Page 109 of Vengeance is Mine

Andrew Dickens looked like an extra from The Walking Dead. He was slumped at the table in the interview room, head in his arms. He looked up when he heard the door open. His dark, receding hair was all over the place. He had a sheen of sweat on his red face and a couple of days’ worth of salt-and-pepper stubble. He had an athletic frame, and from the veins protruding on his muscular arms he was no stranger to the gym.

The room stank of desperation and sweat, and it wasn’t only coming from Andrew. It leached out of the walls – a legacy of the number of nervous interviews that had taken place in the room over the years.

Andrew had a large plaster stuck at an angle on his forehead, and judging by the mark on the bridge of his nose he was going to have two black eyes in the morning.

Terry pulled out a chair and sat down. Kyra sat next to him.

‘How are you feeling?’ Terry asked.

‘Like I’ve just spent a night sleeping in a cement mixer,’ Andrew replied in a gravelly voice.

Terry gave the nod to Kyra. She started the recording equipment and stated the people present.

‘Mr Dickens. I’m going to ignore the reason you were arrested earlier, as I want to talk to you on a different matter. Do you know a man by the name of Dominic Griffiths?’

The spine seemed to have been yanked out of Andrew’s back. He slumped to the table once again. His head was in his arms which muffled his sobbing.

‘Mr Dickens,’ Terry prompted.

Andrew looked up and wiped his nose with the bottom of his polo shirt. ‘Yes. I know him. We worked together.’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘No.’

‘Did you socialise with him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ever see him out of work?’

‘No.’

Terry and Kyra exchanged a glance. Kyra struggled to stop from grinning.

‘You know what happened to him on New Year’s Day?’ Terry asked.

He nodded. A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away.

‘Is there something you want to tell me about Dominic’s death?’

He shook his head. His face was screwed up with complex emotions. His bottom lip was wobbling uncontrollably, and more tears began to fall.

‘For the benefit of the recording, I’m showing Mr Dickens a photograph of a jacket found in Mr Griffiths’ living room.’ Terry pulled a photo out of the cardboard folder in front of him and placed it slowly in front of Andrew. ‘Mr Dickens, do you recognise this jacket?’

He nodded.

‘For the benefit of the recording, Mr Dickens nodded his head. Does this jacket belong to you?’

He nodded again and Terry confirmed this for the recording.

‘On the collar of this jacket were several hairs which we had analysed. We were able to get a DNA profile from them. Unfortunately, that person wasn’t on our DNA database, but we’ve taken a DNA sample from you so I’m guessing they’ll match. We also found a set of fingerprints in Dominic’s house on one of his dining chairs, which are a match for your prints. As you say you never met Dominic Griffiths outside work, can you explain how your jacket came to be left in Dominic’s living room?’

It was a while before Andrew replied. Judging by the plethora of emotions that swept across his face, he was struggling to decide what to say.

‘I… I liked him,’ he said quietly.

‘You liked Dominic Griffiths?’ Terry asked.