I couldn’t sleep. I never did, not these days. I never wanted to. Each time I did, my dreams would suddenly turn sour and the nightmares would take over. My dad being imprisoned all over again, me knowing I’d never see him again. I’d never know who really killed my grandad. I had always been certain it wasn’t my dad who did it though. I had expected the doubt to come soon, but it hadn’t. I knew it wasn’t him. What I didn’t know was who it was. And, therefore, no one would believe me, or even listen. I couldn’t change anything, I was helpless. Until I could find out who it was. And prove it. Their shadows haunted my dreams, just behind my shoulder, teasing me all the time. I knew that I had to figure this out, or my life would change forever, and it would be too late to do anything. I didn’t have much time.

Sitting bolt upright and slipping my grey furry rabbit slippers on, I decided I was never going to get to sleep. I slowly stood up, careful not to wake Ellie, and padded over to open the door. I tiptoed down the corridor, the silence that met me deafening, and suddenly felt a surge of sadness as I crept past grandad’s room. I backtracked and opened the door a creak. He had only been able to stay here a night, but I immediately felt him there. His familiar scent and a great sense of nostalgia hit me hard. I brushed back a tear. “I will solve this for you, I promise”, I murmured under my breath. The room was modern, eerie and quite stuffy, but it felt like his. Because it hadn’t been the crime scene, it hadn’t been disturbed much by police. So his suitcase still lay, almost full, in a corner next to the bed. It was large and daunting, yet still slightly ruffled and with his glasses case, medicine and the book he was last reading resting on the bedside table. I sat on the bed, rubbing the thick, sheet material between my thumb and forefinger and swinging my legs slightly as I let the memories take over. It didn’t last long before my foot hit a sharp corner of what seemed to be a box under the bed. I stood back up and then bent down to carefully pull it out. It was a shoebox, with a glossy photo of the whole family stuck to the lid. It had been taken a few years ago, on a holiday somewhere else. Everyone’s smiles beamed at the camera, innocent and content, not knowing how, soon, our lives would all change so suddenly. I carefully took off the lid and the contents met my eyes. It was layers and layers of his life, everyone in it, all of the big events, good and bad and all of the memories. The first memory was a picture from his wedding day, then pictures of him, Betty and Sean in their teens, then his picture from when he had served in the army, baby and toddler photos of my dad and aunts. Lori was in dungarees with the same determined expression on her face, Belinda in a flowery dress, blowing bubbles and showing her glowing smile, and my dad in a blue baby gro with a quizzical expression on his face. I giggled. But then the memories became more serious. A picture of my Gran hospitalised, a few years back, a newspaper clipping of the hit and run that killed my great uncle, one of when my grandad’s best friend had been killed in a war when they were young, in the RAF and… another clipping from a newspaper. I gasped. It was an armed robbery. Kind of recently. It was titled,“Teens rob and badly injure two pensioners.” It was dated May 5th, 2015, just a few days before my 9th birthday. The first paragraph read “Yesterday, at 4:30 pm, two pensioners, Sean and David Acton, were attacked and badly injured by a group of three teenage to young adult aged men in Brentford, armed with knives. They are currently being searched for and the Actons are recuperating in hospital. They are hoped to pull through.” And that wasn’t even the worst part. The next part was. “In the meantime, police have included this sketch (made from the two mens’ vivid memories of the attack) of the ringleader of the group. If you know any connection to this face, please come forward immediately. The men believe his name is-” Oh, no. Not that name. And I recognised that boy’s face. Instantly. I couldn’t believe it. I had trusted him. Everyone had. It couldn’t be. Luke, Renuka’s fiance’s face stared back at me, next to his name. A darker thought crept, unsure, to the front of my mind. That’s a motive. What if he’s the murderer. The one in all my nightmares. My grandad had never really liked him much. This must have been why. They had recognised each other. From all those years ago. And Luke knew it was only a matter of time before my grandad told Renuka his secret. And the minute that happened, their relationship would be over. What if that was true? What if he had killed my Grandad? Someone tapped me on the shoulder. My blood turned cold. I slowly turned round to see his face in the darkness. Luke. My whole body trembled. I stuffed the clipping into my pocket. “Um, hullo.”I began, trying my very hardest not to let the absolute terror show in my voice.

“What are you doing?” the figure stepped into the light of my torch and the tightness in my chest left immediately through a relieved breath out. “Conrad!”I let out in an angered whisper, “It's only you!”

“Wow, thanks, nice to be apprecia…” he said.

“Oh shut up,” I replied jokingly, “Just, just look at this”. I took the clipping out of my pocket and unscrunched it. He held it in his hands and gasped just like I had seconds earlier.

“That’s Luke!” He looked up at me, fear in his eyes.

“I know! Do you think-”

“That's one heck of a motive.” he interrupted.

“So, you think so too.” I said, a slight bit of happiness and pride appearing within me. I had found evidence for a motive! Conrad saw it too!

“What are we going to say to Renuka?” he said, looking intently at me and biting his lip.

The realisation hit me. We’d have to tell her. I couldn’t speak all of a sudden.

“She’ll be so disappointed. But- we’d be doing the right thing, right?”

I nodded solemnly.

“I mean, we can’t let her marry such a monster!” He was suddenly overcome with a strange, fear fueled energy. He had put the slip back now. I didn’t want to look at it. I picked up the clipping and put it straight back in my pocket. “We’ll tell her tomorrow.” I was already dreading it.