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Barbara went over to the sofa and slumped down onto it. She placed the phone on the cushion next to her and picked up the framed photograph of Stephanie. She looked down at the smiling face with tear-filled eyes. She was suddenly aware of Terry’s voice in the hallway. Why had he come here? What did he want? Barbara jumped up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen. Her mobile was on the windowsill next to the back door. She grabbed it, scrolled through the contacts and made a call. She impatiently chewed her bottom lip while waiting for it to be answered.
‘It’s me. Harry’s found out,’ she said quietly. ‘I need you to come round. Bring everything with you.’ She hung up.
‘Barbara, Terry’s here,’ Harry called out.
She replaced the mobile on the windowsill and walked slowly back into the living room. She didn’t want to look at Terry, her godson. She knew she would see disappointment all over his face. When she finally looked up, the tears came.
‘Barbara, it’s not true. Surely?’ Terry said.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, barely above a whisper.
Terry went over to her, put his arms around her shoulders and guided her to the armchair. He sat her down. ‘Barbara, tell me everything that’s happened.’
‘I don’t want to hear this,’ Harry said, making to leave the room.
‘Harry, sit down,’ Terry instructed.
‘No. I refuse to listen. She knows the law. She knows how I feel about vigilantes. There’s no excuse for what she’s done.’
‘And there’s no excuse for going into a prison cell and beating up a young man because he won’t confess,’ Terry said, looking at Harry over his shoulder.
‘What?’ Harry asked.
‘Is this true?’ Barbara looked up at her husband.
Harry took a deep breath. He walked over to the sofa and sat down. He closed his eyes and composed himself, releasing the breath he had been holding.
‘When Dominic was arrested all those years ago, he wouldn’t talk at first,’ Harry said, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘He refused to admit what he’d done. Ian was doing everything he could to get him to talk, but… Anyway, I went into the cell, and I… I hit him.’ He looked down at the floor in shame.
‘You hit him?’
‘I know. I know it was wrong. As soon as Ian dragged me off him, I felt guilty. I regretted it. If Dominic had told anyone, I could have jeopardised the whole case.’
Barbara stood up and walked slowly over to her husband. She sat on the sofa next to him and took his gloved hand in hers. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want you to think any less of me.’ He looked up at her. There were tears in his eyes.
‘I would never have done that,’ she said. She reached out to touch his face, but he recoiled.
‘The thing is, Barbara, I felt guilty straightaway, and there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by when I haven’t thought about how low I sank. If you tell me that you regret what you’ve done, I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you.’
Barbara took a deep breath and looked into her husband’s eyes. ‘If I feel regret, it will mean that I’m sorry for what I did, and I’m not. He stole my daughter away from me.’ Tears began to fall. ‘He snatched an innocent thirteen-year-old girl from the streets for his own sick pleasure. He cut her up into fifteen pieces and hid her in his attic. Imagine the pain and fear she must have gone through in her final moments. My only regret is that I didn’t get my hands on him twenty years ago.’ She spoke slowly and calmly, but anger flashed behind her words.
It was a while before Harry spoke. ‘I don’t know who you are anymore.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
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.’
