Chapter 34

‘Kyra, have you been to see the solicitor yet?' Terry asked, standing outside Dawn's block of flats with his phone to his ear. A strong gust of wind made him shiver. He seemed to be feeling the cold more lately. He was going to have to change his lifestyle. There were days when he'd hardly eat, surviving only on coffee and whatever was in the vending machine at the station.

‘No. I've got an appointment at three o'clock.'

He looked at his scratched watch. He'd make it into town in plenty of time. ‘Text me the address of her office, and I'll come with you.'

‘Something up?'

‘Possibly. Before we meet, could you do me a favour and try and get hold of Dominic's bank statements?'

Kyra had been vague about the details when arranging the meeting with Clare Delaney. She had told her it was related to one of her clients but didn't say which one. Before they entered the building of Ripley, Blumenthal and Partners, Terry checked with the station, and online, that the story of Dominic's murder hadn't been released. He didn't want Clare being forewarned. He knew how sneaky solicitors could be. Fortunately, the press was still clueless.

‘How much do you reckon they charge for the hour?' Kyra asked in a low whisper.

They were sat on Chesterfield sofas in the expensively decorated waiting room.

‘I shudder to think,' Terry replied, not bothering to whisper. ‘Don't be intimidated though. I bet, behind the scenes, the rooms the public don't see are a complete shithole.'

‘Do you think?'

‘Of course. Look at that chandelier – it's caked in cobwebs. But how many people look up? The law business is shallow. It's all about impressions. Nothing else. Don't be fooled if she starts talking about the importance of justice. That goes out of the window the moment you get your name engraved on a brass plaque.'

‘Your cynicism is incredibly sad at times,' Kyra said.

‘On this occasion, it's spot-on.'

The door opened, and Angelina led them towards Clare's office. The receptionist didn't smile once.

Clare stood up from behind her unnecessarily large desk when the detectives entered the room. She was wearing a pin-striped suit, white shirt and dark grey tie. Her dark red hair rested on her shoulders. It was huge, like a mane.

‘Clare Delaney. Lovely to meet you,' she said in a strong, deep voice that screamed insincerity.

‘Detective Inspector Terry Braithwaite. This is Detective Sergeant Kyra Willis,' Terry said, emphasising his Geordie accent.

They all shook hands, and Clare told them both to take a seat. She waited until they were seated before she did the same. She seemed to know all the rules in the book about how to give the impression she was powerful and in charge.

‘So, you want to talk about one of my clients. Before you do, I must remind you of the laws relating to client confidentiality.'

Terry was itching to make a sarcastic comment but decided against it, for now. ‘We are aware of the law, Ms Delaney. First of all, just to confirm, you were the solicitor who represented Dominic Griffiths in his early release from prison and his subsequent compensation claim against Maxton-Schwarz?'

‘I was,' she said, with a proud grin.

‘When was the last time you saw Dominic?'

She seemed taken aback by the question. ‘It would have been the day we settled the claim. We were prepared to take the case to court. That was my intention. However, at the eleventh hour, Maxton-Schwarz made a generous offer that Dominic chose to accept. I arranged the paperwork, he signed, we shook hands and that was that.'

‘On to the next claimant?' Terry couldn't hide the derision in his voice.

‘You make is sound so cold, Detective. I'm sure you're exactly the same. You arrest someone then move on to the next case. You don't go and visit the murderer in prison to see how they're coping, do you?'

He couldn't help but smile. ‘I suppose not.'

‘What's this all about?'

Terry looked at Kyra and gave her the nod.

She cleared her throat. ‘I'm afraid to say that Dominic was found dead at his house earlier this morning.'

‘Good grief,' Clare said, slapping a hand to her chest. She looked genuinely shocked by the news. ‘How did he die?'

‘He was murdered,' Terry said, almost matter-of-fact.

‘Murdered? That's deplorable.'

‘Indeed. Obviously, given Dominic's history, we need to explore who might have wanted to kill him. Is there anything you can tell us about him that may help in our investigation?'

She thought for a moment. ‘I'm not sure. I don't think so. I try not to get involved in my clients' personal lives. I've made that mistake in the past. Some start to believe you're their friend and latch onto you. When you move on to the next case, they can take offence. It can get quite ugly.'

‘So you wouldn't know where Dominic was living or working?' Kyra asked.

‘Well, we have his address on file, I'm sure. I wasn't aware he was working, no.'

‘Purely for elimination purposes, could you tell us where you were last night?' Terry asked, with a smile.

