A Room Full of Killers

by Michael Wood

  Matilda already had her own ideas, but she wanted to know what her team were thinking. Since the Murder Investigation Team had been disbanded and everyone was now one big CID she had more detectives under her, more to choose from. The ones who thought like her were obviously the ones who were going to be picked first.

  ‘He looks like he’s laid out on a mortuary slab,’ DC Kesinka Rani said.

  ‘Or in a coffin,’ Rory Fleming added.

  ‘My thinking exactly,’ Matilda said with a smile. ‘According to the toxicology report he wasn’t drugged; there was no sign of a struggle. He was placed on the pool table and stabbed twelve times. Why?’

  ‘Because somebody wanted him dead,’ offered one of the DCs Matilda didn’t know.

  ‘I’m tempted to say “no shit, Sherlock”, but I won’t,’ Matilda said, which garnered a ripple of laughter from around the room.

  ‘You want to know the significance of twelve, don’t you?’ Sian asked with a sly grin on her face. ‘The first thought that comes to mind is that there are twelve members on a jury. You think someone laid Ryan Asher out on the pool table and stabbed him twelve times as if it’s the jury sentencing him to death.’

  Matilda smiled. ‘Usually, I’d say help yourself to a snack from Sian’s snack drawer but it seems like hollow praise.’

  ‘Thanks. I don’t mind if I do,’ Sian opened her drawer and took out a fun-size Twix. She quickly replaced it for a full-size Twix.

  ‘In Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express,’ Kesinka began, ‘a man is murdered on a train. He’s stabbed twelve times, and the killer is twelve different people who all take it in turns to stab him. They all want their revenge on him. They all stab him but nobody knows who actually strikes the fateful wound.’

  Not another crime fiction fan.

  ‘So what are you saying then, Kes?’ Aaron asked. ‘Twelve people from Starling House took Ryan Asher to the recreation room and took their vengeance out on him?’

  ‘No. I’m saying maybe someone doesn’t agree with his sentence and believes he should have been sentenced to death.’

  Thomas Hartley was reading Agatha Christie.

  ‘But we don’t have the death sentence in this country. We haven’t done for years. And, no offence to Ryan’s victims, but there have been far more disturbing killers to kill if someone wants to make a case for the death penalty to be restored,’ Christian Brady said.

  Was Thomas Hartley being manipulative? He brought up Agatha Christie. Was he saying he knew more of Ryan Asher’s death than he was letting on?

  ‘I’m not suggesting it’s someone wanting to bring back the death penalty,’ Kesinka said. ‘Maybe the killer thinks Ryan Asher should pay for his crimes with his own life. The killer is acting as the jury. Twelve stab wounds. One each.’

  Matilda forced herself back to reality. ‘So, is this a one-off crime by someone closely affected by Ryan’s crime or is this the beginning of a lengthy campaign targeting killers?’

  The room fell silent. While serial killer cases were considered great stories from a press point of view, and the public loved reading about them, the police did not enjoy investigating them. The fear, the horror, the disturbing scenes they had to endure at the hands of a sadistic killer was not one they relished.

  ‘Personally, I think it’s a one-off,’ Rory said with confidence. ‘If it was a serial, why start with Ryan when he’s only just arrived at Starling House? Why not kill one of the others weeks ago and start there?’

  ‘I agree with Rory, and I never thought I’d hear myself say that,’ said Sian.

  ‘Christian, you spent the afternoon with the security guy, didn’t you?’

  ‘Gavin Ryecroft? Yes, I did. He’s a nice bloke. Knows his stuff. He took me through the entire system and spoke very passionately about it. There are locks and alarms on all external doors, which all have backups should they fail, not that they ever do. The codes to the keypads are changed on a two-weekly basis on different days, and all staff and inmates are searched on a regular basis at random intervals. All new staff are vetted many times before they even reach the interview stage.’

  ‘So what happened with the CCTV on Monday night?’

