A Room Full of Killers

by Michael Wood

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘Killed Ryan and Jacob. Obviously one of the inmates did it. I wonder which one.’

  ‘The way that DI was talking when I was taking him through the security system, they thought it might be one of us,’ Gavin said, blowing on his coffee.

  ‘What? That’s absurd.’

  ‘The boys were locked in their rooms when both murders took place. The only people with keys are sitting in this room.’

  ‘And Richard Grover and Fred Percival,’ Oliver said. ‘I can’t believe Richard abused his position like that. And who would have thought Fred was a paedophile? It beggars belief, it really does.’

  ‘Fred has been released without charge,’ Rebecca said. ‘He hasn’t done anything. Well, not here, anyway.’

  ‘I never really warmed to Richard,’ Gavin said. ‘I liked Fred though. He was a good man, very intelligent. I had many a long conversation with him. It just shows you don’t really know a person, do you?’

  ‘Did that DI say who they thought was the killer if they thought it was a member of staff?’ Peter said.

  ‘He’s hardly going to say that now, is he, son? He just said they couldn’t rule anything out. They like to keep their options open, don’t they?’

  ‘But it could be any one of us,’ Peter said, worry etched on his young face.

  ‘I think it’s more likely to have been Richard,’ Rebecca said. ‘If they thought it was one of us remaining the police would be here guarding us.’

  ‘They are. There’s a couple of cop cars on the drive.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Anyway, Rebecca, you said yourself you slept with a chair under your door handle last night. You obviously still think the killer is here.’

  ‘No. I just said it felt spooky, that’s all.’

  Peter stood up quickly, tipping his chair over. ‘I think I’m going to go.’

  ‘Go? Where?’ Oliver asked.

  ‘Home.’

  ‘I don’t think the police will like that. Kate certainly won’t.’

  ‘I don’t care. I’ll resign then she can’t stop me. I’m not staying here another night with a killer waiting to strike again.’

  ‘Peter, you’re being silly,’ Rebecca scoffed.

  ‘Really? Are you telling me you’re not going to put a chair under your handle again tonight?’

  ‘I … well …’ Rebecca flustered.

  ‘You can’t. You’re just as scared as I am.’

  ‘Peter, sit down. Let’s all be rational about this,’ Oliver said.

  ‘No. I’m not staying here a minute longer than I have to.’

  Oliver stood up and went over to Peter by the door. He placed his hands on his shoulders to try and calm the young guard down, but Peter shook them off. ‘Don’t touch me, Oliver. I’m sorry. I can’t trust any of you.’ He turned and ran out of the room.

  ‘Well that was a performance,’ Gavin said.

  ‘Do you think I should go and talk to him?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘He’s probably best left on his own.’

  ‘What if he’s right though? What if one of us left is the killer? Shouldn’t we all stick together?’

  ‘I think you’ve been watching too many horror films, Rebecca,’ Oliver laughed.

  ‘Really? Then where has Kate been these last couple of hours?’

  SIXTY-FIVE

  ‘Every time my phone rings I expect it to be someone from Greater Manchester Police wanting to tear me apart,’ Valerie said as soon as Matilda was sitting comfortable in the seat opposite her desk.

  Matilda didn’t say anything. Everything she thought of would sound shallow and placatory. She needed Valerie on her side and knew she was going against her own judgement so didn’t want to annoy her any more than she already had.

  ‘I have some information for you about Wesley Brigstone. You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No. He’s back in prison.’

  Bang goes my theory.

  ‘He was released from HMYOI Stoke Heath in August 1995, three years ahead of his official release date, and given the new identity of Samuel Bryce. He was moved to Leicester where he found it difficult to cope with life back in the real world. He couldn’t get a job, fell into alcohol addiction and he received treatment at various facilities in the local area. He seemed to turn his life around in the early 2000s but lost his job at a packing factory in 2009 just after the economic crash which forced the factory to close. He turned back to the drink and, this time, to drugs too.’ Valerie was reading all this from a printed sheet of paper in front of her.

