Chapter 43

‘Do you think it'll snow?' Kyra said, climbing out of the car and buttoning her duffel coat.

Terry looked up at the greying sky. He thought for a moment and inhaled deeply. ‘I'm not sure. The wind is coming from a north-north-easterly direction at a speed of twenty-seven miles per hour. I believe the jet stream is to the south of us?—'

‘You're not going to drop this Sherlock shit, are you?'

‘I've got to get my kicks from somewhere.' He smiled, zipping his jacket up and heading for the supermarket.

Terry introduced them both to the first member of staff they saw and asked to speak to the manager. She limped over to the customer service kiosk and asked an elderly woman to radio for him and say there were two police officers to see him.

‘I don't suppose you'll let me do a bit of shopping while we're here,' Kyra said, as they waited.

‘No,' he replied flatly.

‘It would save me battling rush-hour traffic this evening if I could pick up a few mushrooms, onions and pasta, seeing as we're standing in a supermarket.'

Terry snorted a laugh.

‘What?' Kyra asked.

‘I find it funny you think you'll be finishing in time for rush hour this evening.' He turned to her and proffered a broad grin.

The manager was a Mr Roberts, according to a name badge on his shiny black jacket, yet he asked Terry and Kyra to call him Bob. As they made their way to his office, Terry couldn't help but wonder why someone would name their child Robert Roberts. Surely that bordered on child cruelty.

On the way to the office, Kyra stopped and nudged Terry.

‘What is it?'

‘Over there.' She nodded.

Terry looked to where she was staring. By the entrance to the café, a member of staff in the store's garish green uniform was chatting to Dawn Shepherd.

‘What's she doing here?' Kyra asked.

‘Well, she doesn't live far, and her mother's shop is just across the parade.'

‘Do you stand and chat to the staff in your local supermarket?'

‘This is my local supermarket, and no, I don't.'

‘Everywhere we go she seems to be there,' Kyra pointed out.

Terry couldn't take his eyes from Dawn. She seemed to be having a very familiar chat with the staff member.

Bob's office was smaller than Terry's. There were several boxes around the room and an underlying smell of rotting vegetables coming from somewhere. Bob sat at his desk. He was the older side of fifty, the larger side of fifteen stone and the shorter side of five foot seven inches. His teeth were crooked, and the broken capillaries on his bulbous nose told Terry he took advantage of his staff discount in the alcohol section.

‘We'd like to talk to you about one of your employees, Dominic Griffiths. I believe you knew him as Rupert Griffiths.'

‘Ah,' he said. ‘An error of judgement on our part, I'm afraid. I hold my hands up and claim all responsibility.' He literally held his hands up. ‘In my defence, we were very short-staffed last summer. Our hiring policy may have gone out of the window a bit.'

‘Are you saying you wouldn't have hired him knowing he was an ex-con?' Terry asked.

‘I'm not saying that at all. We're an equal opportunities employer, and we take all staff on their merits and ability to do the job. Age, ethnicity and sexual orientation play no part in how we pick out?—'

‘Calm down, Bob,' Terry interrupted. ‘You're not giving a statement to the press.'

‘Sorry.' Bob pulled a tissue from the box on his untidy desk and began dabbing at his forehead. ‘You have to be so careful these days when employing people. It's more of a box-ticking exercise than whether they have the right qualifications. There are more questions you can't ask than what you can. What I meant was: Rupert – Dominic – came to us recommended.'

‘By who?'

‘An already established member of staff.'

‘Which one?'

‘Selina Baxter.'

Terry looked up, as he thought. ‘Dyed blonde hair, slim, about five foot five, bright red lipstick.'

‘You know her?' Bob asked.

‘Do you think we could have a word with her?'

‘Of course. I'll go and fetch her.'

Bob stood up and left the office.

‘Who's Selina Baxter?' Kyra asked.

‘She must be the friend Dawn Shepherd asked to recommend her dad for the job, and I'm guessing she's the woman Dawn was talking to as we came in.'

‘She's just coming,' Bob said, as he re-entered the office.

‘How was Dominic's work?' Terry asked.

‘We had no complaints. He worked in the warehouse mostly, helping with unloading deliveries, and when the store was closed, he stacked shelves. He was only with us for about four or five months, but he was a good worker, reliable.'

‘Did he get on with other staff members?'

‘I believe so. I'm afraid I rarely get time to leave the office, so you'd need to ask the other staff.'

