Griffiths?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm DI Braithwaite. This is DS Willis. We're from Northumbria Police. Could we have a word?' Terry asked.

Anthony looked at each of them in turn. They were dressed smartly in black trousers and similar overcoats. They shivered on the doorstep.

‘Oh. Yes. Of course. Come on in,' he waffled, stepping back and letting them enter the warmth of the house. ‘Go on through to the living room, I shan't be a moment,' he said, as he began to untie the apron.

He went into the kitchen and turned off the oven that was pre-heating. He washed his hands and ran his bony fingers through his thinning hair before joining the police in the living room where he found them standing in the middle of the room like spare parts at a wedding reception.

‘Sit down. Please. I'm sorry, I forgot to ask if you'd like a tea or coffee or something.'

‘We're fine, thank you,' Terry answered for them both.

‘Are you sure? It's very cold out.'

‘Honestly, we're fine.' Kyra smiled.

They both sat, and Anthony took his usual place on the armchair. ‘Sorry, I'm in a bit of a state,' he said. ‘It would have been my wife's birthday today. I'm making a cake. We're having a bit of a tea later.'

‘We?'

‘Me and my granddaughter,' he said, with a smile.

‘Mr Griffiths, I'm afraid we have some bad news,' Kyra began.

‘Oh?'

‘Your son, Dominic, was found dead in his house this morning.'

Anthony's mouth fell open. ‘Dead? Good grief. What happened?'

‘We think he might have disturbed a burglar,' Kyra continued.

‘What does that mean? Did he have a heart attack or something?'

‘He was murdered, Mr Griffiths,' Terry said. ‘He was found stabbed.'

‘Oh, good Lord,' Anthony said, closing his eyes and sinking into his chair. Something suddenly came to him as he sat bolt upright. ‘Does Dawn know? His daughter.'

‘Ms Shepherd found him this morning,' Kyra said.

‘Oh, the poor girl,' he said, slapping a hand to his chest. ‘She must be devastated. Where is she now?'

‘I don't know. She gave a statement earlier. Her mother took her home, I presume.'

‘I should go and visit.' He stood up.

‘Mr Griffiths, we have some questions we'd like you to answer before you do that,' Terry said.

‘Oh. Of course, yes. Sorry.' Anthony sat back down. ‘Fire away.'

‘Mr Griffiths, do you know anyone who would want to kill your son?'

‘I don't understand. I thought you said he surprised a burglar?'

‘That's one theory we're pursuing. However, it could just as easily have been someone who broke in with the prime intention of killing your son,' Terry stated firmly.

‘I see.' Anthony frowned. ‘Well, no, I don't. I mean, I'm sure you know about his past. He's not exactly popular, and I suppose there could be some people out there who were against him being released. Getting all that compensation probably didn't win him any friends either.'

‘What compensation?' Kyra asked.

‘I'm sure you know.'

‘We do,' Terry said, nodding to Kyra. ‘The amount was never released though.'

‘No. It was all done out of court. His solicitor is a very cunning woman. She knew exactly the right things to say and do to make sure everything was done in private.'

‘But him winning the compensation was made public, just not the amount?' Kyra asked.

‘Yes. It made all the papers. I didn't agree with it myself. He was released from prison. He should have been content with that.'

‘Do you know if your son received any threats?' Terry asked.

‘You'd have to ask Dawn about that.'

‘Surely he would have told you over a daughter he barely knew.'

Anthony adjusted himself in his seat. He looked in pain. ‘I didn't see Dominic,' he said slowly.

‘What do you mean?'

‘The last time I saw Dominic was in September 1999 when he was sentenced to life in prison. I didn't visit him. I wanted nothing more to do with him.'

‘But he was released almost a year ago,' Terry said. ‘He was living less than a twenty-minute drive away.'

‘I know. He wanted us to meet, but I didn't want to. I couldn't forgive him for what he'd done. It wasn't just Stephanie he killed. I blame him for his mother's death, too.'

‘I have to ask this,' Kyra began. ‘Where were you last night?'

Anthony gave a chuckle. ‘You think I could have killed him? I have to have a sit down and catch my breath just getting dressed in the morning. But to answer your question, I was here all day. I watched a DVD until about ten o'clock, then went to bed.'

‘Can anyone confirm that?'

‘No, my dear, they can't. However, you're more than welcome to call my consultant up at the hospital and ask if a man riddled with bone cancer is physically capable of stabbing someone to death.'

‘Oh.' Kyra physically paled. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘There's no need to apologise. You weren't to know. Are there any other questions you'd like to ask?'

Kyra looked to Terry who shook his head.

‘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.