A Room Full of Killers

by Michael Wood

  ‘Matilda, of course. How’s Rory?’

  ‘He’s fine. His recovery will take a while but he’s heading in the right direction, which is the main thing. Callum Nixon will be on his way to Sheffield Magistrate’s Court this morning.’

  ‘What about the other inmates at Starling House?’

  ‘They’re still in the holding cells. We’re waiting on the Home Office.’

  ‘So what can I do for you?’

  Matilda sat down at Valerie’s desk without being offered a seat. She swallowed hard and braced herself for an onslaught.

  ‘Do you remember me talking about Thomas Hartley—?’

  ‘Matilda, please don’t tell me … ’

  ‘Wait. Thomas’s father, Daniel Hartley, was really Thomas Downy.’

  ‘Thomas Downy?’

  ‘When he was thirteen, he and Wesley Brigstone murdered Felix Myers in St Austell, Cornwall.’

  ‘I remember.’ It was obvious Matilda had piqued Valerie’s interest but her tensed jaw and thin lips were evidence she was annoyed at Matilda for going against her wishes to leave the Thomas Hartley case alone.

  ‘I want to interview Wesley Brigstone.’

  ‘What? No. That’s not happening.’

  ‘Why not? I’m sorry, ma’am, but this obviously shows the original case was flawed. They assumed Thomas was guilty and refused to look elsewhere. If they’d have explored all angles they would have found out Daniel was really Thomas Downy and found the real killer.’

  ‘Do you have any idea how this is going to look to Greater Manchester Police?’

  ‘Isn’t this supposed to be about justice and not reputation? Besides, only the other day you were worried about South Yorkshire’s reputation. This is bound to win us some brownie points.’

  Valerie looked at Matilda’s pleading face and sighed. ‘Leave it with me. Stick to the Starling House case for now.’

  There was nothing more to be said between the ACC and the DCI. Matilda quietly walked out of the office and silently closed the door behind her. She was surprised Valerie hadn’t erupted and suspended her on the spot – she had been expecting that. She wasn’t allowed to investigate the Thomas Hartley case herself but it was being looked into. That was a major turning point, wasn’t it?

  SIXTY-THREE

  ‘How’s everything with the house?’ Matilda asked Sian as she approached her desk with a replacement latte.

  ‘We’ve lost all the downstairs carpets, and the sofas are ruined. I’m not sure about the dining table until the wood dries out. The fridge, washing machine, and dishwasher are all broken. It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sian. If there’s anything I can do,’ Matilda said.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Look, if you or the kids need a place to stay you’re more than welcome to use a couple of my spare rooms.’

  As soon as Matilda offered up her home she immediately regretted it. As much as she loved Sian and wanted to hear life in her home again, she wasn’t sure she was ready to share her space with anyone other than James.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Matilda. Fortunately, the kids are loving just having the upstairs to live in. It’s like camping. They may change their mind in a week or too. If they do, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Well, it’s an open offer. As and when.’ Meaning Matilda didn’t need to offer anymore and, hopefully, Sian would be too polite to bring it up.

  ‘Am I OK to have a word with you about Ryan Asher?’ Faith asked entering the open-plan office. This morning her hair was tied back in a ponytail which reminded Matilda of Kate Moloney. She wondered how she was coping with the unrest. A small article in the newspapers this morning stated Starling House was to be closed down while an inquiry was taking place into its conduct over the years. Matilda doubted it would ever reopen.

  ‘Of course you can, Faith. What have you come up with?’

  Faith told Matilda and Sian all about Malcolm Preston and Ryan Asher seeming to get away with putting a teenager into a veritable persistent vegetative state.

  ‘Now, according to the couple of nurses I’ve spoken to at Norfolk, Malcolm’s father used to keep a bedside vigil. The last couple of months or so he hasn’t been there much.’

  ‘Any reason?’

