by Michael Wood
Pat smiled. Daniel, Laura, Thomas, and Ruby were obviously the centre of Debbie’s world. She literally had nothing else in her life. The box television in the corner of the room was off when Pat entered, and there were no books or magazines lying around so what had Debbie been doing before Pat knocked on the door? She imagined her sitting in the armchair staring through the window into another world, reliving her memories of her brother, sister-in-law, nephew, and niece – trying to make sense of what had happened and what had gone so horribly wrong.
‘Debbie, have you ever been to see Thomas?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘Yes. He’s in Startling House in Sheffield.’
Pat didn’t correct her. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you been to see him?’
She opened and closed her mouth a few times as if trying to find the correct words. ‘I … it’s … he killed my family,’ she practically spat out the words. She bit her bottom lip hard, holding back the tears. ‘He’s written to me a few times though.’
‘Has he? Did you write back?’
‘No.’
‘Do you still have the letters?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t get many letters so I like to keep the ones I do get. Would you like to see them?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘OK. They’re upstairs. You’ll wait here, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Debbie shot out of the room and bounded up the stairs like an excited puppy. While she was gone, Pat took the opportunity to have a snoop around. There was an old veneer wall unit in the corner of the room. She opened one of the drawers which was chock-full of paperwork, bills mostly, by the look of them. The next one down was an odds-and-ends drawer. The third one held more paperwork – this time more interesting. The headings on the letters were of a firm of solicitors based in Cornwall. Underneath them was an old passport. Pat looked inside at the photograph of a young girl. Her face was round and her eyes were bright and sparkling. The passport had expired years ago and was in the name of Catherine Downy.
The sound of Debbie charging down the stairs made Pat cease her search and quickly return to the sofa. Debbie entered, red-faced and flustered.
‘Sorry I was a while; I couldn’t remember where I put them.’ She held aloft a battered cardboard shoe box. ‘I keep everything in here. It’s my treasure box. I’ve got postcards from Daniel and Laura when they went on holiday without me and pebbles and shells from the beach and tickets from the cinema when I was first allowed to take Thomas and Ruby on my own. I love the Toy Story films, don’t you?’ she asked, looking at the ticket stubs with wide eyes.
‘Yes, I do,’ Pat replied. Or, she used to before she had to endure them over and over again with her grandchildren.
‘I’ve had four letters from Thomas. Here you go.’ She handed them over carefully as if they were fragile objects.
‘Thank you. Would it be possible to have that hot chocolate now?’ Pat asked.
Debbie’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, yes, of course you can. I’ll join you if you don’t mind.’
‘No, I don’t mind.’
‘That’s great.’ Debbie jumped up from the sofa. ‘I’ll go and make them then.’
Pat waited until Debbie was out of the room before she opened the envelopes and took out the letters. Each one was only a single page long. She lined them up neatly on the coffee table and took out her iPhone. She selected the camera, turned on the flash as it was so gloomy in the living room, and began taking photos of each of the letters. Front and back. She had taken shots of the first two when the door to the living room was thrown open.
‘Would you like little marshmallows in your hot chocolate?’
‘Yes, please,’ Pat said, frozen to the spot. Had she been caught?
‘OK. I’ve got pink ones and white ones.’ She left the room in the same whirlwind she entered.
Pat blew out her cheeks and quickly took photos of the remaining letters before turning her phone to silent and placing it back in her inside jacket pocket.
The letters were written simply. Thomas had received a good education and had excelled at English. He had purposely written in a childlike language for the benefit of his aunt.
Dear Auntie Debbie,
I hoped you would have come to see me while I waited to find out how long I have to go to prison for. I really want to see you and tell you face to face what happened. They said I was guilty. They said I killed mum and dad and Ruby but I didn’t. I couldn’t have. You know how much I loved them all, how much I still love them. I haven’t done anything wrong yet I’m going to be locked up in prison for a very long time. I want you to come and visit me, Auntie Debbie. I need someone to talk to, someone who knows me, and you’re the only person left who really knows me.
My solicitor says that when I am sentenced I will most likely be going to a place called Starling House in Sheffield. Sheffield isn’t far from Manchester. It’s only about an hour or so on the train. You could come and visit me there.
I’m sorry you’ve been left on your own but if we see each other, send letters, talk on the phone, then we won’t be alone, will we?
I hope you come and see me soon.
Love,
Thomas.
THIRTY-FIVE
Matilda was alone in the boardroom of Starling House. Most of the work to be done by the detectives could be done back at HQ, and Sian and Rory were around somewhere having a more informal chat with the staff. Matilda was left with her thoughts – never a good idea for Matilda.
She looked out of the window at the grey sky. Both sets of security gates were closed and there was no one around. News of Ryan Asher’s death had obviously not been revealed yet or the press would have arrived by now. Matilda was grateful for that, although slightly suspicious at their absence.
