I assume you had hidden an empty one from the previous week’s stock. So, when Diane counted the boxes for the stocktake there was one too many.
“But what you didn't count on was Diane's regular highly methodical stock check. Normally of course, with staff members being tempted to take the odd roll home you’d expect there to be a discrepancy with too little rather than too much stock.
“When she realised and spoke to you about it you told her you would check. So you took the box with the painting out to the rubbish and probably hid the painting somewhere or maybe you put it straight into the boot of your car.
“Then you told her the stock was correct and tried to convince her she had made a mistake. But then she saw the empty box in the recycling bin and it made her wonder enough to mention it to us. Luckily it was rescued before the refuse collectors came. I’m positive once our lab has done their forensic examination the box will reveal small particles of old gold paint that’ll match the gold frame on the painting.
“I understand what this dreadful man did to you and your family and its unforgivable but to murder him in cold blood like that.”
Diane was looking on in total amazement. Finally she could stay silent no longer. "Dawn. Tell me it's not true. How long have we known each other? Tell them you couldn't possibly have done this."
Dawn looked at her. Tears had been running down her face for a while. "I'm sorry, Diane. He was responsible for Kim's death. If he had paid a fair price for the painting she could be alive right now. Because that bastard didn’t pay Mum what it was worth I've lost my beautiful Kimmy. He didn't deserve to be living a millionaire lifestyle when he knew. Mum had told him what she needed the money for yet he paid her a pittance and then made millions. He sold the painting on the same day as my Kimmy died. How unfair is that. He could have saved her. I don't regret it. I'd do it again tomorrow. I felt sorry for his partner at first but then the newspapers said they had lived together for six years so he must have been in on it. So why shouldn't he go to prison. I hope they both rot in hell.”
Tracy spoke up. “Dawn. I'm guessing when we search your house we’ll find the painting and a set of knives with one missing that matches the murder weapon, and the dog bowl.”
After listening to what had taken place, Eden phoned his boss, DCI Andy Stone, and told him the gist of what had been said and asked if he was prepared to apply for a search warrant for Dawn address.
James, who had remained fairly silent throughout the entire process, turned to Dawn. "Dawn, I can’t begin to understand how much you have been through. If you’ll allow me, I'd like to help. I know a really good lawyer and I'd be happy to pay for him to represent you. I know what you did was wrong but I think you've been punished enough. I hope the lawyer will be able to help you get a reduced sentence."
"Thank you for the offer Mr Sheldon but I really don't care what happens now. To be honest, if I hadn't have got that call with his booking I might be dead by now. Life without my little girl is nothing. I don't live, I simply exist. I might have ended it before but I believe God gave me a chance to rid the world of an evil man.”
Tracy read Dawn her rights and then led her away to an unmarked police car. As she did Eden received a call from his boss. They would have a warrant within the hour and then be able to search her apartment.
Two hours later, they found the painting in what had been Dawn's daughter's bedroom. It was on the bed with a note attached saying 'A life for a life' along with a framed photo of Kim. In the kitchen they found a set of knives identical to the murder weapon with one missing. The dog bowl was also found in the kitchen.
Six weeks later, James got a call from Eden who informed him Dawn Waterman had taken her own life while being held in prison. After putting down the phone he openly wept more than any time since the death of his family.
Epilogue – March 1965
MEMORIES OF LARRY BROWN
They say it’s the place where Brigitte Bardot frolicked on the beach in the mid-1950s. I would have been about eight at the time and my desire for pretty girls wouldn’t bloom for a few years.
Ten years later, in early 1965, my five best friends and I met Claude when he came to England to study English at the Bell School of Languages.
My friends and I met him at a party and said we planned to visit the south of France in the summer and he invited us to visit his mother’s house in Vallauris, a small village that overlooks St Tropez.
So a few weeks later, I found myself standing on the same sand as France’s most desirable sex kitten. By then my interest in girls had kicked in. The only problem was – I was ten years too late.
Roger, David, Nick, Frank, Mick and Larry (that’s me) all clubbed together and we purchased a ten year old Land Rover. My dad