  ‘Well, the consultant was getting worried about him as he was losing weight and hardly sleeping. They had a counsellor talk to him who basically said it wasn’t healthy to be spending every day by his son’s bedside. After that he started missing the odd day and now it seems he’s stopped coming completely.’

  ‘Maybe he’s decided to take a holiday and gather his thoughts,’ Sian suggested.

  ‘You’re not convinced, are you Faith?’ Matilda asked, looking up at the stern expression on the young DC’s face.

  ‘I’m not, no. I think this whole Ryan Asher case is bizarre, and now we have a person going missing. From what the nurses have said, John Preston’s life revolved around his son. He wouldn’t just stop visiting without saying something.’

  ‘Faith, give Norfolk police a ring and ask them to send a couple of uniforms around to this John Preston’s house. If he’s not at home, ask them to have a word with the neighbours.’

  A smile spread across Faith’s lips. ‘I’ll do that right now. Thank you, ma’am.’

  Faith turned and bounced away, her ponytail swishing with every step.

  ‘I think MIT merging with CID has been the making of Faith,’ Matilda said. ‘She was a bit of a fish out of a water in the Murder Room but in CID she’s come into her own.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad someone’s seen a benefit from it.’

  ‘Are you still not happy?’

  ‘I’m not happy that we’re cramped into the corner as if we’re something to be ashamed of, and I’m not happy that some thieving bugger is nicking stuff from my snack drawer.’

  ‘You know what, you’re right. It does look like we’ve been thrown into a cupboard, doesn’t it? When we get some free time I think we need to open this place up a bit. Get rid of a few of the filing cabinets and really merge with the CID. We need to be one unit.’

  Scott dragged himself into the office looking just as tired as when Matilda had left him at the Northern General the night before. He slumped into a chair and made no apology for being late.

  ‘Any news on Rory?’ Sian asked before Matilda could.

  ‘I went to see him on my way in. He’s looking a lot better. He’s awake and sitting up in bed. He’s not happy he’s had to have his head shaved.’

  ‘That’s a shame, he’s got gorgeous wavy hair,’ Sian said. ‘It’ll soon grow back though.’

  ‘He’ll make a full recovery then?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘It looks like it, yes,’ Scott smiled.

  ‘That is good news. Seeing him unconscious in that interview room yesterday covered in blood; my heart almost stopped,’ Matilda said. ‘I never want to see any of my team in that situation again.’

  ‘He wanted to try and understand the inmates better. This case has really got under his skin,’ Sian said by way of an explanation. She turned to Scott. ‘How are things with him and Amelia? Any chance of a reconciliation?’

  ‘No. I think this has actually given him a bit of a confidence boost … ’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what Rory needs, more confidence,’ Matilda laughed.

  ‘I was talking to his mother and she said Amelia felt guilty for neglecting Rory while she was studying and would like to give it another go. Rory just turned around and said no. He said it was definitely over. If she’d have said that before he was attacked, I think he would have jumped at the chance of them getting back together.’

  ‘Good for Rory. Why should he make her feel better? She shouldn’t have taken advantage of his good nature,’ Sian said, ever the protective mother.

  ‘Well, I’m going to grab myself a coffee. Have I missed the briefing?’

  ‘You have but never mind. You can go with Sian back to Starling House and interview what is left
of the staff there. I can’t believe none of them knew what was going on,’ Matilda said.

  ‘Apart from that, the inmates of Starling House are still locked up downstairs waiting to be scattered around the country. Richard Grover is waiting to go to magistrate’s court, as is Callum Nixon, and Fred Percival has been released without charge as he hasn’t done anything wrong. He immediately tendered his resignation and plans to go back to … I can’t remember where he said he lived,’ Sian added.

  ‘Oh, well I might grab a bacon sandwich while I’m at it if there’s nothing to rush back for,’ Scott added.

  ‘Don’t go slacking; we’ve Sian’s chocolate thief to hunt down,’ Matilda smiled.

