by Michael Wood
‘Glenis Bishop and Leroy Price.’
‘Nice to meet you.’
‘What do you know about Starling House?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Danny replied. ‘I’d never heard about it until this afternoon.’
‘I had, but I’m Sheffield born and bred. I had to give Leroy here a quick history lesson on the way over.’
‘I had a look on the Net while I was waiting but there’s not much information.’
‘There won’t be. That building is the original mystery house. Frankenstein could be creating monsters in there and we wouldn’t know about it,’ Glenis smiled.
After an hour of waiting for something to happen, and watching a building shrouded in silence and mystery, another news van pulled up. This time, a man climbed out and unloaded his camera equipment from the back. A reporter from BBC Look North smartened herself up, and prepared her piece to camera. By dusk news vehicles from BBC national news, ITN, and Sky had pulled up, blocking the entrance to Starling House.
There was nothing more from the police, no statement from Starling House, and no sign of anything going on behind those thick stone walls.
‘How long do you plan on staying?’ Glenis asked Danny.
‘Not much longer. It’s going to piss it down tonight by all accounts, and I’ve no intention of catching pneumonia. You?’
‘We’re heading off in a bit. I think if Starling House was going to give a statement they’d have done it by now. Maybe they’re waiting until the next of kin have been informed. It’ll probably be tomorrow before we hear anything.’
‘I think I’ll have a chat with a few of the television boys then head back myself. I might give them my CV.’ He smiled.
Inside, Kate Moloney was looking out of one of the barred windows in her office. She couldn’t move from watching the country’s press gather at the gates. She bit her bottom lip furiously, a nervous habit. There was a knock on the office door and she almost screamed out as she jumped.
‘Come in,’ she called.
Oliver Byron entered. He looked tired. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie askew. ‘You’ve seen the press then?’
‘Yes. I’ve had several emails and phone calls too. Not that I’ve answered any.’
‘Are you going to give a statement?’
‘I’ve had a word with DCI Darke. They still haven’t been able to locate Ryan Asher’s parents. Until they do she recommends we keep this to ourselves.’
‘But our shifts finish tomorrow afternoon. There will be new staff arriving and us leaving. We’ll have to pass the press. They’ll ask questions.’
‘And you’ll ignore them, Oliver,’ Kate raised her voice. ‘Look, I don’t have time for this right now.’ The phone started ringing. Kate had to shout to drown out the sound. ‘I have no intention of talking to the press yet, and I don’t want anyone from here doing so either. Now you go and tell the rest of the staff to keep their mouths shut.’
‘Is everything OK, Kate?’ he asked, a worried frown etched on his face.
‘Oliver, concentrate on your own work. Now get out. Go on.’
The phone stopped ringing, and Kate turned back to look out of the window, just in time to see yet another news van pull up.
‘Shit,’ she said under her breath.
She turned her back to the window and saw Oliver still standing in the doorway. ‘What are you still doing here? I told you to leave,’ she shouted.
Reluctantly, he left, closing the door firmly behind him. Kate returned to her desk and slumped into the chair. For years she had told herself she was calm, cool, and composed during a crisis. Now one had actually happened and she couldn’t cope. She was clueless. The phone started ringing again. Kate jumped, picked it up and threw it to the other side of the room with as much force as she could muster. It smashed against the wall and stopped ringing.
She sat down in the leather seat and looked ahead. On the far wall was a framed photograph: an aerial shot of Starling House. She had always liked the picture, taken on a sunny day in mid-summer. Now, she looked at it with scorn. The realization dawned. She hated Starling House and every single person in it.
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘Welcome back. Did you buy me a present?’ Rory asked when he saw Scott and Faith slink into CID.
The drive back from Norwich had been a long and painfully slow one as the motorway was reduced to just two lanes of traffic for several miles due to road works. Scott had tried to engage Faith in conversation and deliberate on whether Julia Palmer would contact Ryan’s parents about his death but Faith’s replies were mere grunts, and she spent the majority of the journey rapidly texting on her phone.
