Chapter 33

There was still one person Terry hadn't told about Dominic Griffiths' death – his father, DI Ian Braithwaite. Terry visited him often in the residential home he was now living in, but it was a fifty-fifty gamble whether Ian would be lucid or not. There were times he didn't even recognise Terry. That was heartbreaking. Despite Harry and Barbara being excellent substitute parents, there was nothing like the real thing, and Ian was the only true family member Terry had left. He decided he'd pay him a visit that night after work, and if his dad was of sound enough mind to hear the news, Terry hoped he'd take it in a similar way to the Whites and not descend into a deep depression.

From the police station, Terry drove to Dawn's flat in Ryton. For the purpose of the investigation, he needed to know what Dominic had been up to in the year since his release from prison.

He pressed the intercom and stood back, looking up at the grey building. He wondered if he should sell his dad's house and go for something cheaper and smaller. He didn't need to be living in a four-bedroom house. He never understood why his father had bought it in the first place. The residential home wasn't cheap, so Terry could certainly do with the funds.

‘I wondered when you'd come calling. Push the door.'

Terry raised his eyebrows at Dawn Shepherd's stern tone. He pushed open the heavy security door and made his way to the top floor. By the time he reached it, she was already standing in the open doorway.

‘Ms Shepherd. I'm not sure if you remember me?—'

‘From this morning? Of course I do.'

‘I meant from… Well, it was about?—'

‘Last year, you mean? When you threatened me? Yes, I remember.' She turned and went back into the flat. He followed, closing the door behind him.

‘I did not threaten you, Ms Shepherd.'

‘You stated, very clearly, that I was to keep away from Barbara White and her husband. Your tone was threatening. You actually frightened me.'

Dawn was stood by the kitchen units. She had her arms tightly folded across her chest. She was wearing black tracksuit bottoms and a dusky pink top. Her dyed brown hair was resting on her shoulders. It was damp, and her face was red from the heat of a recent shower. There was a scent of fragranced shampoo in the air.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, looking down at his feet. ‘That was never my intention. Harry and Barbara have been through a great deal over the years. I feel very protective towards them.'

Dawn's face softened. ‘I can understand that. Shall we put it behind us and move on?'

‘I'd like that,' he said, an awkward smile on his face.

‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?'

‘I'd love a coffee. It's cold out there.'

‘I'm afraid it's not much warmer in here,' she said, as she set about making them both a drink. ‘I've finally got my landlord to repair my boiler, but if I try and get the thermostat any warmer than fifteen degrees, the boiler can't cope, and it dies on me. Thank goodness for woolly jumpers.' She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. ‘No need to stand on ceremony. Take a seat.'

‘Thank you.'

He sat on the sofa and looked around the flat. It was basic and compact, but it had everything Dawn would have needed. There was a small table and chairs in front of the window, which she obviously used more for work than eating, judging by the open laptop and files next to it. A large-screen TV dominated the feature wall, and a table was placed beneath it. There was one door leading off, which Terry guessed led to the bedroom and bathroom.

‘Milk and sugar?'

‘No milk. One sugar, thanks.'

She brought the drinks over and placed them on the heavily stained coffee table. She went back to the kitchen area, picked up a plastic tub and plonked it next to the mug. She removed the lid, and Terry saw it was full of chocolate bars. She told him to help himself after she extracted a Mars and a Twix.

‘I shouldn't really. I've been on a big diet for months, but I eat when I'm nervous. Actually, I eat when I'm excited, scared, sad and angry. Food is my comfort blanket.'

‘Do you need a comfort blanket?' he asked, while rifling through the tub.

‘My father has just been murdered, of course I do.'

‘Sorry. That was insensitive of me.' He opted for a Crunchie. He unwrapped it, picked up his coffee and sat back, crossing his legs at the knee. ‘What can you tell me about your father?'

‘What do you want to know that you don't already?'

‘What has he been doing with his life since he was released last year?'

‘Adapting,' she said, dunking the Mars into her coffee and swirling it around. ‘Well, trying to adapt. It's not easy getting used to life on the outside when you've been locked away for twenty years. It took him a while to get used to the changes. I didn't realise how difficult it would be for him.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, he did a few courses while in prison on computers, so he was able to use them, understand the basics, but things like social media, iPhones, flat-screen TVs, self-service tills in supermarkets – that was all another world to him. I had to show him how to do everything, and he hated not being fully independent. He had to keep reminding himself that he was still only forty-one, because he felt like an old man with dementia at times.'

Terry looked away. That's what it was like dealing with his father.

‘But he managed to adapt?'

‘Oh yes. He had a job.'

‘Where?'

