Chapter 7

I slept well that night. Reading between the lines of the news stories, it seemed the theory was that Dominic had seen Stephanie and something in his brain had snapped, telling him to kill her. Was that due to the drug he had been taking or was it something that had always lurked in his subconscious that had suddenly risen to the surface?

The next morning, I was scheduled to join one of the senior paralegals at Newcastle Crown Court and observe the more exciting aspects of the job, but when I arrived, I was told the defendant had absconded and an arrest warrant had been issued. The court case was adjourned, and I was back to doing the filing. Typical. I'd worn new shoes for the occasion, too.

At lunchtime, I took myself to Café W in Waterstones next to Fenwick's. I planned on reading a few chapters of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, but I couldn't focus on it. My mind was elsewhere. No prizes for guessing where.

I couldn't get Dominic out of my head. My thoughts kept returning to the picture Mum had painted of him before he had turned killer. What had changed in his life that had caused such a drastic change in temperament? Was it really the drug? I was finding that difficult to believe without more evidence.

I put the neglected book back in my bag and took out my phone. There was another text from Mum which I ignored. Opening Google instead, I typed in Dominic's name and looked up more headlines. I was torturing myself – I knew I was, but until I had all the answers, it was what I had to do.

‘Oh my God,' I said. I placed the phone on the table and pushed my cooling tuna melt panini to one side.

How long must it have taken Dominic to dismember Stephanie? What was going through his mind as he cut her arms from her body then removed her legs? How could a person physically and mentally bring themselves to cut off someone's head? It defied all reason. But, there had to be one. There was an answer to every question, and no matter what Mum or Barbara said, I needed to know.

So it would seem that even Dominic's parents believed he was capable and guilty of the murder. Hardly surprising. They would have been run out of Newcastle if they'd tried to side with their son against the weight of evidence.

If anyone could tell me everything about what had gone into making Dominic the person he was, it was his parents… my grandparents. Surely, they wouldn't turn me away? I was their flesh and blood, after all, no matter what they thought of their son.

I suddenly remembered what Mum had told me about Carole Griffiths – how she had come to the house screaming and ranting when she discovered Mum was pregnant. She had been a volatile woman back then. Hopefully, age would have mellowed her, but how would dealing with finding out her son was a murderer have affected her personality over the years?

The meeting with Barbara and Harry had gone well, despite a few hiccoughs, but how would it go with my grandparents? How would they react to the granddaughter they had never known turning up on the doorstep demanding to know about her father? There was only one way to find out, but I shuddered at the prospect of facing their rejection. Mum might have liked to say I was confident, but a lot of it was just for show. If it wasn't for the layer of make-up I hid myself behind, I'd have been a gibbering wreck.

I took out the list of people I wanted to talk to about Dominic and ticked off Harry and Barbara. It had been lovely to see Mrs White again after all those years. I hoped I would get another chance to see her, maybe with less crying next time.

I decided to put the list in my phone. I opened the notes app and typed their names in. At the bottom of the list, I hesitated. What the hell, it's only for my reference, and I don't have to go through with it if I don't want to. I quickly typed ‘meet my dad' before I could change my mind.