‘A present? From Norwich? Hardly,’ Scott said, slumping down in his seat.
‘Was it a productive visit?’ Sian asked.
‘Not really. We don’t know where Ryan’s parents are and the mysterious bloke at his trial is still a mystery. We’ve basically just had a night away in a dull hotel room with a flavourless curry and worn down four perfectly good tyres.’
‘You wouldn’t recommend Norwich as a holiday destination then?’
‘There were some lovely open areas to go walking but we weren’t there for that.’
‘Faith,’ Rory began with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was about to be embarrassing. ‘Was there a mix-up with the hotel rooms and you had to spend the night with Scott?’
‘No,’
‘Did he “accidentally” open your door in the middle of the night thinking it was the bathroom and climb into bed with you?’
‘No, Rory, he didn’t.’
‘Did he knock on your door and ask if you were lonely?’ He grinned.
‘Oh for goodness’ sake. Not every bloke is a chancer like you, Rory.’
‘Bloody hell, Scott, do you put bromide in your tea? What’s wrong with you, man?’
‘Drop it, Rory,’ Sian spoke up as Matilda entered the room.
The room fell silent while Matilda brought them all up to speed on the events of the day. The investigation was still no further forward but Matilda believed Kate Moloney’s recent outburst was a sign that all was not well at Starling House. It had convinced her that a member of staff was the killer of Ryan Asher rather than a fellow inmate.
‘Aaron, tomorrow morning I want you to track down Elly Caine. Bring her in and formally interview her. I want to know where she was on Monday night. Run her through the computer too. I want to know if she’s been in trouble in the past. Does she still keep in touch with any of the staff working at Starling House?’
‘Will do,’ he said, making a note in his pad. ‘By the way, Julia Palmer’s ex, Brian, has an alibi for Monday night. He’s currently in Malta with his new wife.’
‘I’m beginning to wish I was in Malta,’ Matilda said. ‘Scott, Faith, thank you for your efforts in Norwich, and I’m sorry they didn’t amount to much. You never know though, Ryan’s parents may call in. Faith, take over from Rory and keep looking into the family’s past. I still think there is something lurking in there that’s led to him being killed. Maybe check in with his schoolteachers. I doubt we can afford to send you back to Norwich but give them a call and send a local uniform round if you need to.’
‘OK.’
‘Sian, how did you get on talking to the other staff at Starling House this afternoon?’
‘They are a real mixed bunch. None of them seem to get on with each other. The atmosphere in the staffroom was practically arctic. They don’t mingle; they don’t chat; they don’t joke. It’s a very dark place to work.’
‘In what way “dark”?’
‘There’s no interaction. The officers just work there. They do their shifts, take their breaks, eat their lunch, then go to their rooms. Everything is so structured and orderly. They’re a group of people thrown together and they’ve no idea how to get on with each other. It’s like Big Brother but without the laughs. Not that I watch it,’ she quickly added.
‘Did any of them say anythi
ng about another member of staff to give you cause for concern?’
‘Not really. There are a couple who think capital punishment should be brought back for the serious criminals but nothing militant about them.’
‘No racism or bullying among the staff?’
‘No. Nothing. All very dull and boring, I’m afraid. I’ve got the sneaky feeling I’ve missed something though and it’s annoying me. It could be the atmosphere or me reading too much into it but I get the impression someone is hiding something they don’t want getting out.’
‘They could all be worried about the Elly Caine story.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. Maybe it’s just Rory’s deep thinking that’s rubbing off on me,’ Sian said, which raised a laugh from around the room. ‘Let me have a think tonight and I’ll get back to you in the morning.’
Matilda’s phone burst into life with the sound of a breaking news alert. She fished it out of her pocket and looked at the lit-up screen. ‘Fuck!’