‘Would we be able to chat to them?'

‘Of course. I'd prefer if you did it in the staffroom though, rather than on the shop floor.'

‘No problem.' Terry smiled. ‘I'm guessing the news of Dominic Griffiths' release from prison was quite a talking point last year. How did people feel about it?'

Bob looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘How did you feel about it?'

‘Me?' he asked, his eyes darting between Terry and Kyra.

‘Yes.'

‘I… I didn't have any feelings really.'

‘I find that hard to believe. You have a thick Newcastle accent, so you're obviously from around here. I'm guessing you were here when Stephanie was killed twenty years ago. Surely you remember it.'

‘Yes. I remember it.'

‘And were horrified by it.'

‘Well, yes, I suppose I was.'

‘And therefore, have an opinion about Dominic being released early.'

‘Well, I-I-I didn't think… I mean…'

The door opened, and Selina Baxter breezed into the office, bringing with her a fragrance of whatever perfume she was wearing mixed with chips.

‘You wanted to see me, Mr Roberts?'

Bob couldn't jump out of his chair fast enough. ‘Selina, yes, come on in. These are police officers. They'd like to ask you a few questions about Rupert… Dominic. Dominic Griffiths.' He grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her towards his seat. ‘Well, it's getting a bit cramped in here, isn't it? I'll leave you all to it.' He rushed out of the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

‘Is he all right?' Terry asked Selina.

‘I'm not sure.' She frowned.

‘He seemed to get disturbed when we brought up how he felt about Dominic Griffiths being released from prison.'

‘Ah. He would. Something happened to his sister years ago. Nobody knows what, but she died, and whoever did it was never caught. I'm afraid he was very vocal when the news broke about Dominic Griffiths being released.'

‘Understandable,' Kyra said, making a note in her pad.

‘How did you know Dominic?' Terry asked.

‘I didn't. I went to school with his daughter. Dawn. Dawn Shepherd. I ran into her last year, here in the store. It was a surprise seeing her again after all this time. She's certainly changed. We met up for a drink and a catch-up. She told me all about Dominic being her real father. She never knew who her dad was, you see. It was a story and a half, like something out of EastEnders.' She laughed nervously. ‘Anyway, she asked if there was any chance I could put a word in for him here, if a job came up. We were taking on extra staff at the time. I just thought I was helping.'

‘Whose idea was it for Dominic to use a false name?' Kyra asked, without looking up from her pad.

‘Dawn's, I think. I remember her saying that it would be for the best if people didn't find out who he really was.'

‘Did anyone find out?' Terry asked.

‘Not that I know of.'

‘What was Dominic like to work with?'

‘I didn't work with him much. I'm on the tills mostly. Sometimes I supervise the self-service, but I hate doing that.'

‘You said Dawn had changed since you last saw her at school. In what way?' Terry asked.

‘Well, she's bigger for a start. She was never slim, but she's piled on the weight. And last year she had jet-black hair. At school, she was mousey, more like she is now. I hardly recognised her at first.'

‘Selina, did you tell anyone who Dominic really was?'

‘No,' she answered, too quickly. She suddenly had a shifty look about her, as her eyes darted around the room.

‘You did, didn't you?'

Her eyes filled with tears. She nodded. ‘I told my mum. I tell her everything. And I told Scott, my boyfriend. He wanted me to pack in working here.'

‘Because of Dominic?'

‘Yes. He said, if a man has killed once then he could kill again, and it would be easier the second time around. He also said, if you looked at a photo of Stephanie White and then at me, you'd think I was a grown-up version of her, and I might be his next victim.' She burst into tears.

Kyra leaned forward, snatched a few tissues out of the box and handed them to the crying girl. Selina squeaked a thank you and blew her nose.

‘I think your boyfriend may have been watching too many detective programmes, Selina,' Kyra said.

Selina laughed. ‘That's exactly what I told him.'

‘Selina,' Terry began, ‘is there anyone among the staff who took against Dominic being released when it was announced?'

‘We all had something to say on that subject.'

‘But was there anyone who you thought might take matters into their own hands if the opportunity arose?'

She looked confused. ‘I don't know what you mean.' She gave a weak smile.

‘Would anyone here have attacked Dominic, if they'd learned his true identity?'

She thought for a moment. More tears pricked her eyes. She nodded.

‘Who?'

‘Do I have to say?'