  ‘I get the feeling,’ Sian said once they were alone, ‘that you’re sitting here running out the clock. What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m waiting for some information from the ACC, and I want to be here when she calls before she changes her mind.’

  ‘Sounds ominous.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘But you’re not going to tell me?’

  ‘It depends. Do you have a dark chocolate Bounty in your drawer?’

  Adele sent Matilda a text just after midday saying she would be unable to meet for lunch as two elderly residents at a nursing home had died within twelve hours of each other and she was helping Claire with the Digital Autopsies. Matilda was relieved. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk and the endless questions from Adele about her well-being. She knew she had her best interests at heart, but, for one day, she wanted to be alone.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her. At home she hated the loneliness and the silence but when company was offered she tried everything to get out of it.

  You really are weird, Matilda, do you know that?

  The phone on her desk rang before she could answer herself.

  ‘DCI Matilda Darke?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matilda confirmed reluctantly.

  ‘I’m Emma McDermid … ’ began a thick Scottish accent. Matilda wondered if she was any relation to Val McDermid, who was rapidly becoming her favourite crime fiction author. Suddenly she remembered she was on the phone and hadn’t been listening to the conversation.

  ‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that? It’s a bad line.’

  Emma spoke louder and slower. ‘I’m Emma McDermid. I’m a reporter with the Daily Mail. As I’m sure you’re aware the book about Carl Meagan written by his mother has been released and is selling very well. I was wondering what your thoughts on the book were. Have you read it?’

  Matilda’s blood ran cold. Before the book was released it felt like she was the only one to have a copy and nobody else but her would ever read it. It seemed like the private thoughts of Sally Meagan had been written just to torment Matilda. Now it was on the shelves, anyone could get their hands on a copy – family, friends, neighbours, colleagues, even journalists. This would be the first phone call of many.

  ‘I’m sorry Ms McDermid, but I have no comment to make.’

  ‘DCI Darke, you must have some thoughts on the book. Were you consulted at all during it being written?’

  ‘I had no input into the writing of the book, and I haven’t read it,’ she lied.

  ‘I’m just over halfway through it, myself. I have to say, you, and South Yorkshire Police, don’t come across as very competent. Given the negative press the force has received in recent months, are you worried for the future of South Yorkshire Police?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to answer any question on the future of the force—’

  ‘What about your own future?’ the journalist interrupted.

  ‘I’m going to hang up now, Ms McDermid. I’d rather you placed any further questions you may have through the press office.’

  Matilda hung up and found her hands were shaking. Her palms were sweating and she could hear her heart beating rapidly. She took a deep breath to control her breathing but it didn’t seem to work. She felt hot.

  ‘Sir Robert Walpole, Spencer Compton, Henry Pelham … ’ she began reciting the names of the British Prime Ministers, which was an exercise she used whenever she felt a panic attack coming on that was taught to her by her therapist. She hadn’t had an attack for months, and she hadn’t needed the support of the Prime Ministers for a very long time. ‘Thomas Pelham-Holles, William Cavendish – don’t start all that again, Matilda, for fuck’s sake,’ she chastised herself.

  She kicked back her chair when her phone started to ring again. She wanted to ignore it. She wanted to rip the phone off the table and throw it out of the window. Unfortunately, her new office in CID had glass walls and she could be seen by anyone who happened to look up from their work. At the sound of her phone ringing three times, four, five, people had started to take notice. She could already feel their eyes glaring at her through the glass.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly into the phone.

  ‘Matilda, I’m glad I’ve caught you. Can you come up to my office when you’ve got a moment?’ ACC Valerie Masterson said.

  ‘Sure. Not a problem,’ Matilda said, trying to sound relatively normal – feeling anything but.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Starling House often had an eerie air of the macabre about it. Maybe it was the gargoyles; the turrets; the high ceilings and gothic windows; the history going back hundreds of years; the long, echoing corridors. Or maybe it was the fact it housed the most dangerous boys Britain had ever known.

