by Michael Wood
‘Like I said, she’s certainly lacking in something. Maybe she saw Laura as a threat to her happiness and decided to get rid of her,’ Pat mused.
‘But then why kill her brother and niece?’ Adele asked, reaching across for another slice of pizza.
‘I’ve no idea. If she is, for want of a better word, simple, maybe her reality became blurred. Maybe she thought if Laura didn’t want her around after all these years of welcoming her into their home, then Daniel and the kids felt the same way too.’
‘Then why leave Thomas alive?’ Adele asked.
‘That’s what I have a problem with,’ Matilda said. ‘Whenever I think of who could have killed the Hartleys, I always ask why Thomas was left alive.’
‘No. I’m sorry,’ Pat came back from her reverie. ‘I don’t see Debbie as the killer. It doesn’t fit.’
‘Would you say she had the mind of a child?’ Matilda asked.
‘Yes, I would. Why?’
‘Like an inmate of Starling House.’
‘Only this particular inmate is still free,’ Adele finished Matilda’s thought.
‘Cup of coffee and chocolate, ice cream and crushed-up cookies, or continue with the wine?’
Pat and Adele pondered for a brief second before answering in unison. ‘Ice cream and crushed-up cookies.’
A few minutes later Matilda returned with a tray carrying three bowls and spoons, a large tub of vanilla ice cream and a packet of chocolate chip and hazelnut cookies.
‘Tell me about this passport you found,’ Matilda asked as they all helped themselves to dessert.
‘I should have taken a photograph of it but I didn’t think at the time. It was out of date and the photo showed a chubby girl. For the life of me I can’t remember the surname, but she was called Catherine.’
‘Could it have belonged to Debbie and Daniel’s mother?’
‘No. The dates didn’t match. The date of birth was March 1977.’
‘Making her thirty-nine,’ said Adele as she shovelled ice cream into her already full bowl.
‘Could Debbie and Daniel have had another sister?’
‘Surname wasn’t Hartley,’ Pat added, taking the ice cream from Adele.
‘It’ll probably be something simple like it was left behind by whoever had the house before Debbie,’ Matilda laughed.
‘No. I’ve got the feeling it’s relevant. The chubby girl looked familiar. I just can’t place her. It’ll come to me, I know it will.’
‘Adele, did you get the post-mortem and crime scene report I called you about earlier?’
‘No. I’ve just come for the free food and wine.’
‘I genuinely believe that,’ Matilda smirked.
‘Cheeky cow. Yes, I have your reports. I was reading them when I was stood up at lunchtime,’ she said, a slight dig at Matilda having to cancel their lunch meet at the last minute.
‘You can read a PM report while eating your lunch?’ Pat asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘I could never do anything like that. One mention of an enlarged liver and my stomach would turn right over.’
‘You don’t seem to do too badly now,’ Adele remarked as Pat opened her mouth wide for a spoon laden with ice cream and chunks of cookie.
‘I’m retired. It’s different now.’
‘Well, seeing as Pat is no longer squeamish I shall keep in the gory details,’ Adele took the file from her bag and opened it on her lap. ‘I’ve got the PM report and a lovely Crime Scene Manager in Manchester who I flirted with emailed me a CSI report on the Hartley house. It’s not known how the killer gained access to the Hartley home as all entrances and exits were locked from the inside. However, none of the ground-floor windows had locks. They were of a design that was recalled because of their lack of safety features. There’s a diagram in the crime scene file that shows how easy it is to pop the frames open from the outside.’
‘Had any of the windows been tampered with?’
‘There’s no evidence of that but there wouldn’t have been anyway.’
‘So the killer could have gained entry from any window on the ground floor, escaped through the same route, and the police wouldn’t have been able to tell?’
‘That’s about the size of it, yes.’
‘Bloody hell. The killer could be anyone then,’ Matilda groaned.
‘What type of weapon was used?’ Pat asked.
‘Something resembling a meat cleaver.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘Bloody hell!’
Adele leaned over the side of the sofa and pulled an iPad out of her bag. She turned it on and tapped on it a few times. ‘The lovely crime scene manager I spoke to emailed me over a few crime scene photos. As you’re retired, Pat, you can have first look.’
Pat placed her bowl of ice cream on the coffee table and took the iPad from Adele. ‘Oh my God, Adele,’ she placed a hand to her mouth. ‘This is just … oh God.’ She handed the iPad to Matilda.
‘According to the PM report Laura Hartley received eighteen blows to her head, chest and neck. Her head was almost severed from her body. Daniel received twelve blows. They were mainly to the arms, which suggests he was awake and trying to protect himself. The blow that killed him was the one to his face. It split his skull wide open.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Pat said. ‘What about Ruby?’
Matilda was flicking through the photographs on the iPad. Her screwed-up face evidence of how disturbing the images were.
‘Ruby received more nicks from the blade than actual blows, which suggests she was caught in the crossfire when her mother and father were attacked. There were ten marks on her body, mostly to her arms and body, which were either deflected off her parents or where the killer missed. She received two direct blows with the cleaver, either of which could have killed her.’
‘Eighteen blows for Laura, twelve each for both Daniel and Ruby,’ Pat said. ‘That’s forty-two swings with a meat cleaver. How the hell did Thomas Hartley manage to sleep through all that?’
‘According to Thomas’s statement,’ Matilda said, glad of an excuse to turn away from the crime scene photos and pick up her own notes. ‘Once he was comfortable on the sofa he fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the dog started fussing around him.’
‘Wouldn’t the dog have woken and barked when the killer broke in?’ Pat asked.
‘If the dog knew the killer he wouldn’t have made such a fuss though, would he?’ Matilda suggested.
‘What happened to the dog?’ Adele asked, digging around in her bowl of ice cream to find more cookie pieces.
Matilda flicked through the file. ‘I’ve seen it here somewhere. Here it is. Debbie Hartley said she took the dog back to her place but he missed the others so much. He was pining all the time and stopped eating. He went to sleep one night and just didn’t wake up again.’
Pat placed a hand on her heart. ‘Oh the poor thing.’
‘Going back to the murders,’ Adele said with a mouthful of ice cream. ‘Wouldn’t the Hartleys have screamed when they were being attacked? If someone’s going at you with an axe you’re going to scream loud enough to wake the dead.’
‘That depends,’ Matilda said, going back to the crime scene photos. ‘Look at the position Laura is lying.’ She held up the iPad showing three mangled bodies saturated in blood on a double bed. Pat winced. ‘She looks like she’s sleeping. Maybe she was attacked first. When Daniel and Ruby woke up the blows could have been coming thick and fast. They didn’t have time to register what was happening before they were silenced. When you’re woken so suddenly, you’re dazed and confused as it is without being faced with the horror of a killer wielding a meat cleaver. It’s just possible they didn’t have time to scream.’
‘OK. I’ll agree with you there,’ Pat said. ‘But what about the lack of forensics? The killer left nothing of themselves behind.’
‘That I can’t explain,’ Matilda said honestly.
‘So, the questions we’re left with are why did t
he killer leave no trace, why not kill Thomas, and, more importantly, why kill them in the first place?’ Pat said, counting the questions on her fingers.
‘Back to square one,’ Adele added.
‘I’m so pleased you two came over here tonight,’ Matilda smiled.
‘How far back into Daniel and Laura Hartley’s past did the original investigation go?’ Adele asked.
Matilda frowned and all eyes turned to Pat.
‘Not very. There seems to be a wall of silence around it. John said there was no evidence of an intruder so the only logical explanation was that someone already in the house had to be the killer. As there was only one person remaining, he was the only suspect. I could give John another call tomorrow if you think it will help.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Pat.’ Matilda smiled. ‘Any chance of speaking with the original SIO?’
‘I doubt it. DI Spicer is now Superintendent Spicer.’
‘Really? He’s made Superintendent from a DI in just over two years?’