‘It would help.'

Selina led Terry and Kyra to the staffroom along the corridor from Bob's office. Bob was in there with a few of the workers, all dressed in identical green uniforms. They were sitting on mismatched chairs, chatting among themselves with a mug of tea or coffee in their hands. Nobody offered the detectives anything to drink.

‘I liked Dominic. He was lovely,' a woman in her mid-fifties called Margaret said. She had a thick local accent and a deep voice, evidence of a lifetime smoker. ‘Obviously we didn't know him as Dominic, but he was a nice bloke, hard worker, not like some,' she said, glancing over at a fat man asleep on a battered sofa. ‘Intelligent too, well read. I like that in a man.'

‘Margaret fancied him,' a young woman said.

‘Piss off, Linda, I didn't. I just liked him. He was different.'

‘In what way different?' Terry asked.

‘He wasn't your typical mouthy, leering sleaze you sometimes get working in warehouses, and trust me, I've worked in enough warehouses to tell you plenty of stories. He got on with his work and said hello.'

‘We know why he was quiet now, though, don't we?' Linda said. She was a mousey woman in her late twenties, stick-thin, with bad teeth and greasy hair. ‘He was hiding his past. My mum said, you always have to watch the quiet ones.'

‘No. He was quiet because he wanted to get on with his life. He was trying to put his past behind him. He'd served his time. You can't blame him for that,' Margaret said. ‘Can you imagine what it would have been like here if we'd known his real name? His life wouldn't have been worth living, bless him.'

‘Especially with Andrew and his lot.'

‘Who's Andrew?' Kyra asked.

Selina shrank in her chair. She'd already mentioned Andrew to Terry and Kyra in the manager's office. She gave a very brief description of his character, saying she wasn't qualified to make a judgement about him. Terry could see she was scared of sticking her head above the parapet so decided to let her off.

‘Andrew works in the warehouse,' Bob said.

‘He thinks he's a supervisor, but he's not,' Margaret muttered. ‘When it was in the papers last year about Dominic being released, he really kicked off.'

‘Did he?'

‘Oh God, yes, it was embarrassing,' Margaret said. ‘Going on about bringing back hanging and having him castrated. I told him, this is the twenty-first century, Andrew, we don't go around publicly flogging people anymore.'

‘Is Andrew here?'

‘No. He's off sick.' A man standing at the back of the room who had been observing the whole conversation butted in. He was tall with a heavy brow and a brooding scowl. He wore a navy beanie hat and had dark stubble around his strong jawline.

‘What's wrong with him?'

He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Look, don't go singling him out as some kind of dinosaur. He's not the only person who thinks the death penalty should be brought back for some crimes. I remember the Stephanie White case. What that Dominic did to her was fucking disgusting. He shouldn't have been allowed to move back around here.'

‘He was Newcastle born and bred,' Margaret said.

‘Do any of you know of anyone who would want to have harmed Dominic?' Kyra asked.

‘Stick a pin in the phonebook, love,' the man said. He crushed his plastic cup, threw it in the bin and stormed out of the room.

‘Ignore him. He likes you to think he's hard, but he's all talk. It's that Andrew you want to watch. I've seen him when he's had a few drinks. A proper Jekyll and Hyde.'

‘Where will we find Andrew?'

‘I can give you his home address,' Bob said.

The atmosphere in the small room had darkened. Terry thanked them for their time and told them they'd all been very helpful.

Terry and Kyra walked back to the car in silence. Both looked thoughtful.

‘So, what did you deduce from that? Any thoughts?' Terry asked.

‘Well, the main thing I'm thinking is why anyone would call their son Bob when his surname was Roberts. It's like me having a son and calling him William.'

Terry laughed. ‘Yes, I thought the same. William Willis. He certainly wouldn't thank you for that.'

Kyra unlocked the car, and they both climbed in.

Terry looked at his watch. ‘If you're quick, you can go and buy your mushrooms.'

‘Really?'

‘I'll not say it again.'

‘You're an angel. Do you want anything?' she asked, a huge smile on her face.

‘You can buy me a Mars and a bottle of water.'

She jumped out of the car and ran back to the store before Terry had a chance to change his mind and call her back.

Terry pulled out his mobile and opened the notes app. He'd already written Dawn's name down, but now he added Andrew Dickens and the manager Bob Roberts as possible suspects. The list was growing, but he didn't feel any closer to solving this case.