Her mind kept returning to Thomas Hartley. She had sent a text message to Pat Campbell to see how she was getting on in Manchester but hadn’t received a reply. She knew she should be concentrating on the Asher case, but she couldn’t. An innocent boy was living in this prison and that was causing her great distress. She wondered where he was right now: the library, the gym, the dining room? Wherever he was, he was with six other boys who had either admitted their violent crimes or accepted their fate. Thomas didn’t fit into either of those categories. He was trapped in a building full of killers and nobody seemed to care. Nobody except Matilda.
‘Snap out of it,’ she told herself.
She turned away from the window and went back to the desk she was working at. The file Kate Moloney had given her on Elly Caine was open and the woman in question was staring up at her with a blank expression. She was a strange-looking woman. Her features seemed out of proportion to her small face. Her eyes were too close together, her nose was bulbous, and the tops of her ears poked out of her thick wavy hair, giving her the look of an extra from Lord of the Rings. According to her age and height she was short and looked older than the twenty-eight years her date of birth suggested.
The date of her leaving day was just sixteen months after she started. When Matilda turned the page she saw why Elly had left so abruptly. A photograph of a badly beaten and bruised Jacob Brown was shocking. One eye was swollen shut; there was a thick padded bandage on his forehead; he had a split lip and bruises on his cheeks.
‘Bloody hell, she really laid into him,’ Matilda said to herself.
Putting the file to one side she reached for her laptop and spent the next ten minutes trying to find any record of the assault being reported to South Yorkshire Police. There was none. A minor had been assaulted by an adult. The police should have been called in to investigate. Kate had obviously dealt with it in-house and dismissed Elly Caine as part of a cover-up. It seemed Kate would do anything to stop Starling House falling into disrepute including ignoring serious crimes. If she could gloss over an assault, what else had been swept under the carpet over the years?
�
�Kate, we need to talk,’ Matilda said when she found her in the middle of the corridor.
‘Of course,’ Kate said, leading the way to her office. ‘Take a seat.’
‘I won’t say you’ve been lying to me but you’ve certainly been holding things back.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The extremely high staff turnover; Elly Caine and the reason she left.’
Kate swallowed hard. Despite being questioned about her staff and her running of the place, her iron-maiden façade refused to drop. ‘Do you have any idea what it is like running this place? Nobody wants to work here. Not just people from Sheffield, but anywhere. You should see the dregs I get applying for jobs, and I have no option but to hire them because they’re the best I can get. When they start and they see the boys staying here, the crimes they’ve committed, the way they’re nonchalantly getting on with their lives, well, it’s not easy to see, and some of the staff can’t cope with it.’
For the first time since she’d met her, Matilda started to have empathy with Kate. She may seem cold and hard, but she had to be. The people of Sheffield were against her, the media were itching for her to fail so they could write a scathing exposé, and her staff were woefully underqualified. She was one woman fighting a bitter battle.
‘Tell me about Elly Caine,’ Matilda said.
‘You’ve read the file. You know.’
Matilda sat in silence, arms folded. She had no intention of leaving this office without the full details.
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Elly didn’t interview for the job. Her cousin works here, Richard Grover. He mentioned that she was looking for work so I told him to get her to come in for a chat. We’re always looking for staff here.’
‘Did she have the experience and qualifications to work here?’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Kate admitted. ‘Not many of them do. I try my best with them. I give them training. Oliver Byron gives them training.’
‘So what happened?’ Matilda asked.
‘I think it was a clash of personalities between Elly and Jacob Brown. Elly wasn’t a strong person and Jacob found that out quite quickly. He often played up when she was on duty. When she wasn’t he was a model inmate. They didn’t get on. It really was that simple.’
‘I’ve seen the photograph of what she did to Jacob. That was a very brutal beating.’
Kate took a deep breath and swallowed hard as she conjured up the memory. ‘There was a football match on. Now, we have rules that all inmates should be in bed for nine o’clock but they’re not set in stone. During the Olympics and the Euros this year, for example, we allowed the inmates to stay up late. However, Elly took the rules too far and demanded the television be turned off at nine o’clock while the match was still going on.
‘Jacob stood up to her. She wouldn’t back down. An argument between the two broke out and it ended up getting personal. Elly just snapped.’
‘Was she in the room on her own with the boys?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was that normal?’
‘Yes it was. It still is. The recreation room is their room to relax in.’
‘What happened when she snapped?’
‘She slapped him with the back of her hand. The other boys said she just lost it. It was a massive slap and it almost knocked Jacob off his feet. Then he retaliated. He went for her, but he’s only fifteen. Elly is older, taller, and since working at Starling House she had enlisted in a self-defence course, in case she ever needed to stand up for herself. She laid into him.’
‘Didn’t the other inmates try to intervene?’
‘No. I believe they were taking bets. Fortunately, one of the other guards was walking past and heard the commotion.’
‘What injuries did Jacob have?’
‘It was mostly bruising and a few cuts. He had a bruised rib and a fractured wrist. He didn’t need external hospitalization though. We have adequate medical care here.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’
Once again, Kate looked down. She knew she was in the wrong for keeping this incident private. ‘I didn’t want the negative attention.’
