A Room Full of Killers Read online

  A Room Full of Killers

  DCI Matilda Darke III

  MICHAEL WOOD

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

  Killer Reads

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

  Copyright © Michael Wood 2017

  The ABC Murders Copyright © 1936 Agatha Christie Limited.

  All rights reserved.

  Michael Wood asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

  Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

  Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2017 ISBN: 9780008222390

  Version 2017-01-24

  To Woody

  26/05/04 – 09/06/16

  The best writing companion I could ever ask for. A true friend, and now, a genuine Golden Star.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Callum Nixon

  Chapter Four

  Lee Marriott

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Mark Parker

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Craig Hodge

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lewis Chapman

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jacob Brown

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Ryan Asher

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  Manchester. Tuesday, 7 January 2014

  I was in agony. The pain was immense. I couldn’t believe it. I looked across at the alarm clock and saw that it was just after 1:30 a.m., and I hadn’t been to sleep yet. How could I when all I wanted to do was vomit everything I’d ever eaten.

  I managed to roll out of bed and practically crawled to the bathroom. I made it to the toilet just in time. The sick was never-ending. I honestly thought I was going to bring up an organ. There was so much of it. It was like that scene from The Exorcist.

  I must have woken my sister, Ruby, because I looked up to wipe my mouth and she was standing in the doorway. She had her hands on her hips and a serious look on her face like she was going to tell me off. If I hadn’t felt like I was dying I would have laughed. How could she try and look mean and threatening when she was wearing Hello Kitty pyjamas?

  ‘Could you be any louder about it?’

  ‘Sorry, Ruby, did I wake you?’

  ‘No, I always go for a walk around this time.’ She looked at her wrist as if there was a watch there.

  ‘Sorry. I don’t think I should have reheated that curry I had for my tea.’

  ‘Have you made yourself sick so you don’t have to go to school in the morning?’

  ‘No. Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I heard you telling Dad you hadn’t done your science homework.’

  ‘I’ve not made myself sick, Ruby. Go back to bed.’

  I managed to pick myself up off the floor, although I felt dizzy and the sweat was pouring off me. I had to steady myself against the wall. I was shaking and hot but I felt cold at the same time. I had no idea a chicken korma could cause such agony.

  ‘Do you want me to wake up Mum and Dad?’

  ‘No. It’s OK. I think I’ll go downstairs and see if we’ve got anything to settle my stomach.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Are you going back to bed?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, folding her arms.

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘I’m waiting until you’ve gone downstairs. I don’t want you to fall.’

  I went to go downstairs and kept looking back at Ruby, who wasn’t moving. I knew what she was going to do. I would have made some kind of sarcastic remark but I was frightened of opening my mouth and being sick again, because Dad had just polished the floorboards. He’d kill me if I splattered regurgitated korma all over them.

  I was halfway down the stairs when I heard Ruby tap on Mum and Dad’s bedroom door. ‘Mum, I had that dream again. Can I come in with you and Dad?’

  I smiled to myself. Ruby had promised that she’d sleep in her own bed all throug
h the night. It was her New Year’s resolution yet she’d broken it within three days. She hated sleeping on her own, God knows why.

  As soon as I opened the door to the kitchen, Max jumped out of his basket, tail wagging, and thought I wanted to play with him. He started jumping on his back legs. As much as I loved the little dude, playing with a Fox Terrier at two o’clock in the morning was not my idea of fun. He ran over to the back door so I let him out.

  I left the door open while I looked for something to take. Dad suffered really badly with his stomach. He only had to look at a jar of beetroot and he got indigestion. He was bound to have something that could stop my stomach doing somersaults.

  I found a small tub of Andrews Salts and made myself up a glass. I swigged it back in one gulp and shuddered at the taste. It was nasty.

  Max came running back into the kitchen with a tennis ball in his mouth and dropped it at my feet. I wasn’t going outside to play fetch in the garden. It was bloody freezing out there. I made him go back to his bed, locked the back door and went into the living room. I didn’t have the strength to walk up the stairs.

  I curled up on the sofa, pulled the blanket around me and tried to get comfortable. Whatever was in that medicine seemed to be working as there was no gurgling sound coming from my stomach. I wasn’t shaking as much either.

  I was shattered. I looked at the clock – 02:15. I’d never been up this late before in my life. I was just nodding off when Max came in and licked my face. He lay down in front of me on the floor. He could tell I was ill and was looking after me, bless him. He was snoring in seconds. I wish I could fall asleep so quickly.

  04:50

  Max started licking my hand and barking. I briefly opened my eyes but, as it was still dark, I nudged Max away and pulled the blanket over my head. If he wanted to go out again he’d have to wait. I was finally warm and comfortable.

  Another bark. This time he was nuzzling my hand and trying to pull the blanket off me with his teeth. He may be a cute dog and able to get away with a lot of things, but there was no way I was getting up for him now.

  ‘Max,’ I whispered loudly. ‘You’ll wake everyone up. Go to sleep. Now!’

  I waited. I heard him groan, walk around in a circle a few times then drop to the floor. Thank God for that.

  05:05

  It seemed like only minutes later that he started fussing me again. He was yapping, barking, tugging at the blanket, and licking my face. I threw the blanket off me and stood up to turn on the living room light. I can’t remember what I was saying to Max but as soon as the room lit up I saw exactly why he’d been behaving so oddly.

  There was a leak coming through the light fitting in the middle of the room. It didn’t make sense. The bathroom was above the kitchen, not the living room. My eyes adjusted. Shit! It wasn’t water pooling on the coffee table. It wasn’t water dripping and splashing all over the cream carpet. It was blood. I looked up at the light; the surrounding ceiling was a mass of blood. It was dripping down, splattering against the glass, bouncing off and soaking the carpet. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I was having a nightmare caused by my fever, surely.

