He hadn’t expected to be free again for a very long time.
He reached into his pocket for the letter Helen Harris had written to him. She had dropped it off to Philip Stubbs the previous morning and asked him to pass it on to Greg. Philip had done so, unopened, even though Greg suspected he shouldn’t have.
Greg reread the letter. For the umpteenth time. He almost knew it by heart.
My dear boy,
You may know by now of the statement I am about to give the police concerning the murder of your father, and several other abusive men. For many reasons, I am quite unafraid of the consequences of this. And I want you to know that it is my sincerest wish that you live a long and happy life as a free man, and that you and your mother are able to move on from the horrors that have been inflicted upon you. Look after her for me, won’t you?
With love, Helen.
PS. When you have read this letter you should destroy it.
Greg could hardly believe what had happened. He had been living a nightmare since Saturday afternoon, when he had gone to the family home and found his father alone there, slightly drunk, and very belligerent.
They had rowed, as usual, mostly about the way Thomas treated Gill. Thomas called Greg ‘a mother’s boy’ and mocked him for being so close to Gill. Then, Thomas went further than ever before. Too far. He called Gill a whore, and suggested that Greg was in a sexual relationship with his mother. And he did so in such a foul and disgusting manner that Greg couldn’t bear to even think about the language Thomas had used.
It was then that he had taken a knife, from the kitchen knife rack, and stabbed his father over and over again. It had indeed been a frenzied attack. Once he’d started he had not been able to stop. And he would always remember the look of total surprise in Thomas Quinn’s eyes.
Very slowly, Greg stood up and walked to the river’s edge. He tore the letter into small pieces and threw them into the water.
‘Thank you, Helen,’ he whispered. ‘You will never be forgotten.’