  ‘Gavin Ryecroft was on annual leave. There is a deputy but he’s off on long-term sick. The other staff know the basics about the cameras and all have the codes for alarms but, as nothing major has happened since Starling House opened in ’97, nobody was expecting anything to go wrong.’

  ‘What does Gavin think went wrong on Monday night?’

  ‘He has no idea. He’s checked and double-checked the CCTV camera in question and can’t find a fault. He didn’t want to admit it but he seems to think it may have been deliberately tampered with.’

  ‘And as the boys were all safely locked up in their rooms logic would suggest a member of staff tampered with the camera,’ Matilda said.

  ‘Gavin didn’t want to admit as much but, reading between the lines, he seems to think so. Also, while Gavin was showing me around, there were a couple of staff members talking in one of the rooms. When we entered, they stopped and quickly left. It could be something and nothing but I just get the feeling they’re not telling us everything.’

  ‘I’ve had that feeling too, Christian. Have all the staff been interviewed?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sian. She dug around on her desk for her file. ‘The ones on duty have been at Starling House for at least three years, the longest for five. They all have a clean record, haven’t taken advantage of sick days, never been late, or had a mark against them.’

  ‘Nobody is squeaky clean. There has to be something.’

  ‘Say this is personal,’ Rory began. ‘Say a member of staff is the killer and had a personal reason for killing Ryan. There wouldn’t necessarily be a black mark against their employment record. We need to look at where Ryan came from to find the killer.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been reading into the pasts of the killers, Rory, haven’t you dug something up?’ Aaron sniggered.

  ‘But none of the staff at Starling House come from Norwich. None of them have a personal connection to Ryan Asher. We would have noticed it yesterday,’ Sian said.

  ‘What if the killer paid a member of staff at Starling House to let them in to kill Ryan,’ Kesinka said, almost thinking out loud.

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ Matilda injected. ‘The killer has staged this to tell us Ryan Asher should have been put to death for his crimes. The less people involved the better. The killer wouldn’t have wanted to involve anyone else.’

  ‘So then it has to be a member of staff,’ Christian added.

  ‘Does anyone get the feeling we’re going around in circles here?’ Rory said. ‘Sian, throw us a KitKat, will you?’

  ‘Aaron, yesterday Scott called me and said when he first knocked on Julia Palmer’s door and told her he and Faith were from South Yorkshire Police she thought it was something to do with her ex-husband, Brian Palmer. Apparently, he’s now living in Barnsley. Track him down and get an alibi from him for Monday night.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Sian, you and Rory go back to Starling House and quiz the staff more. Start off with a friendly chat, then try and get under their skin if you can. If there’s anything about any of them you don’t like the sound of let me know, and we’ll interview them formally.’

  As the CID room began to empty Matilda picked up her mobile and made a call. Scott Andrews answered straightaway as if he had been waiting for her to ring.

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘We’re just about to head back home.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I need you to go and see Julia Palmer again. It’s leaked out about Ryan being murdered. Tell her the story is going to break later today and it’ll be all over the TV news channels. She needs to tell us where Ryan’s parents are.’

  ‘I doubt she will.’

  ‘Don’t g
ive her the option, Scott.’

  Matilda hung up and suddenly wished she had sent Rory Fleming to Norwich instead. He had a much more forceful temperament about him than Scott. Fingers crossed he would find his inner Rory.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Matilda didn’t bother knocking on the door to the ACC’s office. She pushed down the handle and flung the door open. Valerie sat up, startled.

  ‘Matilda! What’s going on?’

  ‘The press know there’s been a murder at Starling House?’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Matilda stormed to the desk and stood in front, hands on hips. She didn’t bother taking a seat. She didn’t plan on staying. ‘I got a call from a crime reporter on The Star asking about it.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Valerie asked looking nervous, probably remembering the last time Matilda had spoken to the press and landed herself, and the force, in a heap of trouble.

  ‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything,’ Matilda replied firmly. ‘You’ll need to give a statement though. They’re bound to print something in today’s paper. Once it’s out we’ll have press from all over the country descending. And not just the newspapers either.’

  ‘Yes, Matilda, I know,’ Valerie said, gripping the bridge of her nose. The tension and agony of worry was etched on her face. ‘We don’t need this right now. South Yorkshire Police has been in the news enough to last us a lifetime.’

  Matilda’s eyes fell on a book hidden beneath a file on Valerie’s desk. When she entered the room, the ACC had quickly moved things around. She squinted and angled her head to get a look at the spine. She was reading Carl.

  Shit, it’s out today.

  ‘How’s the investigation going?’ Valerie asked, following Matilda’s gaze, and clearly wanting to distract her.

  ‘What? Oh. Well, all the inmates and staff have been interviewed but there are some I want to talk to again.’

  ‘Any in particular stand out?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘How’s DC Andrews doing in Norwich?’

  ‘He’s going back to speak to Julia Palmer. She knows where Ryan’s parents are but she’s not telling us.’

  ‘Right.’ Valerie’s face was almost red. She looked tired, stressed, and like her blood pressure was off the scale. ‘I’ll give The Star a call and go from there; maybe a full statement later if a fleet of media turn up. In the meantime, I want you to make some headway on this case today. I want either an arrest or an arrest imminent by the end of the day.’

  Matilda could understand Valerie’s angst but it was hard not to take her tirade personally. Yes, the case needed to be solved quickly, but she could only go where the evidence took her.

  ‘Keep me informed, Matilda,’ Valerie called out as the DCI made her way out of the office. ‘I want to know everything that is going on. And I mean, everything.’

  In the corridor, Matilda could feel the tell-tale signs of a panic attack coming on. Why was Valerie reading the book about Carl Meagan? What was the purpose of knowing what a grieving mother thought of South Yorkshire Police, and Matilda Darke as a detective? She wondered how many other officers in the station would be reading it. She had noticed people giving her lingering glances as she passed them in corridors, hushed tones from uniformed officers in the canteen.

  This wasn’t going to go away. With the release of the book there were interviews and recaps on the case in the media. When the paperback came out there would be additional material and an update, so more interviews would appear in newspapers and on TV. If the book led to more sightings there would be pressure on South Yorkshire to reopen the case and act on information received.

  There was no escaping the fact that Carl Meagan was to be a permanent resident in her head and would forever be reminding her of her failings. With nobody actively looking for him it was highly unlikely he would be found. The seven-year-old would be a fixture alongside her husband.

  Carl, meet my husband, James. James, please take care of Carl.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Pat Campbell had stayed the night in Manchester, inviting herself back to her son’s flat. She sent Anton back to Sheffield. He hadn’t brought his medication with him, and the fish needed feeding anyway. Pat had spent the evening trying to get John to reveal more information about the Hartley case, but he made it obvious he didn’t want to talk about it. Every time she brought up the subject he had a look of faraway sadness, as if he was reliving the horror all over again. Eventually, she took the hint and probed him further about his relationship with Diane.

  The next morning, she cooked John a fry-up for breakfast, which brought back the smile she missed seeing on a regular basis. As they parted, she gave him a tight hug and told him to take care of himself. Pat had been in the police force her whole working life; she knew of the dangers her son faced on a daily basis. John told her he would be fine, then warned her not to go kicking the hornet’s nest while she played at being Jessica Fletcher.

  The taxi turned slowly onto a narrow road with cars lined on both sides. The road was built up of two rows of terrace properties – no front gardens, one window up and one window down. Pat looked closely at the dull front doors, once bright, vibrant colours, now faded from the years’ worth of pollution and car fumes. She spotted the green door of number twenty-seven and asked the driver to stop. He couldn’t pull over as there were no spaces left, so he stopped in the middle of the street. She paid, told him to keep the change, and stepped out into the cool Manchester air.

