by Michael Wood
‘Not that I can think of. Oh, wait, yes there is. Ryan was in the scouts for a while. You could speak to the scout leader. I believe there was an incident which led to Ryan being excluded from the group. He’d know all about it.’
Faith frantically searched her desk for a pen. ‘Do you have his contact details?’
‘I do, actually. He’s helped out with our school fetes a number of times.’
Faith took down the details, thanked Geoffrey Hillingdon for his time and hung up the phone.
‘Get anywhere?’ Sian asked.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve got another person to try. How’s it going at home?’ she asked, nodding at the mobile phone in Sian’s hand.
‘The carpet and sofas will have to be dumped but the rest of the furniture should be OK. There’s nothing we can do until all the water has gone and it’s dried out. Stuart’s been taking photos and videos for the insurance people. That carpet’s only been down a few months.’
‘Oh, Sian, I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do.’
Before Sian could say anything her office phone began to ring. She smiled at Faith and was pleased the phone rang when it did as tears were welling up in her eyes.
‘DS Mills, CID,’ she said into the phone.
‘Hello, yes, I believe you’ve been asking after me,’ the voice was soft and shaking.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m, well, I used to be Belinda Asher. I’m Ryan Asher’s mum.’
RYAN ASHER
Norwich. February 2016
I was in the kitchen making a sandwich and I overheard Mum and Dad talking. I wasn’t purposely listening, they never said anything worth listening to anyway, but one thing caught my interest. Dad had taken Gran to the bank that morning to get some money out for her holiday. She’d withdrawn five grand in cash. Dad was fuming. He said it wouldn’t be safe for an elderly couple to have that much money on them. Mum defended them; they were her parents after all. She said they didn’t believe in things like credit cards and traveller’s cheques. They preferred to deal with cash wherever possible.
It must have been the mention of the cash that pricked my ears up. Five thousand pounds. My grandparents had five thousand pounds in cash in their house.
They’d been talking about this holiday for ever. It was to be their last holiday as they were getting really old now, and they wanted to make it a memorable one. On their honeymoon, fifty-odd years ago, they went to a small village in the south of France. They couldn’t afford much back then but they wanted to go back, and now they were planning to stay in a swanky hotel.
I started properly listening to Mum and Dad talking about Gran and Grandad’s holiday plans. The night before they were due to go they decided to go out for a meal rather than cook. The house would be empty. That was when I’d go and help myself. It was only five grand, my grandparents were loaded, and Mum and Dad wouldn’t see them miss their holiday either. Besides, Grandad had been getting a bit forgetful lately; they’d probably put it down to him losing it. It was a victimless crime.
The table at the French restaurant was booked for eight. Just before nine I made some excuse about needing to go round to Jenson Bright’s house to get my homework back. Gran and Grandad didn’t live far away from us, only a few minutes’ walk. I was at the back door bang on eight thirty. I’d nicked the spare key from the hook on my way out. It was all going smoothly.
I pulled the balaclava out of my back pocket and pulled it over my head. I wasn’t going to bother wearing one but then wondered about someone seeing me run away. I had every angle covered. I unlocked the kitchen door and waited for the alarm to start beeping. It didn’t. Typical. They hated the alarm and hardly ever set it. This was going to be so easy.
I went into the living room and looked in the sideboard, but didn’t find anything. It wasn’t in any of the kitchen drawers, or the hallway either. It had to be upstairs. I tiptoed up. I knew they weren’t in, but that Mrs Cole next door was a nosey bugger. If she heard a noise she’d be straight on the phone to my mum.
I got the shock of my life when I opened their bedroom door and found them both in bed fast asleep. What the hell!? They must have changed their mind. I remember Mum talking to Gran on the phone earlier. Gran must have said she wasn’t feeling too well but Mum said they should go out and enjoy themselves. They obviously decided to have an early night instead.
Grandad always takes sleeping tablets as he’s a really light sleeper, so he wouldn’t be a problem; Gran could be. She often complained about getting cramp during the night and waking her up. I’d have to be very careful.