‘The supermarket in Blaydon shopping centre. I used to go to school with a girl who works there. I asked her if she could have a word with the manager, and he got him a job in the warehouse and stacking shelves after the store closed. It wasn't what my dad wanted to do, but we were treating it like a confidence booster, a stepping stone to something better. It gave him a wage, independence and the chance to meet new people.'

‘Did it work?'

‘He'd only been there for four months.'

‘Plenty of time to make friends.'

‘I'm not sure he did make friends. He never talked about anyone.'

‘What did they think of him working there, given his past?'

Dawn adjusted her position on the pine dining chair at the table. Her eyes danced around the room.

‘What are you not telling me?' Terry asked.

‘We thought it would be best if people didn't know who Dominic was.'

‘We?'

‘Me and Dominic.'

‘His name was splashed all over the papers in the run-up to him being released.'

‘Yes, but there was no new photograph of him – just the ones of him taken twenty years ago. Prison is hardly a health centre. He'd aged a great deal in those two decades locked away. He was unrecognisable.'

‘What are you saying?'

‘Well, we just got him the job using his middle name rather than his first name.'

‘What was his middle name?'

‘Rupert. After his grandfather.'

‘So, everyone at work knew him as Rupert Griffiths, not Dominic?'

‘Yes. It's not a crime, is it?'

‘No. No, it's not. And nobody at work twigged his real identity?'

‘If they did, he didn't tell me about it.'

‘Were there any incidents at work, anything that you can think of which might have led to someone wanting to kill him?'

‘I thought you said it was a burglary gone wrong?' Dawn said, as she opened the Twix.

‘That's one theory. Obviously, given Dominic's past, we can't rule out the possibility of a vigilante.'

Dawn closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, a tear rolled down her cheek.

‘At the back of my mind, I always feared something like this would happen.' Her voice was softer. ‘Whenever we went out anywhere together, I'd constantly be on my guard, looking around for people who might recognise him. I got a bit paranoid about it at times. I wanted him to live a normal, happy life. I didn't want anyone ruining it for him.'

‘And did they?'

‘No. It didn't stop me worrying though.'

‘How did he manage to get the house on Atlantic Road?'

‘His dad found it for him.'

‘His dad?' Terry looked confused. ‘I was led to believe Anthony Griffiths didn't want anything to do with his son.'

‘He didn't, but that halfway house Dominic was staying at wasn't ideal. Also, a few of the people there took against him, who he was, despite them being murderers themselves. A couple of them attacked him. Anthony saw the house was for rent and told me about it. I set the wheels in motion.'

‘It's nice to know he had people around who were there for him,' Terry said, though it stuck in his throat to have any sympathy for someone who had murdered and cut up his best friend.

‘I was disgusted at first, when I discovered my dad was a killer, but I could see he was sorry for what he'd done. He genuinely wanted to repent. I think he did.'

‘Despite always maintaining his innocence?'

‘Despite being unable to remember the truth,' Dawn corrected him.

‘The compensation claim,' Terry said. ‘The amount was never disclosed in the press.'

‘No. We all discussed it and thought it was best to keep as much of it private as possible. We didn't want Harry and Barbara getting more upset.'

‘How much was it?'

Dawn paused. ‘It was a million pounds. Obviously, Dominic didn't get that amount. His solicitor took a cut and there were fees to pay.'

‘Huh. But he must have received a substantial amount.'

‘He did,' she said, her face impassive.

‘Yet he was still living in a rented semi on Atlantic Road.'

‘Yes. He liked it there.'

‘Forgive me, but I've been in Dominic's house. Apart from the big TV, there's nothing there that screams luxury.'

Dawn sighed. ‘When you've been in prison for twenty years, simply having a door on the toilet is classed as a luxury. There was nothing Dominic wanted beyond a decent-sized TV and a few books.'

‘What was he planning to do with the compensation payout?'

‘I believe that is none of your business,' she said, a stern expression appearing on her face. ‘Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to spend some time on my own. I saw my father with a knife sticking out of his chest a few hours ago, and I'm struggling to keep hold of my sanity, and my emotions.'

‘Of course,' Terry said. He drained what was left of his coffee before standing up. ‘Thank you for your time. And the coffee.'

‘You're welcome.'

Dawn remained on the pine chair. She didn't move and didn't watch Terry as he went over to the front door and let himself out.

She stared at the wall, shrouded in silence. DI Braithwaite seemed like a competent detective, but it was obvious he was a man haunted by his past, a past that was connected to Dominic Griffiths. Despite it being proven that Dominic had not been in control of his own mind when he killed Stephanie, the fact still remained that he had killed her. How deep would Terry dig to find the murderer of the man who had caused so much upset in his life? Would he care all that much if Dominic's killer was allowed to remain free?

Dawn leaned forwards in her seat and rummaged around in her snack tub. She smiled when she found a packet of Maltesers. They were her favourite.