Page 73 of Vengeance is Mine

‘Of course you did. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.’

Terry cleared his throat. ‘Harry… I have to ask…’

‘You want to know where we were at the time of his death.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘When was he killed?’

‘Some time last night.’

‘Well, I was with your dad until gone eleven. I drove straight home and was back about half-past. There was very little traffic on the roads.’

‘And Barbara?’

‘She was at home all night. She doesn’t go out on her own after dark. She was in bed by the time I got back.’

‘Why didn’t she go with you to see my dad?’

‘Because I took my Clint Eastwood box set with me.’ He smiled. ‘She’s never been a big fan of westerns.’

‘Understandable.’

‘Are you thinking this was some kind of vigilante delivering justice for him being released early?’

‘I have to consider that possibility. A quick recce of the house showed there wasn’t anything missing. He had a decent-sized TV, but it was smashed up rather than stolen.’

‘You’re going to hit a wall of silence – you know that, don’t you?’

‘This is not going to be an easy case to solve.’

‘I wish you all the luck in the world, Terry.’

‘I’m going to need it.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

A dejected Terry Braithwaite walked into the open-plan CID office. He was dragging his feet, and he had the hang-dog expression of a Basset Hound. While everyone sympathised with Harry and Barbara White for having lost their daughter in such a cruel and tragic way, and people had rallied around his father when he had found the body, and for his subsequent breakdown and, more recently, his stroke, nobody had ever asked Terry how he was coping. In the past twenty years, not one person had asked how the murder of his best friend at the age of thirteen had affected him.

After the murder, he had adopted the same strategies his father had used. He bottled up his emotions. He kept quiet and retreated into the background. Upon his return to school after the funeral, he had been subjected to lingering glances from fellow pupils. It was obvious they wanted to ask the gory details, but they were too afraid to. Teachers treated him like he was made of glass, and his friends distanced themselves from the new quieter, unsmiling, timid Terry Braithwaite.

And that’s how he’d been ever since. College, university, police training. He’d kept his head down. He didn’t make waves, he didn’t stand out and he performed his duties to the best of his ability. He got results, but he didn’t get the recognition and the glory, because he didn’t want them.

Terry leaned over Kyra’s shoulder and asked her to pop into his office.

‘The Super was looking for you,’ she said, as she closed the door and sat down. ‘I told him you were informing the Whites of the murder before it leaked out to the press.’ Terry looked at her with wide-eyed surprise. ‘I’m psychic.’ She smiled.

‘You wish.’

‘I do actually. I’d love to know what you’re thinking right now,’ she said, crossing her legs and staring at him.

‘You really don’t,’ he scoffed.

‘How did they take it?’

‘The Whites? As you’d expect. They won’t be shedding any tears.’

‘Understandable. Neither will his neighbours.’