  With the inmates no longer there the building took on a darker tone. The boys may have left but it felt like the evil they embodied remained. For twenty years, Starling House had been home to murderers, rapists, and arsonists. Their crimes, their dark personalities seemed to have leeched into the fabric of the building.

  The remaining staff felt self-conscious. They were in limbo and didn’t know if their jobs were safe or if they had all been made redundant. Until a representative from BB Security arrived from Ireland they had to continue as normal. Normal? Nothing about this place was normal. Every sound, smell, creak, and groan had a hidden meaning. Fear and danger lurked around every dark corner. There was a permanent sense of foreboding. Two inmates had been murdered, and despite the killers being removed the atmosphere at Starling House still felt incredibly bleak.

  Kate Moloney was silently walking through the corridors. There was nothing for her to do apart from wait to be told her twenty-year career with BB Security was at an end. It was sad it had come to this. She had enjoyed her time here. It hadn’t been an easy job. Some of the staff had been difficult, the inmates less so, surprisingly, but it had been interesting and she had relished the responsibility and freedom given to her by head office.

  She walked along A corridor, where the inmates had their rooms. The doors were open and the light from the small windows came out into the usually dark corridor. Kate didn’t bother locking the gates behind her. What was the point? This was no longer a prison. It was a shell.

  Kate stopped outside Callum Nixon’s room. She stood in the doorway and surveyed the mass of belongings he had accumulated. She entered the room and smiled at the Liverpool FC posters on the wall. His bed was unmade so she tidied up the duvet and plumped the pillows. She’d disturbed a smell. It was Callum Nixon’s scent. She lifted the pillow, held it to her face and took a long, lingering sniff. She smiled.

  Further down the corridor was the room Ryan Asher had been allocated on Monday morning. It was difficult to believe all this started less than a week ago. It was Ryan’s arrival, and someone who thought he should be sentenced to death, that had kicked off a chain of events that led to Starling House being closed.

  With Richard Grover being charged and Fred Percival handing in his notice, the staff at Starling House were small in number. The cooks and cleaners had been dismissed and told their services would no longer be required. The guards were also free to leave if they wished, and some of them couldn’t pack and get out of the building fast enough. The ones who remained had very little to do.

  Oliver Byron entered the staffroo
m and found Rebecca Childs and Peter McFly having a quiet chat over yet another cup of coffee.

  ‘Is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?’ he asked, helping himself to a coffee from the pot and digging deep into the biscuit tin.

  ‘You’re more than welcome to join us, Oliver,’ Rebecca said. ‘We were just wondering what’s going to happen to Starling House. It’s a gorgeous building.’

  ‘It is. I wouldn’t be surprised if a property developer didn’t turn it into apartments. It would be a shame if it was. Maybe a nice country hotel?’

  ‘After twenty years of housing child murderers, I can’t see anyone wanting to spend time here.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Peter added. ‘It could be very popular hosting those murder mystery weekends. Or maybe ghost hunting.’

  ‘So this is where you’re all hiding is it?’ Gavin Ryecroft said entering the room.

  ‘I thought you’d gone home,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘No. I drove through the night from Norfolk and spent the last two days trying to sort out all this sodding security crap for the police. I was knackered. I’ve just been having a lie-in.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can,’ Rebecca shuddered. ‘I’m finding this place creepy with hardly anyone around. I wasn’t keen on sleeping in the building when the inmates were here. Now they’re gone it seems worse for some reason. I put a chair under my door handle last night. I didn’t do that with murderers sleeping below me.’

  ‘It certainly seems strange without them, doesn’t it?’ Gavin said, sitting down next to Rebecca. ‘Do you reckon we’re all out of a job then?’

  ‘It’s beginning to look that way.’

  ‘I wonder which one of them did it?’ Rebecca said, refilling her mug from the coffee pot.