Chapter 38

Terry had been due to attend the post mortem of Dominic Griffiths first thing, but by the time he got off the phone to the Press Office trying to find out how the hell the story had been leaked to the media, he was too late. He was pleased. Attending a post mortem was never the highlight of the day, and when the person was the man you despised more than anyone else, it was difficult to find any compassion for how he had died.

Terry sat in his office with the door closed. He knew he was the wrong man to lead this investigation, but there was nobody else. In every murder investigation he'd ever conducted, he'd sympathised with the victim and their family and wanted justice to be served. This time, it wasn't so clear-cut.

He put his head down on his desk and closed his eyes. He had some serious soul-searching to do. He couldn't go to the Super and ask to be reassigned, because he didn't want to risk coming across as weak or unprofessional. He was a good detective, and he didn't want anything to interfere with his professional reputation. He loved the job. He needed it. It was all he had.

That left only one thing he could do, and that was to try and put his personal feelings aside and solve this case as quickly as possible.

‘I've been looking all over for you.' Kyra Willis approached Terry, who was sat at a table in the canteen. She pulled out a chair and sat down, unable to take her eyes from his scrambled egg on toast. ‘You don't look like you're enjoying that.'

‘I'm not.'

‘Eggs made last week again?' she asked, with a smirk.

‘No. I'm only eating it because I felt a bit faint. I'm not enjoying it.'

‘You're far too thin, Terry. It's not healthy.'

‘I just don't seem to have much of an appetite lately,' he said, pushing it away only half-eaten.

‘Aren't you finishing that?'

‘No.' He looked at her, as she licked her lips. ‘You can if you like.'

‘Thanks,' she said, pulling the plate towards her. ‘There wasn't enough milk for cereal this morning, so I only had a crumpet.' She cut off a few large chunks of toast and chewed.

‘How did it go on Atlantic Road?' Terry asked. ‘Did you have to threaten any of the neighbours with a taser to get them to talk to you?'

Kyra quickly chewed and swallowed. ‘No. I put on my little-girl-lost look, and a sweet old dear told me all about a Peugeot 206 seen cruising the area over the past couple of nights.'

‘Why didn't she tell us yesterday when uniform knocked on her door?'

Kyra shrugged. ‘She didn't want to get involved.'

‘So, why get involved now?'

‘Because uniform don't have my expertise when it comes to chatting to elderly ladies.' She grinned.

Terry wasn't listening. ‘What car does Dawn drive?'

‘What?' Kyra was taken aback by the sudden change of direction. ‘A Peugeot.'

‘Colour?'

‘Black. It's not a 206, though.'

‘You don't happen to know the reg plate, do you?'

‘No. It's not brand-new though.'

‘Last year, she was driving a shitty Golf that didn't look like it could get out of second gear without bursting into flames.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I… just know,' he said. ‘What I'm saying is, how can she afford a newish car, when she's on a trainee paralegal's salary, lives on her own and has several thousand pounds' worth of university debt hanging over her?'

Kyra thought for a moment. ‘Maybe her mother helped her out.'

‘Her mother runs a florist's. She's hardly Alan Sugar.'

‘Maybe her dad bought it for her out of his compensation claim.'

‘Along with the large TV in her flat.'

‘There's nothing wrong with a father buying his daughter gifts. My dad bought me a slow cooker for Christmas.'

‘What if he didn't buy them for her? What if she asked for them? What if she laid on the guilt trip, saying he owed her after not being in her life from day one? What if she asked for more, and he said no?'

‘You don't think Dawn killed her own father, do you?'

‘She doesn't have an alibi. She got home in the small hours on the first and spent most of the day in bed, recovering.'

‘As did a large majority of the country.'

‘But we only have her word for it. Look, go and see her, find out exactly who she was with on New Year's Eve and see if their stories match.'

‘Really?' Kyra asked, with a screwed-up face. ‘You're really considering her as a suspect?'

‘Dominic Griffiths isn't your normal victim. I don't believe this was a burglary gone wrong. I believe someone wanted him dead for what he did twenty years ago, and they succeeded. That could be anyone: his neighbours who took against him living on their road, his colleagues, his own daughter, her mother, even his own father.'

‘And what about the Whites?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Harry and Barbara. If we're talking motive, they have the best one of the lot. Are they suspects too?'

It was a while before Terry replied. ‘Yes,' he said, matter-of-factly. ‘Although I have spoken to them, and they have an alibi for the night of the first.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. They were home together,' he lied. But it reminded him he needed to check up on whether Harry was at Lavender House like he claimed.

‘Not much of an alibi, is it? Each other.'

‘Come on, Kyra, they're in their sixties, for crying out loud.'

‘So? Sixty isn't old. Matthew's dad's in his late sixties, and he still runs marathons. Milly Preston is in her eighties, and she's off to Cancun at the end of the month with her friends.'

‘Harry and Barbara aren't the running type. They're not the jet-setting type, and they're certainly not the killing type either,' he said harshly.

‘I'm sorry, sir, but they're exactly the type. He murdered their daughter, cut her up, and he was rewarded with a million pounds. Putting myself in their position, I'd want Dominic dead.'

They sat in silence, both of them contemplating the implications.

Terry had known Harry and Barbara his whole life. Surely he would be able to detect a change in their behaviour that would reveal they'd just killed a man. But Harry was a detective, too. He'd know what Terry would be looking for and would know how to hide it.

‘Jesus,' he said, his head falling to his chest.

Kyra reached across and placed her hand on his. ‘I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to upset you. I know how close you are to them.'

‘I'm too close to this.' He looked up. There were tears in his eyes. ‘If Harry and Barbara…' He couldn't finish his sentence.

‘I'm sure it's not them,' Kyra said quickly. ‘I was just playing devil's avocado.' She winked. ‘Look, I'll go back to Dawn and check on her alibi. We need to solve this as quickly as possible, before it eats away at you. And, no offence, you can't afford to lose any more weight.'

He smiled and remained seated as Kyra walked out of the canteen. He looked around him. Others were giving him sidelong glances. They'd all read the papers. They all knew what case he was working on. He couldn't stand the sympathetic looks. He needed to get out of the station.