Chapter 53

Wednesday, 1 January 2020

Barbara was late arriving at the gates to Blaydon Cemetery, where they'd arranged to meet. She opened the back door to the Peugeot, climbed in and slammed the door behind her.

‘I'm so sorry. Harry wouldn't go.'

Dawn was in the driver's seat, with Anthony next to her. All three were disguised. Dawn wore a navy trench coat and had a hat pulled down over her hair. She'd bought a pair of reading glasses from the local chemist too and put those on, amazed by how different a cheap pair of glasses made her look. Anthony wore a black beanie hat and a black coat he hadn't worn in years that he had found in the back of his wardrobe. He purposely hadn't shaved for three days to allow stubble to grow in. In the back, Barbara scratched at her head. The wig she'd found in the attic had belonged to her sister, and it was making her scalp itch. They were all wearing gloves, so they'd leave no trace of what they were about to do.

‘Will you be back before he gets home, do you think?' Anthony asked. He didn't turn around in his seat, his gaze remaining fixed straight ahead. His voice was shaking slightly from nerves.

‘I managed to persuade him to take his Clint Eastwood box set with him. They love westerns, and they can never watch just one.'

Silence filled the car. Their nerves were palpable. ‘Are we ready?' Dawn asked.

The others nodded. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the cemetery.

It was New Year's Day. Most people had been celebrating the night before and would have spent the day recovering. Traffic was light, and Dawn stuck to the speed limit. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over.

She found a space in a poorly lit street which was a good ten-minute walk from Atlantic Road where Dominic lived. She knew all about ANPR cameras and the risk of her registration number being picked up during the subsequent investigation, if she drove too close.

It was a freezing cold night, and as they made their way on foot to Dominic's house, their shallow, quick breaths formed puffs of smoke in the frigid air. It was a while before any of them spoke. They were all nervous, reflective.

‘Are you sure they're there?' Barbara asked Dawn.

She nodded. ‘I've been following Andrew for weeks, ever since Selina told him Dominic's true identity. They were going to go the other night but got spooked by a woman getting out of a taxi. I was within seconds of ringing you both when they shot off. Fortunately, Andrew seems to be one of those people who, when he gets an idea into his head, sticks to it.'

They approached Dominic's house from the back way, having to walk through overgrown scrubland to do so. When they reached the garden gate, Dawn stopped.

‘I'll go up first, make sure they're there, then you come up, okay?' she whispered.

Barbara and Anthony nodded. They both looked nervous, but behind the wide-eyed stares was a sense of determination to see justice finally done.

Dawn slowly pushed open the gate. She looked up at the house. There was a light on in the living room. Through the thick net curtains, she could see shadows of people moving around. She took a deep breath and walked quickly, but quietly, up the pathway, until she was at the back door. She placed her ear against it, listening intently. There was nothing but silence. Had they left already? She hoped not. Suddenly, a loud crash made her jump, and she slapped a gloved hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out. She heard muffled cries from within. She looked back towards the garden gate where Barbara and Anthony were watching and gave them the nod.

Slowly, linking arms, Anthony and Barbara came up the garden path. Dawn risked moving towards the living-room window. She gave the glass a knock with the back of her hand, hoping someone inside would look up and see a couple resembling Dominic's parents coming up the path.

It wasn't long before she heard scrambling from inside, and someone shouted to ‘get the fuck out'. Then there was the sound of the front door slamming shut. They'd gone. From the inside pocket of her coat, Dawn pulled out a bunch of keys, inserted one into the lock and opened the back door.

The kitchen was in darkness, but the door to the living room was ajar, and the light from in there gave just enough brightness for Dawn to see where she was going and not bump into anything. Barbara and Anthony followed closely behind her.

As Dawn headed for the living room, she passed the countertop and stopped. She carefully lifted a carving knife out of the wooden block and wrapped her gloved right hand firmly around it. She turned back to Barbara and her grandfather.

‘Ready?' she mouthed.

They both looked at each other before turning to Dawn. They nodded.

Very slowly, Dawn pushed open the door to the living room. It was a mess. Andrew and his mates had caused some serious damage, and Dawn hadn't been prepared for what she saw. She'd been in this room so many times over the past ten months, playing the dutiful daughter, but now she didn't recognise it.

