Free The Domino Killer by Neil White

around the wooden chair arm, the other resting on his knee, smoke curling upwards from his cigarette. His fingers were long and skinny, nicotine staining two of them brown.
    They were the hands that had wrapped themselves around Ellie’s neck. Those fingers had ended her life, squeezed out everything that was so special, and his leering face had been the last thing she’d seen. Those hands had destroyed a family. And for what? To satisfy an urge?
    He should tell Gina. Why not tell the police? There might be the chance of new evidence, some forensic trace that couldn’t be detected all those years ago but would be brought back to life by advances in science. There might be people connected to Proctor that would remember things he’d said, whose own suspicions would be fleshed out.
    But he didn’t want that. Joe had never wanted that. His desire to find Ellie’s killer had been about one thing: putting his own hands around the murderer’s neck to let him know how it felt when your life slipped away. He wanted to see that knowledge in Proctor’s eyes and for him to recognise Joe from that day, so he knew it was about payback.
    Joe stood up quickly and said to Gina, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He looked at Proctor and forced out a smile. ‘Good to meet you again, Mark. If you’ve got any problems, speak to Gina, but you tell her all you can.’
    And with that, Joe rushed out of the room.
    He shut the door behind him and leaned his head against it. His heart was thumping hard and his collar was damp. He took deep breaths and then pushed himself away from the door. Consumed by his own certainty and years of dreams of avenging Ellie’s death, he couldn’t stay confined in there any longer. He needed air and space, room to think, so he stamped along the corridor, just to get outside.
    But he knew one thing: he was going after Proctor.

Twelve
    Claire Mason stared at the floor, her jaw set, tears streaming down her cheeks. �She glanced across to the photographs of her sons. ‘How am I going to tell them?’
    Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘How have things been between you and your husband?’
    Claire glared at him, swiping her hand across her face to take away the tears. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’
    ‘Your husband was found in a park in Stalybridge. We need to know why he was there. I know this must be hard for you, but we need to find out what happened. When did you last see him?’
    ‘A couple of days ago.’ She spoke quietly.
    ‘Why that long?’
    ‘We’d had a row.’
    ‘Enough to make you leave?’
    ‘Things haven’t been good recently, that’s all. It can’t have anything to do with whatever happened to Henry.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘Because it was just something between him and me. Something private.’ She jabbed her finger towards the framed photographs. ‘Those boys will spend the rest of their lives thinking about Henry, wondering what the hell had gone wrong. I am not going to soil his name by discussing our private lives.’
    ‘But if it catches his killer?’
    ‘It won’t bring him back!’
    ‘Where did you stay?’ Charlotte said.
    ‘Am I under suspicion?’ Claire said, incredulous.
    ‘We’ve got a jigsaw to build,’ Charlotte said. ‘We need to take all the pieces from the different parts of his life to recreate his final week. Somewhere in that jigsaw might be the answer to how he was killed. But we need every piece.’
    ‘I stayed with my sister, Penny. You’ll be wanting her details, just to prove I was there.’ She curled her lip as she said it, but then gave her sister’s address. ‘I’ll need to call her, to tell her.’
    ‘No, don’t, let us do that,’ Sam said.
    ‘But who’s going to pick up the boys? They’ll be out shortly.’
    ‘There’ll be someone along to sit with you. You’ll be able to go to the school and meet them. You don’t want them finding out from someone else.’
    Claire nodded. Her attention had switched