She returned the smile. ‘Of course. I finished here around six, went home and had dinner with my husband. We went to bed around eleven, and I slept until the alarm went off at seven o'clock this morning.'

‘You worked on New Year's Day?'

‘Only for a few hours in the afternoon. I have a case in court on the fourth.'

‘I hope you don't mind me asking, but was Dominic's compensation claim on a no-win, no-fee basis?'

‘Yes, it was,' she answered clearly.

‘So, when a settlement was reached, he received one hundred per cent of the claim, and your costs were paid by Maxton-Schwarz?'

‘That's correct,' she said, the smile disappearing.

‘I only ask because Dominic's daughter, Dawn Shepherd, told us his compensation was for one million pounds. Yet' – Terry made a play of reaching inside his coat pocket for the bank statement Kyra had given him outside – ‘his bank statement clearly shows a payment of only eight hundred thousand pounds going into his account.'

Clare's eyes darted around the room, while she searched for something to say. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard.

‘That's correct,' she said eventually. ‘It was a gift.'

‘A gift?'

‘Yes. Dominic wanted to give me a gift for all my help. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted.'

‘Isn't that against the rules?' Kyra asked.

‘Not at all. Providing the gift is declared, it's fine.'

‘Did you declare it?' Terry asked.

‘Yes, I did,' she replied, looking away.

‘Really? Tell me, Ms Delaney, do all of the claimants you deal with offer you a gift? Or do they not even realise they're giving you one?'

‘I'm sorry?' Her eyebrows shot up.

‘If Dominic was the one giving you a gift, then the whole one million pounds would have gone into his account, then two hundred thousand pounds would have been transferred to you. His statement clearly shows just eight hundred thousand pounds went into his account from the company account of Ripley, Blumenthal and Partners. There was no gift, was there? You told Dominic Griffiths that your cut of the claim was twenty per cent, and he accepted it.'

‘You're wrong,' she said, fingering her collar.

‘I don't think I am.' He stood up, and Kyra followed. ‘I think we're done here, Ms Delaney. I'm working on a murder investigation, and I don't consider you to be a suspect so there's no reason for us to talk again. However, you will be hearing from someone in the fraud squad, and I'm guessing the lovely people at Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs will be in touch. Have a good day.'

‘You enjoyed that, didn't you?' Kyra said, when they left the building and stepped into the cold afternoon air.

‘Call me a flawed human being if you like,' he said, with a grin. ‘I don't get much to smile about in this job, but occasionally the right situation presents itself.'

‘I wonder how much she's been creaming off her clients over the years?'

‘I wouldn't be surprised if it runs into millions.'

‘She'll go down for it, won't she?'

‘If she's been keeping the money for herself then Ripley and Blumenthal will throw her to the lions, and she'll get a very long time inside. If they're in on it too and taking their own share, it'll be so deeply hidden that they'll lie and cheat their way out of the worst of it and probably just get a hefty tax bill.'

‘I'll keep my fingers crossed the lions will have something to snack on soon,' Kyra said, with a grin.

‘Ooh, if I didn't know you better, Kyra, I'd say you were being bitchy.'

She looked at him over the roof of the car. ‘I was being bitchy. Sometimes it's necessary. Where to now?'

He looked at his watch. ‘Do you mind if I drop you off at the station? Check up on forensics then take an early night. We'll need to be bright and early for the post mortem in the morning, and I doubt we'll be able to hold the press off much longer. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.'

Her face lit up at the mention of an early finish. ‘Would you like to come round to mine for your tea? It's Matthew's turn to cook, and he's doing chicken cacciatore. It's delicious.'

‘Thanks for the offer, but there's somewhere else I need to be. Some other time?'

‘Sure.'

By the time Terry dropped Kyra off at the station, the day was starting to fade into night and the streetlights were coming on. The suggestion of a home-cooked meal had sounded wonderful. He couldn't remember the last time he sat down to a proper meal and enjoyed it. Unless he had a takeaway, his culinary skills only went so far as piercing a film lid and throwing the container in the microwave for three minutes. If Kyra had lived alone, he would have accepted her offer. A bite to eat with a colleague was manageable. But the prospect of making small talk with Kyra's husband filled him with dread. He didn't do light-hearted conversation. He was much more comfortable chatting over a post-mortem report or gruesome crime scene photos. No wonder he had very few friends.

From Forth Banks, Terry drove through the busy city centre streets, until he hit open country. He turned up the volume on his playlist and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. It was a long drive to his father's nursing home, and he enjoyed breaking the law to get there.