  ‘When did he go back to prison?’

  ‘September 2014. He won’t be coming back out.’

  My theory is still alive.

  ‘The Hartleys were murdered in January 2014,’ Matilda said. ‘I’d still like to talk to him.’

  Valerie let out a sigh. She knew Matilda wouldn’t give up. ‘There is a DS at Leicester who monitored Wesley Brigstone while he was out. I’ve had a very discreet word with the Chief Super at Leicester and he has agreed for you to meet with DS Amy Stringer, who will take you to Wakefield Prison to have a chat with Samuel Bryce.’ Valerie spoke slowly as if each word was causing her a great amount of pain to say. They were probably sticking in her throat, making her feel sick. She was going against every instinct in her body. ‘Nobody in Manchester knows anything about this. If it goes tits up, Matilda, you’re on your own. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. I understand perfectly,’ Matilda said.

  ‘I want you to know I’m not doing this for you, Matilda, I’m doing it to salvage the reputation of this force.’ Valerie tore a piece of paper from a notebook in front of her. ‘This is the number for DS Stringer and everything I know about Samuel Bryce.’ She was about to hand it to Matilda but pulled her hand back. ‘I don’t want you heading straight there, though. I want the Starling House murders solved before you even touch this case. Thomas Hartley isn’t going anywhere. There’s no great rush to get him released if he turns out to be innocent.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Matilda said, not taking her eyes from the sheet of paper Valerie was gripping in her right hand.

  ‘I’ve gone out on a limb for you here, Matilda. I hope you realize that.’

  ‘I do, yes. Thank you. I really appreciate it, ma’am.’

  ‘What are you going to do if Thomas Hartley is guilty?’

  ‘Then I’ll drop it.’

  Valerie frowned. ‘What about your gut feeling?’

  ‘I’ll put it down to indigestion.’

  Neither of them laughed, not even a smile. Their eyes remained locked on each other. They were trying to read each other’s facial expressions but both were masters of the poker face. Reluctantly, Valerie handed the paper across the desk. Matilda wanted to snatch it from her grip and jump for joy, but she managed to restrain herself. She folded it immediately and placed it in her jacket pocket.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Matilda said, standing up.

  ‘If that information gets out, if Samuel Bryce needs to be given a new identity, I swear to God, Matilda, I’ll crucify you myself. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Matilda couldn’t get out of the ACC’s office fast enough. As soon as she was clear of the door she pulled the paper out of her pocket and read the information written in Valerie’s neat and tidy handwriting. Upon release in 1995, Wesley Brigstone and Thomas Downy took very different paths. Thomas did all the right things – job, wife, family – whereas Wesley couldn’t find his place in society. Did that make him resentful, angry, bitter? Did that make him want to track down his former partner in crime?

  An alarm sounded somewhere in the station. It was muffled, coming from several floors down. The door behind her leading to the ACC’s office was thrown open and Valerie stormed out.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Matilda asked as her boss charged past her.

  ‘Another assault in the holding cells. What are those sodding inma
tes still doing in my station?’ Valerie shouted without stopping.

  Matilda ran after her and caught her up at the stairs.

  ‘We’re still waiting for them to be transferred to other Young Offender Institutes,’ Matilda said by way of an excuse. ‘They’re considered category A prisoners, and not many institutes are suitable for them.’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  By the time they reached the holding cells the alarm had stopped ringing and everything appeared to be calm, despite the blood on the desk sergeant’s shirt.

  ‘What the hell happened here?’ Valerie asked, hands on hips.

  ‘Thomas Hartley was attacked by one of the other inmates.’

  ‘What? Badly?’ Matilda asked looking worried.

  ‘Not overly, no. He’ll have a shiner and a split lip but he’ll be fine.’

  ‘I thought they were supposed to be in separate cells?’ Valerie asked.

