Chapter 8

One of the best feelings in the world is waking up, realising it's Saturday and there's no work. You can turn over, pull the duvet over your head and sleep for another hour or three. And that's exactly what I planned on doing. Unfortunately, my next-door neighbour, Robyn, had other ideas. She'd obviously pulled the previous night, and the sound of her headboard banging against the wall forced me to abandon my lie-in. I had nothing against her having a sex life; I just wished she wouldn't have it so loudly.

Reluctantly, I threw the duvet back and stepped out of bed. Another cold morning. I wrapped my dressing gown around me, slipped my feet into a pair of novelty slippers and kicked the cold radiator as I left the room. I'd complained about the heating to my landlord on a couple of occasions, and it never got me anywhere. He had loaned me a portable fan heater when we had a cold snap in November, but all that did was overheat whatever part of you it was pointing at while the rest of you remained freezing cold. I was like a human Baked Alaska.

Following a huge bowl of cereal and two coffees, I decided the only way to stop my mother constantly texting me was to pay her a visit.

As it was Saturday, I was able to dress how I wanted and didn't have to look all business-like. I still wore black, but I whipped up my hair into a small beehive and added extra make-up to give myself panda eyes. I spent ages on my eyes while listening to Dusty Springfield. I had to laugh when she started singing ‘I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself'. You and me both, Dusty.

Leaving the flat, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. I might be a bit on the heavy side but I had style and, if I did say so myself, I looked pretty good.

I parked near Costa and popped in to buy a couple of takeaway lattes and something sugary for a snack for me and Mum. I missed the closeness we had always had, and I wanted it back. I didn't want to hurt Mum by looking into my father's background, but I needed her to meet me halfway and understand it from my point of view.

The door to Hollyhocks opened as I approached. A woman with a smile on her face carrying a large bunch of beautiful flowers held the door open for me. Mum really did have a great job. Everyone left her shop with a smile. Unless they'd been in to pick up a wreath.

‘Morning,' I said on entering the shop, trying to sound as jolly as I could.

‘Hello, stranger! What a nice surprise,' Mum said, with a huge smile.

‘I thought you'd like something to warm you up,' I said, placing the cardboard cup on the counter.

‘You're an angel. I was about to flick the kettle on, but this is much better.' She wrapped her hands around the cup. ‘I was going to pop around to see you later. I've found something I think you might be interested in.'

She took a sip of her latte, let out a satisfied sigh and placed it carefully on the counter. From underneath, she brought out her handbag and rummaged around inside it. She lifted out a photograph, smiled and handed it over to me.

‘I knew I had something somewhere. It took me ages to find it.'

I frowned as I examined the picture. ‘Who am I looking at?'

‘You mean you can't guess? I didn't think I'd changed that much. Back row, fourth from the right.'

I leaned in closer and squinted. ‘Oh my God, is that you?'

It was a group shot of a dozen or so people all huddled together in a kitchen.

‘Yes. You can laugh at my hair if you like.' Mum smiled.

‘Your hair is fine. I was going to laugh at your clothes.'

‘Cheek. I loved that top.'

‘When was this taken?'

Mum's smile dropped. ‘January 1997.'

‘Twenty-two years ago. Before I was…' The penny dropped. ‘Is he…?' I asked, looking back at the photograph.

She nodded. ‘He's standing to my left. He has his arm around me.'

I held the picture closer to my face and looked deep into the eyes of my dad. I should have recognised him straightaway from all the pictures I'd seen of him on the internet. But he looked completely different here. He was smiling. He was relaxed and happy. He really was a very handsome man.

I felt a tear roll down my face.

‘Are you all right?' Mum asked.

I nodded. ‘Fine. All my friends have pictures of their parents, either wedding or holiday snaps. I've never had that. It's weird. You really liked him, didn't you?' I asked, looking up at Mum.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. ‘I really did. I mean, you can see how handsome he was. But it wasn't just his looks. He was kind, too. He had his faults, who doesn't? But he always made me feel special when we were together.'

‘What kind of faults?'

‘He was very insecure. When we went out, he would always be asking me if I was enjoying myself or if I wanted to go somewhere else. He wanted to know if I was happy and if I liked him. I found it sweet at first, but the more it went on the more irritating it became.'