I went into the bedroom and slowly opened the drawers. I couldn’t see much as it was dark but I had a feel. There was nothing that felt like five grand. There was only one place left to try – the bedside cabinets. I’d come this far. It would be daft to leave now.
Grandad was snoring loudly; he was obviously in a deep sleep. I ducked down and crawled to the bedside cabinet. I eased the drawer open just wide enough to get my hand inside. I felt around and touched an envelope. It was full. It had to be the money. I was touching it. I was actually holding five thousand quid in my hand. I pulled but it wouldn’t come. There was so much junk in the drawer that it must have been stuck on something. I pulled harder and the whole drawer came open. The cabinet wobbled and a pen fell off a puzzle book, rolled to the edge of the table and dropped onto the floor. Shit!
I closed my eyes. The pen landed on the carpet but it sounded loud as it was so quiet in the bedroom. I could hear the clock in the hallway ticking all the way up here. There was no movement in the bed so I opened my eyes and looked across at Grandad. His eyes were wide open and staring straight at me.
I remember him saying: ‘Who the hell are you?’
Shit!
I didn’t know what to do. If I spoke, he’d recognize my voice. The bedroom door was open. I was pretty sure I’d be able to outrun an old man. I stood up and headed for the door, but Grandad was on me before I could do anything. He grabbed my arm. His grip was tight for an old man. I tried to pull away but I couldn’t. I just froze. I heard Grandma stirring. Grandad reached out with his other hand and yanked the balaclava off my head.
Grandma sat up and turned the light on. The orange glow from the bedside lamp filled the room and almost blinded me.
‘Ryan!’ Grandad shouted.
Grandma screamed. I tried not to look at them. I couldn’t face them. I knew they’d be disappointed in me. I knew Mum and Dad would kill me. This was going to be a nightmare for our family. Nobody would ever trust me again. I tried to run but Grandad’s grip was really tight on my arm. It was the first time I’d ever heard him swear.
‘Oh no you don’t; you’re not going anywhere, you thieving bastard.’ He told Gran to call my mum.
I reached out for something and swung it at Grandad. I looked at the bed and saw him laid out there with a massive gash on his head where I’d hit him with the green glass paperweight in my hand. Blood was pouring from his head. Grandma looked and started to scream. She had her mobile phone in her hand. I ran over to her and hit her too, not as hard, just hard enough to stop her from calling Mum, and screaming, and waking the whole neighbourhood.
The room was suddenly quiet again. Standing in the doorway I looked back. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They should have been out. I would have been back home by now, sitting on my bed with the door locked.
I was just about to leave when I realized my fingerprints would be all over the bedroom. I’d be caught in no time. If Mum and Dad found out what I’d done they’d disown me; I know they would.
I ran downstairs and out to the garage where Grandad kept a plastic can of petrol for the lawn mower. I went back into the kitchen, grabbed a box of matches from the side and took them up to the bedroom. I sloshed the petrol all over the bed and my grandparents. I tried not to think about it. I really did love my grandparents but there was no other way out of this mess. I lit a match and threw it onto t
he bed. The fire took hold straightaway. I stood back for a few seconds but the heat was intense, so I left.
I was halfway down the stairs when I remembered I’d left the money in the bedside cabinet. It had probably burnt to ashes by now. All this had been for nothing.
FORTY-SIX
‘We’ve found these in two of the boys’ rooms,’ Christian Brady said upon entering Kate Moloney’s office, holding up five pornography magazines.
‘Which boys?’
‘Craig Hodge and Lewis Chapman.’
‘Oh my God.’ Kate slumped into her chair. The gradual falling apart of Starling House was having an adverse effect on her. Her hair, usually tied back in a severe ponytail, was a tangled mess and she hadn’t put any make-up on this morning.
Matilda had been in conversation with Kate when Christian interrupted. ‘Where did they get them?’