‘Elly Caine committed a serious assault on a minor. She should have been charged.’
‘She lost her job. Surely that was enough.’
‘Do you honestly believe that?’
After a beat Kate said: ‘Yes. I do.’ The lie was obvious.
‘What else have you been hiding from us?’
‘Nothing,’ Kate replied firmly.
‘In the twenty years Starling House has been open you’re telling me there have been no serious incidents you’ve covered up?’
‘I haven’t covered anything up, and I resent the accusation. I’ve dealt with everything internally.’
‘You’re not answering my question.’
‘No. There have not been any other incidents here that I haven’t told you about.’
‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I don’t believe you at all.’
Kate shrugged. ‘That’s not my problem.’
‘It most certainly is,’ Matilda replied.
THIRTY-SIX
Scott Andrews reversed carefully into a tight spot on Julia Palmer’s road. Lined with cars on both sides it wasn’t easy to find a space for the pool car and they almost had to drive into the next street to find one. He turned off the radio, which had just broken the news of a dead body being found at Starling House in Sheffield.
‘We couldn’t have timed this better,’ Scott said.
‘How do you want to play this, good cop, bad cop?’ Faith asked as they walked the several hundred yards to Julia’s home.
‘No. I was thinking more bad cop, bad cop.’
‘You can’t bully her.’
‘I’ve no intention of bullying her. It’s time we stopped pissing about though and she told us where Ryan’s parents are living. The news is out. It’s only a matter of time before they discover their son is dead from the six o’clock news. That’s not how it should be.’
‘Maybe we should have come first thing instead of going back to the court to ask about that CCTV footage again. I knew it was going to be a waste of time.’
‘We have to check these things for ourselves, Faith. We can’t just take one man’s word for it that there won’t be any saved footage.’
Faith sighed. ‘Fine. But if Julia won’t help us then I can’t see any other way. Besides, if they do hear it on the news, maybe they’ll get in touch themselves.’
‘Would you?’
Faith stopped as she thought for a moment. ‘To be honest, no, I wouldn’t. If I had a son and he murdered my parents I’d wash my hands of him.’
‘There you go then. If Ryan’s parents feel the same way, finding out he’s dead is only going to make them even more invisible. We need to know where they are before they turn on the news.’
They reached the garden path leading to Julia’s home just as the front door was opening. Cynical as ever, Scott wondered whether Julia had seen them arrive and beaten them to the door to pretend she was on her way out. She was wearing a long thick overcoat that was in great need of dry cleaning.
‘You again! Look, I told you I’d pass on your details the next time they ring. If you keep badgering me I won’t bother.’
‘Julia,’ Scott began. ‘Ryan’s dead.’ He tried to speak quietly but the sound of passing traffic threatened to swallow his words.
Julia stopped in her tracks. She was midway through locking the front door. Her back was to the waiting detectives and they couldn’t see her facial expression but they saw her bow her head. Sadness? Regret? Shame?
‘Dead?’
‘Perhaps we could go inside,’ Faith said.
‘I have things to do.’ Julia buttoned up her coat and walked down the cracked path, head bowed. She passed the detectives and didn’t make eye contact.
‘Julia—’
‘No!’ she snapped, turning to face them. ‘Don’t say anything. I don’t w
ant to know and neither do Ryan’s parents. He destroyed this family.’
‘Don’t you want to know how he died?’
‘No, but I hope it was painful.’
Julia turned on her heel and was about to walk away when Scott called her back.
‘You don’t have kids, Julia, so you won’t know how it feels, but put yourself in Belinda’s position. She may not want anything to do with Ryan – at the end of the day he is still her son. She gave birth to him. She will still have feelings for him. She needs to know he’s dead, but not from hearing it on the news.’
An elderly woman passed by. She slowed as she approached them; obviously eavesdropping on a personal, and interesting, conversation.
‘Julia, I really think we should talk inside,’ Faith said.
‘Why? So one of you can pretend to need the toilet and rummage through my drawers to find out where Belinda’s living? I don’t think so. Look, I’m not going to tell you where they’re living and you can’t force me. I will pass on the news of Ryan’s death. Now, please, leave me alone.’
Once again she turned and headed off down the pavement, taking large and determined strides.
‘She is one screwed-up woman,’ Scott commented.
‘Can you blame her? Look at the lives Ryan has ruined. No one is mourning his death. Nobody cares he’s dead. So why are we sodding bothering with all this?’ Faith turned in the opposite direction of Julia and headed back to the car.
THIRTY-SEVEN
By early evening the press had descended on Starling House. At first it was only the local media. Danny Hanson was first at the gates from the Sheffield Star. He had tried to get buzzed in but his pleas fell on deaf ears. There was no way he was getting past security. He had taken a few photographs of the building and grabbed his binoculars from the glove box of his car to get a closer look, but it was futile.
A BBC Radio Sheffield van pulled up close to the gates and a young man and woman stepped out.
‘Anything?’
‘Nothing so far. I can’t see any movement at all,’ Danny said. He held out his hand to introduce himself.