‘Irritating?'

‘Well, imagine you're in the cinema with someone, and you're trying to watch the film, but you're constantly being asked if you're enjoying it or if your seat is comfortable, if you can see all right, if you're too hot or too cold. It drove me bonkers sometimes.'

‘There's nothing wrong with looking out for someone you care about.'

‘I know, but it got to the point where I couldn't relax because I'd be waiting for him to check on me.'

‘Did you ever talk to him about it?'

‘Yes. I said that he didn't need to keep constantly asking me if I was all right or enjoying myself. I wasn't the type of person to keep quiet if I was bored. I'd certainly tell him.'

‘What did he say to that?'

She smiled at the memory. ‘He apologised. He said he wanted our time together to be wonderful.'

‘That's sweet.'

‘Yes. It didn't stop, though. And I didn't like how he'd turn up when I was out with my girlfriends either. It was obvious he'd been following me.'

‘Mum,' I began, putting the photo down on the counter. ‘Did you ever wonder why he went from being this sweet, insecure guy to being a murderer?'

‘Of course I did. At first, I thought the police had got the wrong man. I just couldn't believe him capable of doing something so… horrific. But, well, the evidence doesn't lie, does it? Stephanie's body was found in the loft of his parents' house.'

‘He's always denied he killed her. He said he found the body and hid it because he panicked.'

‘You've been researching him then?' she said, a heavy frown wrinkling her forehead.

‘What else am I supposed to do? You can't just tell me my dad is a killer and expect me to continue life as normal. In every statement and interview he gave to the police he said he didn't do it. His story never changed.'

‘Then why cut up the body? Why hide it in his house? How did the body get to the allotment in the first place? He couldn't answer any of those questions to the satisfaction of the police or the jury.'

‘Did you hear about a drug he was taking at the time?'

‘Yes, I did. Complete bollocks,' she said firmly. It was unusual for my mother to swear, and I was always shocked when she did.

‘How can you say that?'

‘It's an excuse. He was taking medication that ended up being banned because some people committed crimes while taking it, and he's using it as a way to reduce his sentence. It's a ruse,' she said, crossing her arms firmly.

‘Then maybe he's innocent.'

‘He isn't, Dawn,' she stated. ‘I'm sorry. I know you want your father to be a good man. I want that for you too, but the evidence doesn't lie. You work in the legal profession; you should know that. He killed her. That's all there is to it.'

‘Maybe it was one of his parents?'

‘No. When all the facts came out, there was no denying it was him. Look, this is why I didn't tell you the truth when you were young. I didn't want you growing up with this hanging over your head. I know it was wrong of me to hide the truth all these years, but you'll understand when you have children of your own – you want to protect them as much as you can.'

I gave her a weak smile. ‘I do understand, Mum. I just can't help feeling there's more to this than a bloke suddenly snapping and butchering a poor child like that.'

I could feel Mum's gaze burning into me. She was studying me, reading my thoughts. ‘You're going to try and find new evidence, aren't you?' she asked.

‘I have to.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I have more questions than answers.'

‘But who are you going to ask? As far as I'm aware there were no witnesses to the murder.'

‘I don't know. I just need to know the truth. The Dominic you tell me about and the Dominic I read about online sound like two completely different people. I need to know how he turned from one to the other so quickly.'

‘You're going to—' Mum stopped abruptly as the door opened and an elderly couple entered.

The couple wanted to order some flowers for a party they were holding to celebrate their forty-fifth wedding anniversary the following weekend. It was going to be a long discussion. I made my excuses, picked up the only photograph I had of my parents together and left. I looked back through the door and saw my mother looking wistfully after me.

While it wasn't perfect, our damaged relationship was slowly repairing itself, and I was pleased we'd been able to have such a frank and open chat. Now it was out in the open that I was digging into Dominic's background, I felt better knowing that I would no longer have to lie if Mum questioned where I'd been or what I'd been up to.

As I headed back to the car park, my next step was obvious. I needed to locate my grandparents – Anthony and Carole Griffiths. If they didn't know what had turned their only child into a cold-blooded killer, then nobody did.