  ‘They are, ma’am, but we’re really short-staffed. I can’t look after them, the other prisoners, and feed them all at the same time. I’ve got Flash Gordon in again for frightening women in the NCP, and Alan Barney faked a fit to get out of going to magistrate’s court. I had to put some of the Starling House inmates together. I didn’t think it would have kicked off like that.’ The desk sergeant was obviously flustered. His face was red and his hair an unruly mop from where he had run his fingers through it.

  From the corridor, Thomas Hartley was brought in, flanked by two uniformed officers. He was holding a bloodied tissue to his nose. To Matilda, he looked more frightened and vulnerable than when he was in Starling House. She almost ran over to hug him, but stopped herself just in time. She could feel the burning gaze of the ACC on the back of her neck.

  ‘Leave it with me, I’ll have these boys removed by the end of the day,’ Valerie said. ‘Matilda, I assume you’ll be needed back at Starling House.’ It wasn’t a question; it was an order.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Once Valerie was safely out of hearing distance, Matilda dug the piece of paper out of her pocket and dialled a number on her mobile. There was no way Thomas Hartley was going to another Young Offenders Institute. Not if she could help it.

  ‘DS Stringer, I’m DCI Matilda Darke from South Yorkshire Police. I believe my ACC has been speaking to yours with regards to Samuel Bryce.’

  ‘That’s right. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. You’re wanting to meet up with Samuel, I’m guessing.’

  ‘Yes. When would it be possible for me to see him?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure. I can call the prison and ask when they can have him ready to be interviewed. When were you thinking of?’

  ‘This afternoon if possible.’

  ‘Oh. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.’

  SIXTY-SIX

  ‘Now, the nurses at the hospital where Malcolm Preston is say John Preston hasn’t visited at all for at least four weeks. And I’ve spoken to a lovely DC at Norfolk,’ Faith said as she flicked through her notebook, ‘who has been to John Preston’s house. It looks like he hasn’t been home for about that long either.’

  ‘What have the neighbours said?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘They haven’t seen him. The bloke next door used to notice him drive home late at night and go back out again early the next morning, but he hasn’t seen him for weeks.’

  ‘Does he know the exact date he last saw him?’ Matilda asked, scratching her head. She felt as if her brain was itching. This case was growing more and more confusing with every additional layer.

  ‘He just said a few weeks.’

  ‘Maybe he’s committed suicide,’ Sian suggested. ‘His son is in limbo, his wife has died, maybe he can’t cope with it any longer.’

  ‘No. When you love someone who’s ill,’ Matilda began, immediately thinking of James, ‘you stay with them until the end. You put all thoughts of yourself aside as you need to be strong. When they’ve gone, when they’re at peace, then you think of yourself and decide what you’re going to do next. Until that time, your life is virtually on hold.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Faith said, trying to bring the conversation back to topic, ‘there is no missing person report for John Preston. He seems to have just disappeared.’

  ‘There’s no missing person report because there is nobody to miss him,’ Matilda said. ‘All he has left in life is his son, and he’s hardly in a position to report his father missing.’

  ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Is there any sign of life at all from his house?’

  ‘DC Jacobson had a good look round. It’s a bungalow in a cul-de-sac. He looked in all the windows, and he said it was clean and tidy but unlived in. There were letters piled up inside the porch, and the gardens were in need of mowing.’

  ‘I suppose we can’t just break his front door down in the belief that he’s lying dead in the bath or something,’ Sian said.

  ‘Not yet we can’t. Faith, check the PNC, see if there is a car registered to that address. If there is use the ANPR to track its last movements. Once we locate the car we’ll go from there.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Faith said, heading back to her desk.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sian asked Matilda, lowering her voice and leaning across the desk.

  ‘I’m fine. Why?’

  ‘You went all wistful there for a moment.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Matilda repeated, offering a weak smile. ‘I think I’ve got a headache coming on.’

  ‘Would you like a couple of paracetamols?’

