For Reasons Unknown

by Michael Wood

  ‘What?’ Hales’s voice rose and he spat his question out like he would a hot chip. ‘You’ll be putting questions to him? Over tea and scones presumably.’

  ‘Whether Jonathan killed his brother or not we still have to take into consideration his anxiety disorder and treat him accordingly.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘Perhaps we can continue this chat in the office, Acting DCI Hales.’ Ben didn’t say anything, just walked past her into the small office at the back of the room. ‘Don’t go anywhere Sian,’ Matilda said to her quietly in her ear as she followed him.

  Matilda closed the door behind her, and, this time, she pulled the blind halfway down. ‘Do you have a problem?’

  ‘Yes I do. I have a problem with you and your so-called leadership. Can’t you see behind the fake anxieties? He’s using it as an excuse to avoid questioning. Anyone can fake a panic attack for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘You have to look at the bigger picture. If he is faking them he has been putting on an act for the majority of his life. He’ll be good at it by now and won’t just drop it if you go in with all guns blazing.’

  ‘You’re going about this completely the wrong way.’

  ‘Do you ever wonder why you haven’t gone further than a DI?’ Matilda surprised herself by her sudden exclamation. ‘It’s not just the results; it’s how you go about getting them. It’s opening your eyes and your mind. Yes, I have considered Jonathan may be faking his anxiety but I cannot risk going in like a wrecking ball and him shutting down completely. If I charge him with murder he’ll probably get a bloody good solicitor who’ll get a doctor to confirm his illness and the whole thing won’t ever see a courtroom. Oh, and while we’re on the subject of handling people, you also need to connect with your team too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s Sian’s husband called?’

  ‘What?’ He looked confused.

  ‘How many children does she have? What’s Rory’s relationship status? When is Aaron’s birthday? What rumours about Scott are going around? You need respect and support from your team and you only get that by talking to them, interacting with them, and getting to know them.’

  Hales was speechless. He looked at Matilda with wide eyes, but they weren’t the wide steely eyes of an enraged man, they were sad. Matilda’s confidence had come from nowhere. He didn’t hate her, he was jealous of her. He quickly turned on his heels, pulled open the door, and stormed out.

  Matilda wasn’t the type of person to ridicule and mock and gloat at the suffering of another person. ‘We’ve all got jobs to do now let’s get on with them,’ she said quietly to a room of open-mouthed gawkers.

  Slowly, the Murder Room returned to normal and the chattering began once more.

  Matilda sat down behind the desk and pulled the nearest file to her. She opened it and stared at the top page, not reading the information. She just wanted to look busy while she calmed down. She sat on her hands and took several deep breaths.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see these or not,’ Sian said, walking up to the desk Matilda was temporarily using.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, not looking up from the file she was pretending to study.

  ‘When Hales was interviewing Jonathan he had a load of paperwork he’d managed to get from somewhere. I’ve just picked it up off his desk.’

  Now she had Matilda’s interest. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Witness statements.’

  Matilda’s eyes widened. For a split second she thought they were original witness statements from twenty years ago that Ben had stolen from the files, but as Sian placed them in front of her she saw them as dated just a couple of days ago. She picked them up and quickly skimmed through them.

  ‘He’s been running his own investigation,’ she said with amazement.

  ‘No wonder he’s not been around here much lately. The last couple of pages will interest you.’

  Matilda flicked to the back and just read the title. ‘A psychiatric report on Jonathan Harkness by Charlie Johnson.’ She was visibly shocked. ‘What the hell? He’s a journalist isn’t he? What does he know about psychology?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It’s basic Wikipedia stuff anyway.’

  ‘And Ben was actually using this as evidence against Jonathan?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Bloody hell. What’s wrong with him?’ The question was rhetorical. Matilda sat back in her seat. ‘Right, Sian, find out all you can about Charlie Johnson. Get back on to his agent and really get the full story on him. I want to know what he’s playing at and why he’s so obsessed with Jonathan Harkness.’

  ‘Not a problem. Oh, by the way, Matthew Harkness had eight copies of Charlie’s book in his apartment.’

  ‘What? Eight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would he have eight copies?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Give me his agent’s number.’ Sian passed over the slip of paper with the London number written on it.

  It took four rings for the call to be answered, and Matilda was left on hold for almost ten minutes before she was put through to the agent.

  ‘My name is Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke from South Yorkshire Police. I’d like some information on a client of yours, Charlie Johnson.’

  ‘A member of my staff spoke to a colleague of yours yesterday…’

  Matilda cut her off. ‘I’m aware that he’s away writing at present but I’d like to talk to you about Charlie the person, rather than Charlie the writer.’

  ‘Oh. Well what do you want to know?’ The agent had a silly, high-pitched floaty voice.

  ‘What’s his background?’

  ‘He’s a journalist.’

  Matilda waited for the agent to continue and was surprised when she didn’t. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Charlie is an extremely private person. I know he grew up in the north-west. According to his CV he worked on a local newspaper straight after leaving school as an apprentice and they put him through further education. He moved around from paper to paper in the north before eventually moving down here. I think he worked freelance for a few nationals.’