  A stiff breeze blew around her. She pulled up the collar on her coat and gave a little shiver. She looked up at the dark sky; heavy clouds were looming and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. Pat looked at her surroundings. There was nobody about. There were no lights on behind the grimy windows and dirty net curtains. The whole road seemed abandoned. She almost expected a bale of tumbleweed to pass by on the pavement.

  She knocked quietly on the door and waited. Eventually, it was opened by a frail-looking woman in her late forties. She didn’t open the door fully, just wide enough to test the tension on the security chain. She poked her head through the small gap but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Debbie Hartley?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My name is Pat Campbell. I’m a retired detective inspector with South Yorkshire Police. I’m currently back working on cold cases—’

  ‘Like New Tricks?’

  Pat smiled. ‘Exactly, like New Tricks.’ She hated that programme, but was thankful to it for allowing her gain Debbie Hartley’s trust. ‘Would I be able to come in for a while, have a chat?’

  ‘I’m guessing this is about Thomas.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Debbie seemed to think for a while before closing the door. There was rattling of the chain before the door opened fully.

  Pat stepped inside the dark hallway. There was a fusty smell of damp and dust. The inside of the house looked just as uncared for as the outside.

  Pat was shown into a small living room. The thick, yellowed net curtains up at the window cast a gloomy shadow over the room. The carpet had once been an amalgam of vibrant colours but had dulled over time. The sofa, a throwback to a time when wooden frames and green leather were in fashion, looked ready to be taken to the skip. There was nothing cheerful about this front room, nothing inviting. Pat guessed Debbie didn’t have many guests.

  The lack of life in the room was mirrored in Debbie. Tall and painfully thin, she had shoulder-length dirty blonde hair which hung lifeless around her frame. Her clothes were tatty and would have been rejected by a charity shop. Her face was gaunt with prominent cheek bones and jawline. Her bulging eyes gave her a frightened and frightening appearance.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cup of tea or coffee? I’ve got some hot chocolate if you’d prefer. I love a hot chocolate. Don’t you?’

  ‘I’m fine, actually. Thank you.’

  ‘OK. Well, if you change your mind, just say. Sometimes I mus
t drink about a dozen cups of tea a day. I love it. It’s so refreshing. Even on a hot day.’

  ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. I should have said, shouldn’t I? Please do. Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘Do you mind answering a few questions about your nephew?’

  Was she mistaken or did Pat see Debbie flinch at the mention of her nephew?

  ‘No. What do you want to know?’

  ‘What did you think when you first heard your nephew had killed his parents and sister?’

  Debbie’s bottom lip began to wobble. Her eyes darted around the room. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Thomas was a good boy. Daniel and Laura loved him. And Ruby too. They loved them both. Equally. They gave Thomas a lot of freedom. He was never in any trouble.’

  ‘Did you see much of your brother and his family?’

  ‘Yes. I saw them all the time. Their house wasn’t far from here. I used to go over most days, or Daniel would come and visit me here after work. It’s been sold now, obviously. A Chinese family live there.’

  ‘Did Laura not mind you going round so often?’

  ‘No. She said I could. She worked funny hours so I sometimes looked after Ruby. Thomas didn’t need looking after but Laura liked me being there when she wasn’t. Just in case.’

  ‘Just in case?’

  ‘Well, if they needed anything. It was nice to be wanted,’ she said with a proud smile.

  ‘Do you work?’

  ‘No.’ She looked at the floor. ‘I’d like to, but I don’t have … what is it when you’re not clever enough?’

  ‘Qualifications?’

  ‘That’s it. I don’t have any of those and bosses like you to have them. I’ve been on some courses, literacy and numeracy, but I found them quite hard. I do three days a week in the Age UK shop in town, and sometimes they ask me to go in on Saturday too when they’re busy. I like that.’