The entire room stopped. The look of horror on her face told them everything they needed to know.
BBC BREAKING NEWS
Ryan Asher, 15-year-old killer, has been murdered at Starling House, the maximum security youth prison in Sheffield, South Yorkshire. More to follow.
THIRTY-NINE
The breaking news had sent Matilda charging up to the ACC’s office to tell Valerie of the leak before she found out from another source. However, as soon as Matilda saw the pale look on her boss’s face, she knew she had been beaten.
‘I’ve already heard,’ Valerie raised a hand to stop Matilda in her tracks. ‘I just want to know how it was leaked and who leaked it?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Matilda replied, breathless. She thought her daily jogs on the treadmill were benefiting her legs but taking the stairs two at a time wasn’t the same thing. Her thighs ached. ‘I can say, hand on heart, that it was not one of my team.’
Valerie nodded. ‘I believe you. It must have been someone from Starling House.’
‘The longer we spend there the weirder the place becomes. I had a very succinct chat with Kate Moloney today. I’m surprised she hasn’t had a stroke with the amount of pressure she puts herself under.’
‘You don’t think she’s fit to run the place?’ Valerie asked, eyebrows raised.
‘I’m not saying that.’ Yes I am. ‘I’m just surprised that it’s not inspected regularly. I know people don’t want Starling House on their doorstep but do Sheffield City Council actually monitor the place? Does anyone?’
‘It’s a private company who runs it.’
‘But it’s housing convicted killers. Surely the Home Office should have some involvement.’
‘I’m sure it does. However, the day-to-day running of the place is down to Kate Moloney.’
‘So who monitors her?’
The question went unanswered. As Matilda drove slowly through the congested streets of Sheffield, she went over the same question again and again.
Starling House was owned by a private security company based in Northern Ireland. They were, in effect, Kate’s bosses. How much of an input did they have in what went on behind those thick walls? Did they just hand over a budget every month and allow Kate to do with it whatever she liked? If so, should one person really have that much power and influence over convicted killers? It was a scary thought. Something else to check out tomorrow.
Matilda had hoped to get home before her guests arrived so she could have a quick shower and change her clothes. The two cars in her driveway told a different story. She unlocked the front door, and the sound of laughter coming from the living room was evidence she was late to her own party.
‘We let ourselves in. I hope you don’t mind?’ Adele said.
‘No, not at all. That’s what your key’s for.’
Adele Kean and Pat Campbell were sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine each. The log fire had been lit and there was a cosy feeling about the place. Matilda couldn’t remember the last time she had lit the fire. There didn’t seem much point in lighting a fire just for one. Whenever she was cold she either put on one of James’s big sweaters or went to bed early.
‘Adele gave me the guided tour. It’s a gorgeous house, Matilda,’ Pat said, looking around the living room.
‘Thanks. I like it,’ she said, her smile wistful as she thought of the man who had built it.
‘Great library too.’
‘You want it?’
‘Anton would kill me. Thanks for the offer though.’
‘So, Mat, are you cooking up something wonderful or are we having a takeaway?’ Adele asked.
‘After the day I’ve had I’m thinking of pizzas all round and a bottle of wine each.’
‘Sounds like my kind of evening. I’ll get the menus,’ Adele said, heading out into the kitchen.
‘I saw the breaking news on the way over. I’m guessing Ryan’s name was leaked.’
‘Yes. I wouldn’t like to be at Starling House right now. The press will be all over the place.’
‘Shouldn’t you have someone guarding—’
‘Uniform are already there,’ Matilda said with a smile, guessing Pat’s question.
‘Sorry. Habit.’
‘Do you miss the force?’ Matilda asked, sitting down on the sofa next to her. She kicked off her shoes and settled back. She was beginning to relax in the warmth of the room and the friendliness of the company.
‘I didn’t think I did but I’ve really enjoyed these last couple of days.’
‘Have you dug anything up?’
‘I may just have.’
