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‘He wasn’t known as Dominic Griffiths when he started work. He was calling himself Rupert. He was quiet. Shy. But he was a hard worker, and he knew a lot about football. I liked him.’
‘Then you found out who he really was.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve got kids of my own. Three girls. The oldest is the same age as Stephanie was when she was killed. I was born in Winlaton. I know all about what happened to her. It shaped my childhood. He should never have been released from prison. And he was compensated for it, too. He was given taxpayers’ money, for fuck’s sake,’ he spat. ‘He killed and cut up a thirteen-year-old girl, and he was being rewarded for it. I’m doing shitty shift work in a supermarket. My wife lost her job. We’re having to use fucking foodbanks. And Dominic Griffiths is given a million pounds.’
‘It made you angry,’ Kyra said.
‘Of course it made me fucking angry. Wouldn’t you be?’ His hands were clenched so tight, his knuckles were white.
‘What did you do?’ Terry asked.
‘We went round. Had a word with him.’
‘We?’
‘Me and two mates.’
‘Their names?’ Kyra asked, pen poised.
‘I’m not a grass. We just wanted to have a word with him. We wanted him to know we knew who he was and that he wasn’t welcome around here.’
‘So, what happened?’
He took a deep breath. ‘I think, if it hadn’t been for the compensation, I’d have been able to get over it. I walked into that house, and I saw a real Christmas tree and a big fuck-off television on the wall and a leather sofa. We couldn’t even have a real tree this year. I couldn’t afford one. My mum gave us her old plastic one. From that point, I wasn’t interested in talking. I saw red.’
‘You hit him?’ Terry asked.
‘I’ve never hit anyone before in my life. Ask my wife. I’m not violent. I don’t even like violent films. I just?—’
‘You saw red,’ Kyra answered for him, repeating his earlier remark.
‘I did. I punched him. Hard. In the face. He fell back and landed on the floor. My mate, he laughed. That egged me on, I think. I took my jacket off. I rolled up my sleeves, and I went at him again. I couldn’t stop.’
‘What were your mates doing while you were beating seven shades of shit out of a defenceless man?’ Kyra asked.
He thought before answering. Clearly not wanting to mention the names of his friends. ‘One of my mates pulled the telly off the wall. My other mate started kicking him.’
‘So, you’re punching him, your mate is kicking him… who stabbed him?’
‘None of us.’ He looked up with wide eyes.
‘Bullshit,’ Terry said. ‘We’ve placed you at the scene, Andrew. Which one of you stabbed him four times?’
‘None of us. I swear.’
‘According to the post-mortem report, Dominic would have probably died from his injuries, whether he’d been stabbed or not. Every single one of his ribs was broken. His liver was two kicks away from exploding. He had bleeding on the brain, a ruptured spleen and a punctured lung. He was a dead man before the first knife was plunged into him. You’ll be getting charged with murder, regardless,’ Terry stated.
‘No. No. We didn’t stab him. We didn’t murder him.’
‘Then who did?’ Terry shouted.
‘I don’t know. But it wasn’t us. We were interrupted. We did a runner. That’s why I left my jacket behind.’
‘Who interrupted you?’
‘His parents.’
‘What?’ Terry frowned.
