I parked outside the Goddard house and took a moment to adjust. The first time I had seen this quiet suburban street, the uniforms were putting up a tent and tape, the CSIs in their white Tyvek suits were dusting, filming and photographing. And Steve Goddard was lying dead, his body half on the pavement and half in the road.

I remembered that there wasn’t much blood. And I remembered the devastated family who were inside: Steve Goddard’s wife and son and daughter, Alice and Steve Junior and Kitty, the three of them holding on to each other as this brutal new reality kicked in and they started to unravel.

I blinked my eyes and the memory faded and it was just another suburban street on a summer evening. I took a few deep breaths and walked up the short garden path to the door of the Goddard family.

Alice greeted me with a warm, embarrassed smile. Her eyes were red raw, but she had made a real effort to regain control.

‘It’s Steve Junior,’ she said. ‘He’s got a knife.’

I found the kid in the local park.

He was in the deserted playground, sitting on the swings, puffing on a cigarette.

The last time I had seen Steve Junior was at the Old Bailey. What was he? Fifteen? Sixteen? He had looked like a young boy that day, overawed and baffled by his surroundings, his shirt too big and wearing a tie that his mum had done up for him. Now, just weeks later, he looked like a bitter young man.

‘Steve? Remember me? DC Wolfe.’

His eyes met mine and then slid away. There was some shouting in the distance and we both looked over to where it had come from. A group of boys and one girl were sprawled over a distant park bench.

I sat down on the swing next to Steve Goddard Junior.

‘Is anyone bothering you?’ I said.

He looked at me with disbelief. Then he laughed and shook his head.

‘Is anybody bothering me? Is that your question? My dad gets kicked to death and you ask me if anyone is bothering me?’

‘Since then, I mean. Is anyone getting on your case since the trial?’

I watched his eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m going to be bothering them,’ he said. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’

‘Is that what the knife is for?’

Silence.

‘I understand why you want to get even,’ I said. ‘It’s natural. What happened to your dad – to your family – it’s not fair, is it?’

‘No. It’s not fucking fair. You got that right.’

‘So what you going to do? What’s the plan? Stick a knife in one of them when they get out? Stick your knife in all of them?’

Two teenage girls went past arm in arm. They looked at me and Steve sitting on the swings and walked away consumed by mocking laughter.