  ‘And privately?’

  ‘He’s not married and doesn’t have any children. I get the impression he’s a bit of a loner.’

  Matilda was starting to hate the word loner; it was a horrible word to describe someone. ‘Why did he get so interested in the Harkness killings?’

  ‘Now that, I’ve absolutely no idea. He pitched the book to me several times. To be honest the first draft of his book was very poorly written. His second wasn’t much better, but it was his enthusiasm and his attention to detail that convinced me to take him on as a client. After two more drafts I eventually got someone to completely rewrite it.’

  ‘Didn’t he mind?’

  ‘No. He did all the hard work; it just needed putting into some kind of order. His name still appeared on the front and it’s sold very well. It won the non-fiction dagger at the Crime Writers’ Association Awards in 1999. I still have the photo of him holding his award on the wall.’

  ‘Can you keep trying to get hold of him for me? It really is important that I speak to him.’

  ‘I will try.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, by the way, could you email me that photo of Charlie?’

  Matilda gave the agent her email address and hung up. She was still in the dark about Charlie and his obsession with the Harkness case and why he felt qualified to write a psychiatric report on him. She suddenly felt very tired and in urgent need of some fresh air. She rose from behind the desk and pulled her jacket from the back of the chair. She called Rory over. ‘You and I are going to get this sorted once and for all.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To see a real expert.’

  Chapter 43

  Former Detective Inspector Pat Campbell lived in the leafy suburb of Bradway on the edge of the steel city and on the border with the Derbys
hire countryside. One leap over the garden fence and you would actually be in Derbyshire.

  She’d taken early retirement due to health reasons, and when her husband retired they moved as close to the countryside as possible without paying countryside house prices.

  She opened the front door to Matilda and Rory, red-faced and slightly out of breath. She was a tallish woman, and had filled out since her days as a detective, but was far from overweight. Her grey hair was in a stylish cut. There was a smell of strong coffee in the background.

  Matilda had never worked with Pat but she had seen her around the station from time to time and her formidable, no nonsense reputation preceded her, making her a woman to be looked up to. She doubted Pat would remember her.

  ‘You’d better come in. Keep the cold out,’ Pat said, her accent broad Sheffield. She stood to one side to allow her visitors to enter.

  ‘Madam, I think you should ask who we are first,’ Rory said. ‘You shouldn’t just let strangers in off the street.’

  Pat laughed the rough throaty laugh of a smoker. She looked to Matilda. ‘Don’t you just love how the young think anyone over fifty needs a nursemaid? Young lad, I can smell a copper at fifty paces in a force nine gale and even if you weren’t police and tried anything you’d be flat on your back with my foot on your throat before you could shout for your mummy.’

  Pat led them into a very large living room that ran the full length of the house. It was tastefully decorated in creams and very modern furniture. It was minimalist and tidy, apart from a few children’s toys and board games on the sofas. She quickly tidied them away.

  ‘You caught me in the middle of cleaning,’ she began. ‘I’ve had the grandkids for a few days. My daughter is in hospital giving birth to her fourth, silly cow. My husband drove off with them about half an hour ago. I feel like I’ve gone deaf. Sit yourselves down; I’ve got a pot of coffee just made.’

  She returned in no time with a tray holding three cups, a full cafetière, and the usual addition of milk and sugar.

  ‘I can’t offer you a biscuit or anything; the bloody kids have had the lot. I need to restock.’

  Matilda smiled. ‘I doubt you’ll remember me, Pat. I’m…’

  ‘I know who you are. You were DC Darke the last time I had anything to do with you. I’ve forgotten your first name, sorry. I’m guessing you’ve been promoted since then.’

  ‘It’s Matilda and I’m a DCI now.’

  ‘Good for you. I only made it to DI and then my sodding hip popped.’

  ‘I’m head of the Murder Investigation Unit.’

  ‘They tried setting one of those up in the 80s but nothing came of it.’

  ‘We’re looking at a cold case…’

  ‘The Harkness killings,’ she said, interrupting.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Educated guess. I heard about the demolition. I went along to watch it. I took my oldest grandson, thought he might be interested, but he wasn’t.’

  ‘Why did you go?’

  ‘I’m not sure, professional interest or just plain nosiness, you decide. Are you fully reopening the case?’

  ‘It looks like it,’ Matilda replied, wrapping her cold hands around the mug of coffee and breathing in the hot vapour. ‘Is there anything about it you can tell me that we don’t already know?’

  ‘I doubt it. Everything you need to know is in the files, surely.’

  ‘Why wasn’t it solved?’ Rory seemed to be in awe of Pat.

  ‘Because we didn’t know who the killer was,’ she said with a heavy hint of sarcasm. ‘I’m sorry, son. I shouldn’t take the piss. It’s just that you look like you’re on bloody work experience. Please don’t tell me you’re anything higher than a DC.’

  ‘No.’ He smiled. ‘Just a lowly DC.’

  ‘Never underestimate a DC. That’s what my old DI used to say.’