‘I asked them both separately and they said Richard Grover sold them to them.’
‘He sold them?’ Kate again. ‘How was he paid?’
Christian looked down at his feet. The answer must be difficult if even Christian Brady struggled to find the words. ‘Ma’am, do you think I could talk to you alone?’ he asked Matilda.
Matilda nodded to Rory to remain in the room with Kate. She led Christian out of the room and into the small office next door. ‘Come on then, out with it,’ she said after taking a deep breath, preparing herself.
Christian was obviously uncomfortable. ‘Richard has been supplying Craig and Lewis with pornography magazines and in return they’ve been allowing him to perform oral sex on them.’
‘What?’
‘He’s really been abusing his position here, ma’am.’
‘Jesus. And they let him?’ The look on her face changed to one of disgust.
‘At the end of the day they were getting something out of it too. They were getting porno mags and they were being … you know … sucked off.’
‘I don’t believe this. Why hasn’t this come up before now? We’ve interviewed all the boys and not one of them mentioned it.’
‘We didn’t ask though, did we? You know what convicts are like; they’ll only answer the questions they’re asked. Why help the pigs?’
‘True. Bloody hell. Kate is going to go through the roof. Right.’ Matilda ran her fingers firmly through her hair, pulling hard at the brittle strands. She needed to feel some pain to focus her mind. ‘The boys are going to have to be interviewed again, and I don’t care what the ACC said, I want them at the station. I want them taped and filmed. I also want Richard Grover and Fred Percival formally questioned.’
‘Until the water clears we’re still trapped here.’
‘Then isolate them,’ she said, raising her voice. ‘This place is bloody big enough to have everyone in a separate room. Lock them all in their rooms if you have to until we can organize transport back to HQ.’
As Christian left the room Matilda’s mobile phone started ringing. It was Sian.
‘I’ve got some sort of good news and some shit-hitting-the-fan news,’ Sian said.
‘Oh God, I’m not sure I want to hear this.’
‘The sort of good news is that Ryan Asher’s mother has called. She’d like to speak to you.’
Matilda visibly relaxed. ‘That’s not sort of good news, that’s brilliant news. Thank you Sian. Text me her details and I’ll give her—’
‘You may want to hold off on that until you hear the bad news.’
‘Oh.’
‘The ACC is on the warpath. She’s ready to explode. She wants to talk to you about why the Thomas Hartley case has seemingly been reopened.’
‘Bugger!’
Matilda quickly ended the call to Sian. She had been dreading this happening and hoping she could look into the Thomas Hartley case without it registering with anyone in a position of power; obviously, that hadn’t happened. It was all rapidly falling apart.
FORTY-SEVEN
It was time for Matilda to face the music. She needed to speak to the ACC, and this was a conversation she could not have over the phone. Her coat was still wet from trudging through the saturated field next to Starling House in the early hours of the morning. She put it on and immediately felt cold.
The rain was starting to fall again, but only lightly. With her hood up and head down, she took large strides down the long driveway to the security gates.
‘Hello, who is in charge?’ she called out through the iron bars to anyone who would listen.
‘Boss!’ shouted the nearest fire officer. ‘You’re wanted.’
Gerry Markham was in his fifties and, judging by the size of his waist, he did very little in the way of rescuing people by throwing them over his shoulders and carrying them from burning buildings.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m DCI Matilda Darke,’ she flashed her ID. ‘My car is somewhere on the other side of this pool, and I need to get back to HQ. I’m investigating a murder and something has come up. Is there any way you can get me to my car?’
‘Oh my God, you have got to see this. Scott, pass my mobile,’ Rory said.
‘What’s going on?’ Scott asked, handing Rory his iPhone.
‘Matilda is being given a piggyback through the water to her car,’ he said, trying, but failing, to hide his laughter.
‘You’re joking!’
‘Nope.’
Rory lifted his phone up and started filming through the window in Kate’s office as his boss held on for dear life to a firefighter who waded, thigh deep, through the murky water.