‘I think I need more wine,’ Adele said, pushing aside the PM reports and turning off her iPad.
The conversation soon moved away from the Hartleys, and Pat Campbell started talking about her husband wanting to go on a cruise around the Greek islands in the spring. Adele joined in as it had always been her dream holiday. Matilda found herself drifting. She hadn’t thought about holidays since James died. Together they had enjoyed several trips abroad, and in the UK. Now he was gone, a holiday was never on the agenda. A holiday was something couples and families did together. Matilda wasn’t part of a family and she wasn’t half of a couple either. She was a widow.
What a horrible word. Widow.
Did Matilda feel like a widow? Yes, she did. She was alone in the world. No husband, no children, no future. She had friends but they had their own lives and families. They wouldn’t want Matilda tagging along all the time. The thought struck her that she would end up like Debbie Hartley; sad, lonely, and alone.
Conversation continued in the background but Matilda wasn’t listening.
‘So, Adele, do you think you’ll find someone else and get married?’ Pat asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. Chris has been on at me for ages to get out there and meet a bloke. He’s enrolled me on a dating website. I’ve chatted to a couple of men who seem nice enough to meet for a drink, but I’m not sure.’
‘You should give it a go. What have you got to lose?’
‘Knowing my luck I’d meet some psycho and I’d end up losing my organs.’
Matilda blinked away a tear before it had the chance to form and looked up at the wedding photograph on the mantel. James looking stunning as always, his beaming smile, his eyes twinkling. Whenever she conjured up a happy memory of their time together, it was always tinged with tragedy, and she measured the amount of time between the memory and his death.
Matilda thought back to Debbie Hartley. Maybe I should pay Debbie a visit, myself. Look my future in the face and see what’s in store.
FORTY
Nine p.m.
It was unusual for Kate Moloney to be walking the corridors of Starling House at this time of night. From six o’clock onwards she was typically found in her office answering emails and reading reports. Beneath her desk she would kick off her heavy shoes with the pointed toes and thick heels that resounded around the high corridors of the building, announcing her presence before she arrived. The top button of her shirt, usually done up tightly around her neck, was undone to allow her to relax and breathe a bit more freely.
Tonight she had abandoned her routine and joined Oliver Byron in taking the inmates from their makeshift recreation room, the library, to be locked up in their rooms for the night.
Books and magazines were left on the tables as the boys silently made their way out of the room. There was no fuss, no moans, no pleas for just one more game of table tennis. The boys simply downed tools and followed the guards out of the room, along the corridor, and up the stairs to A corridor.
Kate followed several steps behind. She walked slowly. The boys shuffled along, dragging their feet, the soles of their trainers barely making a sound. Kate’s shoes were clack, clack, clacking from behind – a sinister metronome.
Oliver Byron, Richard Grover, and Rebecca Childs led the boys to their rooms, locking them in one by one.
‘Goodnight, Kate,’ Callum Nixon called out, giving her a flash of his cheeky smile.
‘Goodnight Callum,’ she replied.
‘Goodnight everyone. I hope you all make it to the morning,’ he said.
Everyone froze at Callum’s crass joke, if that’s what it was, and turned to look at him. His grin was more of a sneer. What secret was lurking behind his deep eyes? Did he know more than he told the police about Ryan Asher’s death or was he playing with them all, drawing attention to himself?
‘That’ll do, Callum. In you go,’ Rebecca said. She was small compared to the inmates. At only five foot four, everyone else towered over her. However, she was strong and fit and made up for her lack of height with her no-nonsense attitude.
‘Sweet dreams, Rebecca,’ he said, lowering his voice. There was a flirtatious, yet sinister edge to his voice.
Kate kept her eyes on Callum until his door was closed and securely locked. She watched Rebecca turn the key and try the handle to make sure it was completely locked. It was. She watched carefully while all the doors were locked by either Richard or Rebecca and then double-checked by Oliver. Satisfied, they all left the corridor, locking the gate behind them.