She heard a muffled noise ahead and looked up. In the corner of the room, by the four-seat dining table, Dominic was slumped on the floor. His face was a mess of blue and purple bruises. One eye was swollen shut, his lip was split, blood was pouring from his nose. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing, as if every intake of breath caused him pain. Again, this was not what Dawn had been expecting. She almost felt sorry for him. Then she remembered the evidence.

She stood perfectly still, her eyes fixed on her father. He looked towards her, and his eyes filled with relief. She fully entered the room and stood to one side, allowing Barbara and Anthony to witness the carnage.

Anthony closed his eyes and briefly looked down at the floor. He breathed deeply a few times, finding the confidence and energy from somewhere deep within to look back at the son he hadn't seen for twenty years. Barbara clamped a hand to her mouth. Whether it was the state Dominic was in or coming face-to-face with her daughter's murderer, she hadn't properly prepared herself for this. Neither of them had.

Dawn walked over to her father, careful not to disturb the detritus, and squatted down on her haunches. She studied him closely and listened to his laboured breathing.

‘Can you hear me?' she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

He nodded.

‘I've brought some people to see you. Do you recognise your father?'

It was a while before he reacted, but eventually, he nodded his head.

‘The woman with him is Barbara White. The name will sound familiar to you. She's the mother of Stephanie White, the girl you murdered in 1999.'

Dominic whimpered, and a tear fell from his sealed eye.

From her inside coat pocket, Dawn took out a photograph. ‘When your mum and dad first married, your mum kept a journal of married life. Her intention was to pass it down to her children and grandchildren, a sort of historical document. She included photographs as well. This one here is of your bedroom.' She showed it to him. ‘I looked at this picture a few times, and I didn't spot it at first, but then it just seemed to jump out at me. Do you know what I'm referring to?'

Dominic looked at the photo then back to his daughter. He didn't try to say anything.

Dawn took out another photo. It was a blown-up version, concentrating on a specific part of the room.

‘Have a look now.' She held it close to his eyes. ‘Under your bed were several boxes of Fenadine. They've never been opened. You were prescribed them, but you didn't take them, did you? You never took one single tablet of that drug in your whole life, did you?'

Dominic breathed in and out, but it was causing him serious pain. He was uncomfortable and every movement hurt.

He shook his head.

‘I need you to say it,' Dawn said. ‘I need you to look Barbara and your father in the eye and tell them you never took a single tablet of Fenadine.'

Dominic looked at his dad. His gaze moved to Barbara, then back again.

‘No,' he said, barely audible. ‘I never… took Fenadine.'

Barbara turned away and wiped her eyes.

‘You lied. For twenty years, you lied and said you were innocent, hoping someone would listen and try to get you released. You must have thought it was Christmas when Clare Delaney contacted you. Not only could she get you out, but she could get you compensation too. You'd be set for life. You managed to fool everyone. But you're not a victim, are you? You're a cold-blooded psychopath. You attacked kids at school, you attempted to rape Joby Turnbull, but worst of all, you saw a happy, smiling thirteen-year-old girl, and you kidnapped her. You strangled her. You cut her body into fifteen pieces, and you hid her in your attic. You did all of that, and you knew exactly what you were doing. Didn't you?'

‘Yes,' he spat, blood dripping down his chin.

Dawn turned away. There were tears in her eyes. Her father, the man who gave half his DNA to make her, was pure evil, and he'd finally admitted it. She felt angry, betrayed, deceived, sick. With one swift movement, she picked up the knife she'd placed on the carpet beside her and plunged it deep into his chest.

‘That's for Joby Turnbull.'

She pulled out the knife and held it out for Anthony to take.

He stepped forwards. He held the handle firmly in his shaking right hand and walked slowly up to his son. He leaned down. He didn't have much strength for the thrust into his chest, but it was enough to break the skin and cause his son to wince in pain.

‘That's for your mother,' he said, his voice full of emotion. He pulled out the knife with both hands and handed it back to Barbara.

She took it from him. Despite wanting this man to pay for what he'd done to her daughter, she couldn't look him in the eye. She stepped forwards and plunged the knife firmly into his chest.

‘That's for Stephanie.' She let go and stepped back, turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

Dawn reached for the knife handle. She pulled the knife out of her father's chest and slammed it into him once more.

‘And that's for your dad.'

She looked up at Anthony and smiled.