Pat lifted her bag up off the floor and began rifling through it for her notebook. Adele returned with the pizza menus, another bottle of wine and a spare glass for Matilda. She poured half a glass and handed it to her. Only Adele knew of Matilda’s drinking problem, and how she never drank alone as it made her maudlin. A maudlin Matilda was a self-destructive Matilda.
‘Choose your pizza and I’ll order online.’
They decided to hold off until the pizzas arrived before they began talking shop. While waiting the twenty minutes for them to turn up they made small talk and caught up on each other’s lives.
Adele and Pat had crossed during the line of duty and they knew the basics about each other. Pat was shocked to find Adele’s son all grown-up and on the cusp of a teaching career. In her mind he was still a five-year-old giving Adele a headache while she juggled her work and tried to find a babysitter.
Pat filled Adele in on what life was like for the retired. Random days away in the countryside and at the coast were wonderful, longer holidays, lie-ins during the week – all were bliss. Anton constantly in her way wasn’t as fun. She wished he’d take up golf or bowls or something to get him out of the house without her once in a while. Still, she shouldn’t complain. Without Anton she would be incredibly lonely, she didn’t mind admitting.
‘What’s Debbie Hartley like?’ Matilda asked.
The pizza boxes were open on the coffee table. Pat and Adele were on the sofa, a plate on each lap, while Matilda was cross-legged on the floor. They’d spread out to make room for the food and their paperwork.
‘Well, in my day I would have called her simple. I don’t know what you’d call her now.’
‘Learning difficulties?’ Adele suggested.
‘I don’t know. She’s certainly lacking in something. Daniel, Laura, and the kids were her life. Now they’ve gone she really has nothing else left. She lives in a grotty terraced house and works voluntarily in a charity shop.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I’m not sure. Mid-forties I’d say. I didn’t think to ask. I managed to take some photographs on my phone of the letters Thomas sent her. He’s written to her four times. The first was while he was on remand waiting for trial. The second was after he was found guilty but waiting for sentencing. The third was just after he arrived at Starling House, and the fourth was on her last birthday.’ Pat wiped her hands on a napkin
and found the photographs on her phone. ‘Do you want me to email them to you?’ she asked Matilda.
‘Please Pat. That’s brilliant, thank you.’
She handed Matilda her phone. ‘Can you email them as I’ve no idea how to do it from a phone.’
‘Where was Debbie at the time of the murders?’ Adele asked.
‘Home alone. She spends every night at home on her own. No visitors, no friends.’
‘No alibi either.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Could she have killed them?’ Matilda asked.
‘I doubt it. I personally believe anyone has the capability to kill – it’s all down to circumstance. What I don’t believe is that Debbie Hartley has the mental capacity to frame Thomas and keep it to herself all these years. She’s an incredibly lonely woman. She was thrilled when I arrived as it meant she finally had someone to talk to. She made me a hot chocolate and we spent over an hour talking. Well, she did most of the talking, I just sat there listening. I couldn’t shut her up.’
‘What was she talking about?’
‘Nothing. It was about her colleagues at the charity shop, walks she goes on, her favourite ice cream flavour. It was just jibber-jabber. I felt sorry for her.’
‘Did she see Daniel often?’ Matilda asked.
‘All the time.’
‘Didn’t Laura mind?’
‘She said not.’
‘Hmm,’ Matilda thought aloud.
‘What is it?’ Adele asked.
‘Put yourself in Laura’s shoes. You’re married. You have two kids. You and your husband both work so your time in the evening as a family is precious. Do you really want your sister-in-law coming round every night?’
‘Well, I know I wouldn’t,’ Pat said. ‘Anton’s sister gets right on my nerves. If she’s not trying to flog her Avon she’s showing me her bunions.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So you think maybe Laura put her foot down and said Debbie shouldn’t go round as often.’
‘It’s a possibility.’
‘But would Debbie resort to murder?’ Adele asked.