Oliver and Richard were finished for the night and were to retire to their bedrooms. Rebecca, along with junior guard, Peter McFly, was to remain on duty throughout the night should anything happen they may be needed for.
Kate followed Rebecca back to the staffroom where Peter was waiting for the kettle to boil. At twenty-three, he was the youngest guard at Starling House. He was well over six foot and beanpole thin. An unruly mound of fiery ginger hair and pale skin gave him a fragile, almost petrified look. However, he had already wrestled Jacob Brown from Callum Nixon and jumped in without a second thought. Looks, in his case, were very deceiving. A new recruit of only two months, he seemed unfazed by the inmates and their crimes and didn’t shy away from the night shifts. Kate believed him to be an ideal candidate for the job. But since Ryan’s death and Matilda planting the seed of suspicion in her mind, she was looking at everyone with an unnerving frown. Was one of her staff a killer?
Oliver? No. He was good at his job and had a great deal of respect for her.
Richard? No. He walked around Starling House as if in a daze. He didn’t have the energy to commit murder.
Rebecca? No. For one thing she was a new mother. She had more things on her mind than planning a murder.
Peter? He was very useful in a ruckus but was he capable of starting one? Maybe.
Gavin? As head of security he knew where the black spots in Starling House were. He knew the weaknesses in the security system. Maybe.
Kate shook the thoughts from her head. This was insane. She didn’t care what Matilda said, none of her staff were murderers. There were seven killers living here who had admitted their crimes, of course it was one of them.
‘Are you two all right?’ Kate asked Rebecca and Peter as they sat down with a cup of tea and a sandwich.
‘Yes. Fine thanks,’ Rebecca answered for them both.
‘Good.’ Kate’s smile was forced and fake. ‘I doubt there’ll be any problems tonight. I’ve just looked and all the press have gone. I never thought I’d be so happy to see a torrential downpour,’ she laughed; again it was forced. ‘However, if the phone does ring, and it is someone from the newspapers, be polite and end the call as quickly as possible without giving anything away.’
‘Will do,’
‘How are you settling in, Peter?’ Kate seemed reluctant to leave.
He quickly chewed and swallowed his bite of sandwich. ‘Fine. Yes, it’s OK. Good group of peop
le to work with.’
‘Good. Rebecca, how’s … ?’
‘Lucy? She’s fine. She stays with my mother while I’m here.’
‘Oh, doesn’t your husband look after her?’
‘No. He works in the middle of the North Sea.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, we all have to do whatever we can to earn the money these days, don’t we? I’ll leave you to it then. I hope you have a quiet evening.’
Kate left the room and headed back down the corridor. She walked slowly and tried to lessen the sound her heels made against a background of nothing, but it wasn’t easy. She looked up at the high ceiling, at the intricate carvings in the corners, the ceiling roses, the cornicing, all covered with cobwebs. She really must find a feather duster with a long handle.
At the end of the corridor she turned around and looked back. The lighting was soft and muted. A faint glow came from the room at the end where Rebecca and Peter were currently enjoying their late-evening snack. She heard their distant chatting and giggling. From this angle, taking in the framed prints and the solid oak wooden doors, Kate wondered why such a beautiful old building was being used to house such violent and evil boys. It didn’t seem right. She unlocked the door behind her, went through, and locked it.
Two floors up from A corridor, Kate sat at her dressing table looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looked tired and worried. For the first time in her twenty years of working here she questioned her role and her ability to carry it out. In the background, the theme tune to yet another episode of Friends began. It was really the only time she could relax at the moment, watching her favourite programme.
She leaned back on her bed and watched as, in a candlelit apartment in New York, Chandler romantically proposed to Monica. This episode never failed to bring a tear to her eye. She smiled as the audience whooped and the rest of the friends entered the apartment for a group hug. Kate really was relaxed. If only she knew what was about to happen two floors below.
FORTY-ONE
With the fire blazing in the living room for the first time since James’s death, Matilda had decided to stay up beside the fire rather than go to bed early or sit in her library with a mug of tea and packet of biscuits.