  ‘Was your old DI the SIO on the Harkness case?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Yes. DI Ken Blackstock, bless him. He died of a heart attack in 2005. His wife never got over it and died about eighteen months later. Poor thing.’ She slipped into a moment of reverie as she pictured her former boss. She hadn’t thought about him in years. When she realized four eyes were glaring at her she snapped back to the present. ‘Sorry. DI Blackstock, well, he was a good copper and a decent bloke. He was fair to his team, didn’t mind cutting corners if necessary but never anything against the law. He went a bit dark after the Harkness case though.’

  ‘What do you mean, dark?’

  ‘He couldn’t get over not being able to solve it. He kept reminding us “there’s an eleven-year-old boy out there who witnessed his parents get slaughtered. We need justice for him.” When that justice didn’t come he fell to pieces. He had to take some time off if memory serves me correctly. A lot of people were obsessed with Jonathan Harkness.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There was one PC. He was first on the scene and went with Jonathan into the ambulance. Their eyes were just locked on each other. It was surreal. I remember this PC kept coming into the incident room to see how everything was going. He helped out with the search for the brother, Matthew, but didn’t have any other involvement. Yet he was constantly asking questions. I think he even visited Jonathan a few times when he was staying in temporary accommodation with his aunt before he moved away.’

  ‘Can you remember his name?’

  ‘Not off the top of my head, sorry. I’ll have a think though. I think Ken ended up having to have a word with his sergeant, give him a bit of a friendly warning.’

  ‘What about the investigation itself; any realistic suspects?’

  ‘No. It was a bizarre case from start to finish. No one in that family’s lives stood out as a clear favourite. We did think Matthew might have killed his parents for a while but that was soon discounted.’

  ‘What about the link with animal rights groups? Stefan’s work involved testing on animals didn’t it?’

  ‘It did, yes, but again, that was just a five-minute wonder.’ She leaned back on the sofa and sipped her coffee. ‘God I wish I had a biscuit; I could just do with something to dunk. No, if it was an animal rights activist they would have just trashed the house, put a pig’s head in their rose bushes or something. They don’t go around hacking up people.’

  ‘What was your main line of investigation then?’

  ‘It was definitely a personal attack against the family. The only thing we could never work out was why kill the parents and leave an eleven-year-old witness? Surely when you hack a couple to bits you’ve no qualms about killing a little boy?’

  With no more questions for Matilda to ask the conversation turned to the changes in policing. As they made their way to the door Matilda asked Rory to go on to the car while she had a final word with Pat.

  ‘What did you make of Jonathan?’ Matilda asked once they were alone.

  ‘It was difficult. Witnessing the murders completely messed him up. We got nothing out of him. He went mute didn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. But the neighbours and friends said he was a bit of a loner, didn’t mix with the other kids; didn’t you find that strange?’

  ‘A little I suppose,’ she said. ‘Whatever happened to him?’

  ‘He’s back in Sheffield now, but he’s very withdrawn. I think he’s scared of his own shadow.’

  ‘I’m surprised he’s still alive.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been surprised to read in a paper that he’d jumped in front of a train or walked into the River Don with a brick in each pocket.’

  ‘It’s been suggested that Jonathan may have killed his parents.’

  ‘What?’ Pat’s eyes almost doubled in size at the question. ‘He was eleven years old. If you’d seen that crime scene you wouldn’t even consider that possibility.’

  Matilda said her goodbyes and returned to the car.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Rory asked after a long silence.

>   ‘I find it very hard to believe someone can kill two people and just disappear. The way they were hacked to death suggests someone with real anger towards them. That person was obviously in their lives, but why didn’t anybody notice anything?’

  ‘What I don’t get is the complete difference in the murders,’ Rory began, making his way slowly through the car-strewn streets of south Sheffield. ‘You’ve got Stefan Harkness stabbed once in the back of the neck; bosh, job done. Then you’ve got Miranda Harkness; stabbed umpteen times front and back, blood splashed all over the place.’

  ‘Well she put up a fight didn’t she? We’re working on the assumption that the killer sneaked up on Stefan, yet Miranda put up a fight once she’d found her husband. Maybe she struggled, tried to break free or call for help.’

  ‘And there’s only one person who can tell us exactly what happened…’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say Rory,’ Matilda cut in.

  After a long silence Rory continued. Matilda could see him itching to say something. He had a very expressive face. ‘Unless the beef was with Miranda. The killer could have loathed her so much that he wanted to cause her maximum suffering.’

  ‘No,’ Matilda was almost thinking aloud. ‘We need to look at why they were killed rather than by who. Once we know that, the killer will be easy to identify. There has to be a why. I refuse to believe in a motiveless crime.’

  Chapter 44

  Hales drove home in record time; ignoring red traffic lights, zebra crossings, and give way signs. He was a man on a mission. He threw open the front door and slammed it closed behind him. He swore under his breath as he was greeted with the tinny sound of daytime television emanating from the living room. He could feel his blood boiling.

  His wife didn’t raise a question about who had entered; it was unusual for anyone to come home at this time of the day. She just continued with her usual routine of nothingness.

  Hales went straight into the kitchen, which was in need of a good clean. He looked around the cluttered surfaces for what he needed but couldn’t find it so he frantically opened drawers and searched in the mess of collected junk.