  Max barked. I looked down at him and he was speckled with blood. His paws were covered in it. Oh my God. This wasn’t happening. Surely, I was running a fever from all the vomiting and having a nightmare.

  I ran out of the living room and up the stairs, two at a time. ‘Mum, Dad, wake up,’ I called out. It was pitch-black and still early so my voice echoed around the house. I didn’t care if I woke up the whole street.

  I knocked on their door but didn’t wait for a reply. I grabbed the handle and pushed. I flicked the light switch on.

  ‘Mum … ’

  That was the moment everything stopped. My life ended right at that second as I looked into my parents’ bedroom and saw a scene of horror. All I could see was red. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, everything was covered in red. Huge sprays of blood covered every surface.

  I could feel my heart pounding hard in my chest as if it was about to erupt. No. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be real.

  I walked further into the room and looked at the bed, trying to make sense of what my eyes were seeing, but my brain hadn’t caught up yet. The bed was a tangled mess of limbs and everything was dripping. It was like a scene from a torture porn film. I didn’t know if anybody was on the bed or not. Then I saw it. Dad had given Mum a really expensive watch for Christmas, just a week or so earlier. She’d loved it and spent most of Christmas Day staring at her wrist. She was still wearing it but the face was smashed. Her arm was covered in blood, but it wasn’t attached to her body. I swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in my throat. I saw Dad’s leg with the Manchester City football shield tattoo. Like Mum’s arm it was splattered with blood. And there, in the middle of the bed, I saw the worst horror of all: the blood-stained white face of Hello Kitty winking at me.

  ONE

  Norwich. Sunday, 2 October 2016

  According to the satnav it would take three hours and nineteen minutes to drive from Norwich to Sheffield. Add on traffic jams, roadworks, and fuel stops, and they would easily make the Steel City in four hours.

  The seven-seater people carrier was waiting outside the back entrance. It was parked as close as possible to the door. The windows in the Citroën were tinted; the locks from the back doors had been removed, and there was a security grill between the front and back seats.

  In the front passenger seat was Craig Jefferson, his extra-large uniform straining at the seams. He checked the glove box for provisions: boiled sweets, three cans of Red Bull, and a Sudoku puzzle book. Behind the wheel sat Patrick Norris. This was Patrick’s first run. He knew the route; he had been studying the A-Z all afternoon, but the worried expression on his face was for his charge, not his driving ability.

  Time ticked slowly by. They should have left by now.

  ‘What’s taking so long?’ Norris asked, fidgeting in his seat.

  ‘Red tape probably. Just when you think you’ve filled in all the forms you find another batch that needs signing.’

  ‘They do realize Norwich are playing at home today, and it’s a late kick-off. We’re going to get caught in the traffic.’

  ‘They don’t care about that. Once they close that door their job is done. It’s down to us then. They don’t care if it takes us three hours and nineteen minutes or nineteen hours and three minutes. Mint imperial?’ He held out the packet.

  ‘How many of these runs have you done?’

  Jefferson sighed as he thought. ‘Too many to count. I don’t go to Sheffield very often though. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I went. You know it’s bad when you’re given a run to Sheffield.’

  ‘Do you think there’s some kind of hold up?’ Jefferson asked, craning his neck and looking out of the back window at the dormant building. ‘Maybe it’s been cancelled.’

  ‘Trust me, it won’t get cancelled. They’re as keen to get rid of him as we’ll be to drop him off. Are you any good at Sudoku? I’m not sure if that should be a three or a five.’

  The steel door creaked open and two burly men in similar uniforms to Norris and Jefferson came out. They towered over the young man between them.

  His face was gaunt and pale. His hair had been recently shaved which added to the emaciated refugee look. He was a slight build, short for his age, and had the appearance of an innocent man heading for the gallows.

  While one of the men secured him to the back seat, the other tapped on the passenger window. Jefferson lowered it.

  ‘What took you so long? It’s freezing out here.’

  ‘If you must know, we had a hard time saying goodbye. He’s such wonderful company.’ His reply was laced with sarcasm.

  ‘Well you can join us if you like?’

  ‘Tempting offer but I’m clipping my toenails tonight. Here you go.’ He handed over a clipboard with the required paperwork to be signed once they reached Sheffield. It was like deliveri
ng a washing machine.

  ‘Off we go then, Patrick. Head for the A17 and no stopping under any circumstances except for fuel for me and the car.’

  Shackled in the back of the car was fifteen-year-old Ryan Asher. Norwich born and bred he was about to leave the city for the first time, and he was never coming back.

  His left leg jiggled with nerves. He had been told what was happening to him, where he was going, and what his final destination in approximately three years’ time would be, but it was the unknown he was scared of. A new city and new people, where the only things they knew about him was what the newspapers had reported. Nobody knew the real Ryan Asher anymore. Nobody wanted to know.

  In the middle seat of the car, he sat back and looked out of the window at the darkening Norwich landscape. He was born here. He played with his friends here. He went to school here. He murdered here.

  A three-hour journey with nobody to talk to, no radio, nothing to read, and a wall of darkness outside the window to torment his troubled mind. He couldn’t get comfortable and kept adjusting himself. He bit his bottom lip and could taste blood. He wondered how fast they were travelling? Was Sheffield far from Norwich? He hated not knowing. They could be taking him anywhere. Maybe he wouldn’t make it to Sheffield. The driver kept gazing at him through the rear-view mirror. His look was sharp and scared. What did he think Ryan was going to do? He was a fifteen-year-old boy who looked twelve, not Hannibal Lecter.