Yvette unfolds the paper and then flattens it down on the table, removing the crease in the middle. This is her time of the day. She sits back in her chair and puts her slippers up on her husband's chair. Her eyes scan the front page. Her hand droops. Body goes cold. She is only awoken from her trance by the warm tea that trickles down her arm.
She wipes away the drink with her hand, then tugs at her hair, head bowed over the paper like she is praying.
"Morning, love."
Yvette springs up like she has seen a ghost. Where did he come from? Normally she hears her husband's footsteps as he comes down the stairs in the morning. Now he stands in their kitchen, crisp sky-blue shirt tucked into his slacks and tie straining his collar. He leans down and kisses her on the temple. She squeezes his hand. Yvette pushes the newspaper across the table. She wants to throw it in the bin. She has only read the front page.
"There has been a murder. A couple have been stabbed to death in their own home."
"In their home? How did he get in? Did he break in?" Gordon asks.
"From what I can make out, the newspaper is saying the couple likely invited the killer into their home to partake in - you know - well, to have sex..."
"Oh. I see. That type of couple. Where did it happen?"
"Cardiff. Ely."
"Jesus," Gordon says. Yvette knew what he was thinking. This was the morning paper. The afternoon paper was supposed to provide the local news. This was big news. "It's one thing when these things happen on the other side of the world, another when they happen on your doorstep. When did it happen?"
"The early hours of Wednesday morning. First of the month. What a way to start June," Yvette says.
Gordon thumbs the words on the page. His silver eyebrows become one, the lines on his forehead form an upside down triangle.
"I know they weren't youngsters, that they were in their forties, but I still can't help but think," Yvette says. "Everybody has a story to tell, Gordon. Somebody has still probably lost a daughter and a son. What was the need? There was none. No need at all..."
Gordon rubs her shoulders with his long fingers. He knows exactly what she is thinking, too. They'd been a couple since school and he knows her thoughts before she even thinks them. He follows her eyes, fixed on the photograph on the windowsill. Two boys. One is ten and the other is eight. The older boy has his arm around his younger brother. Yvette dabs her eye with her finger. The best of friends. Went everywhere together. And Luke was so protective of his younger brother, always fighting his corner. Luke would have been twenty now had it not been for the leukaemia; had that wicked, wicked disease not taken him away. Not a day goes past without Yvette wondering what he would be like now. What would he look like? Would he have a girlfriend? A job? She knew, though - just knew - that the two boys would still be the best of friends.
His little brother had grown up, of course. Had only one year left before he headed off to university. They needed to talk to him about that. They needed to make sure that was what he really wanted to do. She didn't really mind what he did with his life so long as he was happy: she hated the thought that he could possibly be unhappy.
Yvette can't bear the silence in the room, the thoughts that fill both their minds."It gets worse," Yvette says, filling the void. "South Wales Police have put this detective on the case, DCI Baldwin. He thinks that this is likely to be only the beginning of the killings."
She watches her husband's reflection in the kitchen window, his face strained, searching for the right words. "He can't possibly know that, dear. They don't even know the motive. Maybe it was a personal vendetta? People don't kill for no reason. Besides, I'm sure the police will catch him before he can do any more damage."
Yvette looks up at Gordon and manages to smile. "Anyway," she says, "any sign of that son of ours?"
Gordon shakes his head. "Not yet."
"That boy is getting up later and later. We can't let things slip now. He spends too much time in that room of his. It isn't healthy. We need to have a word with him."
"I'll speak to him, Yvette."
She squeezes his hand. She wants to see her little boy more than ever this morning, just to know he is safe. She worries when he is asleep, worries that he will never wake up. Her husband leaves the room, stands at the bottom of the stairs, gently shouts to Jeffrey that it is time to get up.
DAY FOUR 4TH JUNE 2018
The poster on the wall is split equally in two, cut in a straight line down the middle. The one side is blue and gives a list of incidents when you should call 101. The other side is red and gives a list of incidents when you should call 999. Both lists are extensive. I can't help but think that, by the time I'd decided which number to call, the burglar has probably already escaped with the jewels. I glance around the walls and hope to find mug shots of wanted villains. No such luck. There is not much else to do and the urge to look at the walls is