  ‘No. I think I might pop out for some fresh air for an hour or so. I need to have a think.’

  Slowly, Matilda pushed back her chair and left the CID. She could feel Sian’s eyes burning into her so she put her head down and pinched the bridge of her nose. She dragged her feet on the ground and paused as she left the room, as if wondering which direction to turn. She turned left and headed for the stairs. It was only when she knew she wouldn’t be seen by anyone that she stood upright and increased her pace.

  Matilda needed to get to Wakefield.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  ‘Has anyone seen DCI Darke?’

  DS Sian Mills signalled to DI Christian Brady to come over to her desk. The rest of the officers in CID went back to their work.

  ‘She wasn’t feeling too well,’ Sian said in hushed tones as Christian bobbed down next to her desk.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I think she’s feeling a bit … you know … ’

  ‘Not really, Sian. Are you trying to tell me it’s her time of the month?’

  Sian laughed. ‘No, nothing like that. I think she’s a bit overwhelmed. Every once in a while she remembers James and she gets a bit down. Grief is a very strange thing. I think she just needs a few hours on her own.’

  ‘Oh. Does the ACC know about this?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Matilda taking a few hours off whenever she feels like it?’

  ‘You make it sound like she’s bunking off work to go shopping. She’s grieving.’

  ‘Hasn’t it been more than a year since her husband died?’

  ‘Well, yes, but you don’t just get over the death of someone you love in the space of a few weeks. It stays with you. It’s something you have to learn to live with.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like Matilda has learned to live with it though, not if she’s taking random hours off in the middle of an investigation.’

  ‘Christian, you’re not going to say anything to the ACC are you?’ Sian asked, a worried expression on her face. ‘We stick together in the Murder Room. We’re a close-knit team and we help each other out. It’s what we’ve always done.’

  ‘Sian, the Murder Room no longer exists. We’re one big team now, and we all need to pull our weight to get the job done. We all need to be on the same page. Is that understood?’

  Sian was hoping it was a rhetorical question but Christian stared at her and wouldn’t leave until she replied.
r />   ‘Yes,’ she said reluctantly.

  Christian picked up the mug of tea he’d placed on top of a file on Sian’s desk (leaving a ring mark behind) and headed for his office.

  ‘That’s the last time I let you have the last Snickers out of my drawer,’ Sian said under her breath.

  Detective Sergeant Amy Stringer was a short woman with long, dark hair. There was nothing memorable about her appearance. She was slim and sensibly dressed, plain-looking, and wore thick-framed glasses that didn’t suit her. She was already in the car park of Wakefield Prison when she saw Matilda’s Ford Focus pull in. Amy climbed out of her car and buttoned up her coat. There was a cold wind blowing around the building. She recognized Matilda immediately and held out her hand for the DCI to shake.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you DCI Darke. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  Matilda hated it when people said that.

  ‘Nice to meet you too,’ Matilda said. Amy Stringer’s handshake was firm and confident.

  Amy headed for the main entrance but Matilda stopped her.

  ‘What can you tell me about Samuel Bryce before we go in?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Why did he end up back in prison?’

  ‘Life didn’t seem to suit him on the outside. As sad as it sounds, I think he’s happier now he’s back in prison. He has a short fuse—’

  ‘He’s quick to anger?’ Matilda interrupted.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. Whenever something goes wrong, he just gives up. He doesn’t look for a solution. When he lost his job in 2009 he took it as a sign that he wasn’t meant to improve his life and was always going to be a loser. He started drinking heavily again.’

  ‘Did you try and help him?’

  ‘Of course. I put him in touch with a rehab facility in Leicester, which seemed to work for a while. He was in therapy too. He found himself a girlfriend as well, which I thought would be a turning point for him.’

  ‘But it wasn’t?’

  ‘No. He didn’t tell me at the time but I later found out she was also a recovering addict. Only, her addiction wasn’t alcohol, it was drugs.’

  ‘And she got him hooked on drugs?’