‘This is gold. This is pure gold.’
‘Let me see,’ Scott said as he tried to get a better view out of the window.
Rory zoomed in. Matilda’s arms were wrapped firmly around the young fireman’s neck. The rest of the crew watched on as he sunk lower into the water.
‘Ten quid says she goes in,’ Rory said.
‘No. He’ll get her to the other side.’
‘Oh my God, it’s up to his waist now. I’m so pleased I’m filming this.’
‘If she finds out, she’ll kill you.’
They watched in silence as the fireman slowed down. The water was gradually lowering. He was more than halfway.
‘There you go.’
To a roar of cheering from the other firefighters, Billy Norris set Matilda down on dry ground. As embarrassed as she was it was difficult not to smile. She had never been rescued before and, despite being terrified of falling into the dirty, smelly water, it was fun being carried by a tall, hunky firefighter.
‘Thank you,’ she said, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, miming doffing his cap. ‘We have to stick together in the emergency services.’
‘We certainly do. Thank you, again.’
She waved at Gerry Markham and the rest of the crew, who waved back, and made her way to the police Land Rover Rory had driven her here in the night before. She just hoped it would still be there after being abandoned in the small hours of the morning.
As she struggled to find her feet in the waterlogged field she looked over to Starling House and hoped Christian, Scott and Rory hadn’t seen her being carried to safety.
On the drive back to HQ, Matilda wondered what kind of mood she would find the ACC in. She was known as a fair woman who always stood up for her staff whenever they needed it. However, get on the wrong side of her and one look from those tiny steely eyes was enough to stop time itself.
Parking in her usual space, Matilda entered the back of the building and tried her best to get to the ACC’s office without being seen.
The ACC’s secretary was on the phone when Matilda entered the small anteroom. She mouthed for her to go straight in and wished her luck. The expression of sympathy and fear on her face told Matilda everything she needed to know – she was in for a real bollocking.
‘Do you want me to lose my job?’
There was no greeting, no offer of coffee, and no small talk. The second Matilda
entered the office, the tirade began.
Matilda frowned. ‘No, of course I don’t.’
‘Then what the hell are you trying to do to me?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Don’t even try to pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. I trust you, Matilda. I respect you. I stuck up for you when everyone else wanted me to give you the push over the Carl Meagan case. I put my neck on the line and this is how you repay me.’
Valerie was red with rage. There were veins bulging where veins shouldn’t be bulging, and her knuckles were clenched so tight her fingers could snap at any moment. Matilda had never seen her look so angry.
‘I’ve had the Chief Constable from Greater Manchester Police on the phone asking me why a senior officer on my force is looking into an open-and-shut case that was solved years ago.’
‘Ah,’ Matilda said, looking at the floor.
‘Ah? Is that all you have to say? How would you like it if someone started investigating a case you’d solved?’
‘Ma’am, I’m simply—’
‘You know the scrutiny South Yorkshire Police is under right now,’ Valerie interrupted. ‘We’ve got the aftermath of the Hillsborough Inquiry. The magnitude of the sexual abuse scandal in Rotherham is still being felt. Add to the mix the racial unrest at Page Hall and the tabloid press writing features about there being no-go areas for white British members of the public; we’re hardly presenting ourselves in a positive light, are we?’
‘I was … ’
‘And this little nugget being released hasn’t helped.’ She picked up the copy of Carl and slammed it down on the desk. Its booming echo could be heard out in the corridor. ‘Who do you think this all comes back to? Not you. Certainly not the Chief Constable. It’s me that’ll get the chop. I’ll be the fall guy in all this.’
Matilda couldn’t take her eyes off Carl. His smile was haunting – emblazoned on her memory. ‘May I sit down?’
‘Please do. I’m eager to hear your explanation.’ Valerie sat back in her seat and tried to relax but it was impossible. The fury she felt was coursing through her veins like an out-of-control juggernaut on a motorway.